Her Mystery Duke(98)

A young couple had drawn his attention. The man had a pronounced limp and a rather lost, almost dumb look in his eyes. His wife was most solicitous of him as they entered. What had struck him most deeply was her attitude of utter patience as they sat at a table and she spoon-fed him. Not a shade of resentment crossed her face. Not even once.

A young wife should expect to have a strong husband with a commanding presence. Not someone who required her constant help and guidance.

When he had asked her about her husband’s health, she had replied in soft, cheerful tones that he’d suffered an apoplexy from the high fever of measles. It had happened recently, only months before. The doctors were hopeful of further recovery. They were headed to his parent’s home in the country where wholesome air and plenty of sunshine might better aid his recovery.

“And if he doesn’t recover, well, he is not only my husband but the man I love. I must accept and love him as he is now or what good is my love?”

Alone in his private chamber, David had found her words rested on him uneasily.

He’d prided himself on his own tolerance for others. But what good was his tolerance if it wasn’t great enough to allow him to love and accept Jeanne in the way she needed to be loved and accepted? It didn’t matter if she were to be nothing more than his mistress for the remainder of their days. He had to be happy with what she was capable of giving him. Hadn’t his father broken his mother by refusing to allow her to simply be as she was, to accept her in all her frailty?

Once a carriage had been ready, he had turned around and returned to Jeanne’s house, ready to apologize. Ready to tell her that it didn’t matter if she wrote simple children’s stories, and it didn’t matter if she never felt strong enough to tour an insane asylum with him. He’d come to see that his tolerance meant nothing if it didn’t apply to the most important woman in his life.

Improving the world at the personal level was just that. Personal. It meant loving those closest to one in the way they needed to be loved.

But was it all too late? He would do anything if only she would live. He would give his own life if he could. She had to live. She had to!

Impotent rage energized him. Just sprung from the chair and began to pace the chamber. He was so damned angry at himself. He should have seen how insane Toovey had become. He should have guarded against Isabella’s envy. He should have taken better care of Jeanne when he had the chance.

He glanced back at the bed. She looked so pale. The bruise on her forehead was a splash of brilliant color against that pallor.

Pain sliced through him, as though he’d been knifed in his guts. But no, she was too young to die, wasn’t she? Pressure in his throat nearly gagged him. He swallowed hard.

Christ. She had suffered so much in her life. He had wanted to change her life. He had only begun to show her his love. To shower her with every luxury he could give her. To try and increase her happiness. Then he had become just as demanding as his father and put a wedge between them. He had left her alone and the wolves had come to tear her to shreds. Oh damn it all. Sweet, caring, giving Jeanne. Nausea gnawed into his stomach. He had hurt her. How could he have hurt her when he loved her more than his own life?

All the anger drained out of him, leaving him weak.

The pain was already more than he could take. How would he ever bear being without her now? His work and his life would be meaningless without her. He went and knelt by her bed and put her hand to his cheek. “Live, Jeannie, please live and grow old with me.” His voice was horse in his own ears. Her hand had grown wet.



* * * *



Jeanne opened her eyes again. The light did not hurt them so terribly. It seemed just a moment had passed. But she had some recollections of other awakenings and falling back to sleep. She also did not feel the same overpowering exhaustion.

She was in that chamber where Isabella had sent her for the lavender oil. Where Toovey had attempted to attack her. She would have been horrified. But David was here. He would keep her safe.

He was wearing different clothes and the sun shone on the floor in the pattern that told of morning. It seemed it had been afternoon before. David, her beloved, sat there, lost in thought, half turned away from her. His handsome features a polite yet aloof-looking mask. Maybe he looked a little superior, even haughty. He appeared much as he had that day she’d gone to visit him at his chambers.

Then he glanced at her. His eyes widened and then warmth entered his gaze, as brilliant as sunlight. “My love.”

His deep voice sent pleasure through Jeanne. She returned his smile.

“My love.” Passionate feeling reverberated in his tone. He dropped to his knees, beside her bed, took her hand, and pressed it to her cheek.