The Valentine Legacy (Legacy 3)

“He’s a bloody little stoat,” Marcus said. “Duchess, I’ll hold that blasted Esmee if you would like to see to him.”

“There is no choice,” the Duchess said as she rose. “The American Wyndhams will arrive shortly, Spears. Then all our questions will be answered.” To her husband, she added, “My dear, I fear that Esmee does not intend to lie quietly while you pat her.”

Marcus, the cat now on his lap, was staring down at her while she kneaded his

thighs.

“A cat and a wife,” he remarked to the room at large, as he rubbed Esmee’s chin, “most of the time I can’t tell her scratches apart from the damned cat’s.”

“And you, my dear,” the Duchess said calmly to her husband as she leaned down to pick up her yelling son, “many times aren’t able to perceive when you are very close to the edge.”

Marcus burst out laughing, dislodging Esmee, who stood up on his legs, dug deeply, then bounded off. “I’ll get you yet, Duchess,” he said. “All I ask is that you lose that god-awful serene facade just once a week. Only one episode a week will satisfy me.”

“The Duchess, my lord,” Spears said, standing very straight and very stiff, eyeing his seated master, who was grinning like a glutton in a room filled with sweetmeats, “will now give suckle to your son. Then—”

“‘Suckle,’ Spears? Good God, that sounds biblical.”

“I doubt, Marcus,” the Duchess said as she swung Charles into her arms, “that you would appreciate a biblical reference were it to float into the space before your nose.”

“Spears,” Marcus said, “you’re looking so puffed up with ire you look ready to explode. When will you ever realize that the Duchess has no need at all of your protection? Go away. Leave me in peace with this blasted cat.”

The Duchess, laughing as she cuddled her son to her chest, left the drawing room, Spears, still high in his dignity, at her heels.

Badger handed a delicate Se`vres dish to Jessie. She looked at it, and her mouth began to water. “Your scones, Badger, with clotted cream. Oh dear, this is wonderful. If my head even considered hurting me, it would surely stop now.”

“The scones are known for their restorative effect,” Badger said, gave Jessie a close look, nodded, then turned to serve everyone else. The Duchess dispensed tea. James looked over at Maggie, gowned this afternoon in a soft peach affair, really quite demure for Maggie, that made her look as delicious as Badger’s clotted cream. Sampson stood behind her, his left hand laying lightly on her shoulder. Every once in a while, Maggie patted her husband’s hand.

“Actually,” Jessie said, giving a demure look to her husband, “James is more effective as a cure than a scone could ever be. Forgive me, Badger, but it’s true.”

James choked. Sampson thumped him on the back.

“We won’t wish to hear more of this,” Spears said, but he wasn’t frowning.

Jessie looked like an exotic flower next to Maggie today—surely a reversal—her red hair unconfined, because braiding it had given her a headache. It was full and wild around her face, a face that was still on the pale side, and that had worried him, but she’d begged and begged to ride with him to Chase Park, before she became as inert as one of her goose-feather pillows, she’d told him.

“Now that everyone is fortified for the upcoming disclo-sures,” Marcus said as he ate the last bite of his scone, “it’s time we know more about this Blackbeard fellow, Jessie. You didn’t tell poor George a thing. The Duchess bullied him mercilessly, but still he wasn’t at all forthcoming.”

“His lordship is quite right,” Spears said in his ducal manner, as distinguished as one of the royals, probably more so. “Dr. Raven is a fine physician, but he has no imagination.”

The earl grunted.

Spears gently cleared his throat. “He doesn’t inquire properly into matters. Now, Jessie, tell us everything.”

Jessie looked around at all the people who had taken her in and been kind to her and guided her and held her close and had actually liked her and wanted her to be happy. It was just too much. She couldn’t help it, she burst into tears.

“Jessie!”

James, utterly appalled, scared to his toes actually that she was unable to face this childhood terror—whatever it was—was on his feet in an instant. He sat beside her, which was difficult since it was not all that large a chair, and pulled her against him. “Shush, sweetheart, it’s all right. It’s your head, nothing more, and all those dreadful memories. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“Jessie,” Badger said, “needs a brandy. Mr. Sampson, would you care to pour her a goodly dose? It will clear an open path to her belly and warm her.”

James took the snifter of his lordship’s finest brandy from Sampson’s outstretched hand and nudged it against Jessie’s cheek. “Come now, drink it down. If Badger says you need it to open up your belly, then you need it.”

She took too big a drink, thought her stomach would burn to a cinder, coughed until her face was as red as her hair, and wheezed out, “Oh my goodness, Badger, that is dangerous. How do gentlemen drink such quantities of it and survive to drink even more?”

“Gentlemen,” Spears said, eyeing the earl briefly, “have remarkable adaptive powers. It aids them to survive when their brains don’t function properly. Take just another very small sip, Jessie.”

She did, felt the warmth fill her, and sighed.