The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(25)
He turned a corner a bit too sharply and she leaned into him, her breast resting against his arm rather nicely. “It’s customary for an increasing wife to stay out of the public eye.”
“I’m aware, Blixford, but I won’t take kindly to being left alone for the duration of my confinement, nor will I be happy if I’m abandoned after the birth of your heir. In short, I don’t wish to be merely a brood mare, set out to pasture once I’ve delivered. I expect to continue to enjoy conjugal relations, and if this is unacceptable to you, I suggest you turn round and take me home.”
This was unexpected, and he didn’t want to lie to her, but he could not, would not agree to stay with her. He pondered his response while she looked ahead, to the park, evidently enjoying herself immensely.
Her dark-blue eyes sparkled. “We’ll be able to converse without interruption, as I’m shunned and no one will speak to me.”
“Ah, the silver lining. That will change, of course, once we are married.”
“Yes,” she said simply. When they were within the park gates and on the long portion of the drive, they passed the first carriage, an open barouche housing Lady Mowbry and her daughter, a pasty-faced young woman with wide, staring eyes, terrified at the sight of the Duke of Death. Michael lifted a brow and resisted the odd urge to growl. Insolent chit.
They’d only just passed the Mowbry carriage when he said, “Ah, here we have the Marchioness of Bloomsbury. Shall we call out a greeting and flummox the old battle-axe?”
Jane chuckled in her low, throaty voice. “Behave, Blixford.”
Nevertheless, as the marchioness’s carriage drew near, Michael tipped his hat to her and called out, “Good morning, Lady Bloomsbury! Lovely weather, is it not?”
The woman’s chins actually shook with indignation. But she couldn’t ignore him, regardless of his passenger. He was a duke. “Quite,” she said with a snap of her head before she turned to look the other way.
He glanced at Jane, expecting a wide grin and merriment dancing in her eyes. Instead, she stared straight ahead, a deep flush along her pretty cheeks. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’ve embarrassed you.”
“Indirectly, yes. It matters not to me that I’m shunned. I asked for it. But it grieves me for others to feel embarrassment on account of my presence.”
“What a fascinating revelation. I’d never have guessed. Please tell me how grieved you were after you ran away from marrying me, four years ago.”
Turning her face toward him, she said soberly, “It was a very wrong thing to do to you, and I’m ashamed of myself for treating you with such disregard and disrespect. My only hope is that I may make it up to you in the future and pray you will find it within you to forgive my childish, selfish behavior. You spoke cruelly to me and forced my hand, but you didn’t deserve such a public humiliation.”
He saw deep sincerity in her eyes.
Michael returned his focus to the horses and they clipped along in silence for some time. He didn’t do more than nod to anyone else they passed. His mind continued to assess Jane’s demand, but he couldn’t find an adequate response. The truth of it wasn’t something he would speak of. He wouldn’t tell her of his fear of following his father into madness, that he couldn’t allow himself to become attached to her, and the only way he could be certain of it was to keep her at a distance. He would have to come up with an alternate reason, or he’d have to lie.
He wondered how she’d spent her time in Scotland, if that had some bearing on her insistence of enjoying conjugal relations. “What manner of man is MacDougal, and what was the nature of your relationship?” He noticed she stiffened, ever so slightly, but her words were easy and open.
“My mother, as you surely know, was half Scots, her father a third son who traveled to London to find a bride. He and my grandmother alternated their years between England and Scotland, but my mother always considered herself more Scot than English. She had many cousins, but favorite amongst them was Elizabeth, who married a man named MacDougal. They have five children, the oldest being Brian MacDougal. He and his family once visited at Hornsby Grange, and we all got along famously. When I decided to travel to Scotland, I went to his parents’ home at Castle MacDougal. They invited me to stay indefinitely, and over time, I became well acquainted with my extended family. A year ago, Brian proposed.”
Why did it take three years for him to ask? “You declined?”
Her nod was brief. “I didn’t love him in the way a wife should love her husband.”
“You’ve agreed to marry me, yet do not love me in the way a wife should love her husband. I fail to distinguish the difference.” He was fishing, compelled to cast the line because she so conveniently provided the lake.