Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston
Chapter Twenty
Miles had learned from Emery’s father that she was out and about on the estate. He tried to press his steward as to the direction Emery might have gone but received no reply. It was as if Jenson drifted away, lost in a world known only to him. Miles spoke sharply, trying to gain the man’s attention, and had no luck.
Puzzled by such bizarre behavior, he returned to his study, knowing it might be hours before Emery returned to the house. He rang for Crowder and had the valet bring him the journal of Garrick Notley, hoping to pass the time reading it. What he found within its pages proved to be fascinating.
It seemed Garrick was his great-grandfather. A scoundrel through and through. He was a second son who wenched his way through university and had refused to go into the army, defying his father and leaving England to travel abroad. The journal was an autobiography of sorts, written with candor and humor. Garrick detailed his adventures in detail, especially his sexual escapades. Miles couldn’t help but think of the color flooding Emery’s cheeks if she had read his ancestor’s journal.
He stopped reading after the passage where Garrick found his brother, the heir apparent, had died and the Duke of Winslow summoned him home. Miles would take up the journal again.
After he spoke with Emery.
Instinct told him that the portrait of the ancestor he favored so much was this rogue of a duke. He wanted to learn what Emery knew and then share some of the journal with her. He chuckled to himself, picturing them sitting together as he read it aloud, her face flaming in embarrassment. No, he couldn’t do that to her. But he would like to do several of the things to her that the duke mentioned in the many affairs he detailed. Only it wouldn’t be an affair. Time spent away from Emery only solidified to Miles that she was made for him. Not that he’d had any doubts before, but her absence in his life let him know he would always need her by his side. Now, he must coax her into agreeing with him. Either their time apart had made her desire grow or cool. Whichever, he would make certain she understood they had a future together.
He rang for Trottmann, who seemed to know everything that went on at Wildwood, and when the butler arrived, Miles asked, “Do you know if Miss Jenson has returned from her ride about the estate?”
“Yes, Your Grace. A groom came to tell Mrs. Jenson that Miss Jenson would be spending time in the stables with Athena. The mare is close to giving birth.” Trottmann paused. “Very thoughtful of her, I’d say. Miss Jenson not wanting to worry her mother. She is a lovely young woman,” he praised.
Miles wondered if the all-knowing Trottmann had an inkling of his employer’s feelings for the help, much as Cook seemed to suspect.
“Yes, she is very capable,” he said. Rising from his seat, he added, “I think I will go and check on Athena myself.”
“And dinner, Your Grace?”
“Tell Cook to hold off. I may be a while. Better yet, I will take a basket of food to the stables since I may be there for some time.”
“Let me see to that, Your Grace,” Trottmann offered. “I will bring it to you.”
That freed up Miles to head immediately to the stables. He arrived and went to the last stall where Athena resided and stood just out of view for a few minutes, listening to Emery’s soothing voice before making his presence known.
The moment he saw her, something stirred within him. A mixture of desire, joy, and longing. He thought of the times he would come home after some trip and Emery would be waiting for him. They would talk and perhaps enjoy a meal together. Then he would take her upstairs and keep her in his bed for a week. Maybe longer.
He yearned for that time to be now.
“I suppose we should sit,” she suggested, moving to a corner and sitting upon the ground, her back braced against the wall.
“Your Grace? I have brought the basket.”
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Trottmann had brought the food to the stables.
As the butler handed it over, he said, “Cook packed enough for two. In case Miss Jenson joins your vigil at Athena’s side.” Trottmann smiled at Emery. “How is Athena doing, Miss Jenson?”
“All the signs are present, Mr. Trottmann. She should begin foaling soon.”
“Then you should partake of some sustenance before that occurs,” the butler advised. “Shall I check back with you later, Your Grace?”
“No,” Miles said sharply, not wanting any intrusions during his time with Emery.
“Then I will bid you both a good evening.” The butler nodded and left.
Miles brought the basket from Cook and joined Emery on the ground.
“I am sure you haven’t eaten in quite some time. We should take Trottmann’s advice and have something now before the excitement begins.”
He pulled out a few pieces of cold chicken, a small round of cheese, a loaf of bread that smelled heavenly, and then smiled.
“Cake,” he proclaimed. “Perhaps we should start with it.”
She laughed, a sound he had gone far too long without hearing. “No. Only a young boy would suggest something so foolish. Cake is the reward for finishing your meal.”
Emery took charge, lifting the two plates Cook had thoughtfully packed and placing items on them. Miles discovered a carafe and two pewter mugs at the bottom and poured a ruby red wine into them.
“A toast,” he said, lifting his glass.
“To what?”
He wanted to say “To us” but refrained from doing so. Instead, he said, “To a swift birth and a healthy foal.”
He tapped his cup against hers and then drank deeply.
As they ate, he told her a little about his visit to Marblewood and the other two estates. She had never been to any of them but was familiar with all three stewards and much of what he mentioned.
“You—and your father—have been in close contact with the managers of my other estates?” he asked.
She nodded. “Papa thought it best. He says you can always learn from others and so he wrote to each of His Grace’s stewards shortly after our arrival. Over the years, many letters have flown back and forth between the group.”
“Do you write those letters now?” he asked, thinking of how vacant Jenson’s eyes had been earlier.
A defensive look came into her eyes. “For the most part. My handwriting is better than Papa’s. Much more legible. Sometimes, he dictates to me. Other times, he merely tells me what he wishes to discuss with the others and gives me the freedom to word things as I choose.”
“He puts a great deal of trust in you. You seem to have an inordinate amount of responsibilities, both under him and your mother.”
“I like being busy,” she said guardedly. “I find it passes the time.”
“And once time has passed, where do you see yourself, Emery? In five years? Ten? Even twenty?”
She blinked rapidly. “I . . . don’t know. I haven’t planned that far ahead.”
But her gaze quickly dropped, as if she were hiding something. Before he could ask what, she pushed to her feet.
“I better check on Athena.”
She went to the horse and rested her cheek against the mare’s neck. Her eyes closed, contentment on her beautiful face. Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes and said, “I adore the aroma of horses.”
Kissing Athena’s neck, she then stroked it. “It becomes stronger when they sweat, you know. There is nothing like the smell of these stables. Horse. Hay. Leather.”
Miles almost said the smell of lilac trumped all those scents but kept from verbalizing his thoughts.
Emery bent and reached for Athena’s teat. Squeezing it, she held another finger under it and then brought it up to examine.
“Just as I thought.”
“Let me see.”
Miles joined her, taking her wrist and bringing her hand toward him. He could see the thick, opaque beads and touched it. His fingers tightened on her wrist.
“It is sticky,” he noted, brushing it between his thumb and forefinger.
Emery tugged, breaking the contact between them. Only because he allowed her to do so.
Athena snorted and began moving restlessly.
“Is there something we should do? Find Harris?” he asked. “As I mentioned, I have never been at the birth of a foal.”
“Mr. Harris’ wife has been ill for the past few days. I called upon her this afternoon, taking her some soup. Mr. Harris is at home with her now. I don’t mind staying with Athena, Your Grace. It may still be several hours before the foal appears. Why don’t you retire to the house? I can tell you in the morning what the gender of the foal is.”
“You want me to miss out on all the fun?”
Her lips twitched with amusement. “I daresay Athena wouldn’t term this fun.”
“I’m staying.”
The horse stomped and made a low noise.
“We should retreat to the corner,” Emery said. “Allow her to have some space.”
She sat on the ground again and he joined her, sitting close enough that the sides of their bodies touched. She smelled inviting but he knew all her concentration now was on the dam.
A short time later, Athena’s foal arrived. Emery walked him through the process as it unfolded, noting how both forelimbs arrived, one slightly ahead of the other, with the head emerging next. She explained that the placenta had ruptured when a huge amount of fluids flowed from Athena.
The entire birth took a little less than three-quarters of an hour.
“It is nothing short of a miracle,” he declared once the foal had fully emerged.
Emery smiled. “I have been fortunate to witness it several times. It never grows old.”
“What do we do for Athena now?” he asked. “And her babe?”
“I will remain several more hours. The foal should stand within the next hour and begin to nurse by the second hour. Athena must expel her placenta. If she doesn’t, I’ll need to summon Mr. Harris for help in removing it.”
She seemed unflappable in that moment, as if she could do anything. His admiration grew for her yet again.
“I have nowhere else to be. Except here.”
With that, Miles slipped his hand around hers, lacing their fingers together.
They sat with their backs against the stable wall, no conversation necessary, as they watched the foal struggle and then finally stand on its own. After several attempts at nursing, the foal finally understood what to do and hungrily drank from its mother.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“Who would have thought something only a few hours old could stand on its own?” he marveled. “I wonder if it is male or female.”
“I can check once the placenta fully emerges. I don’t want to go close until then. Athena is in a delicate state. She has learned what birthing a babe is like and her mothering instinct is kicking in. She will be quite protective of her new offspring.”
“I suppose females are born with that instinct,” he remarked, though he assumed his mother was an exception to that rule.
It surprised him that Emery hadn’t pulled away in all these hours spent side by side. Miles relished their closeness. Since he didn’t know when they would next be alone, he decided to ask about the portraits.
“Trottmann took me to the picture gallery,” he began. “And I saw the new additions hanging there, as well as the new art in my bedchamber.”
He felt her tense and added, “I was quite surprised. And pleased.”
Emery relaxed. “I know I overstepped my bounds but I wanted to please you. Wildwood is yours now. I wanted you to have more than visceral evidence. I wanted something tangible to show you that you belong. What better way than to have your portrait hanging among so many other Dukes of Winslows and generations of various Notleys?”
“How did you pull off such a task? I wouldn’t know where to start. I also thought subjects had to sit for an artist in order to have their picture painted.”
“Normally, that is the case.”
She told him of her idea to paint over Ralph so that the picture of the two brothers could hang in the ducal bedchambers and how that snowballed.
“Mr. Leavell couldn’t bring himself to paint over his original work so he created a new one. He had wanted to paint you three boys in the gardens to begin with but was overruled by the duke.”
“It was Fillmore’s man!” he exclaimed. “What did he call himself?”
“Mr. Lawrence. He is actually Lawrence Leavell.”
“I knew there was something familiar about him. He has changed quite a bit, though. The years haven’t been as kind to him as to others.”
“He lost the great love of his life,” she revealed. “I think that has worn on him.”
Miles wondered how she knew something so deeply personal about the artist.
“And the sketches on my desk?”
“Mr. Leavell made those shortly after you left. He worked from them in creating your ducal portrait.”
“Who is the other man—the one I favor so much? And where on earth was that painting? I have never seen it before.”
Emery explained about her project to catalog the contents of the attics and how she had stumbled onto the portrait there, along with a journal.
“Mr. Leavell said the artist, Julian Glanville, was well known but died at a young age. He left behind a list of those whom he had painted. When Mr. Leavell returned to London, he consulted the list and wrote to me regarding his findings. The only Notley on it was Garrick Notley, Duke of Winslow.”
“So, it is his portrait and journal. I started reading it as I waited to speak to you. So far, it is fascinating though it doesn’t explain why he was shuttered away in the attic.”
“I will admit that I read the first few pages before I realized it was a private affair that only family should read. He seemed quite alienated from his wife and children. If his heir felt strongly enough, he might have been the one who banished the portrait to the attics. Who knows how long it has been since anyone went up there?”
Miles squeezed her fingers. “I am grateful you did so and found this man whom I favor so much. I hope I can be a much better duke than he was.”
“He might have been an excellent duke,” she countered. “Just not a good husband or father.”
“I plan to be good at both of those, as well.”
He lifted his free hand and took her chin. “You have brought Tony back to me, Emery. You constantly surprise me with your candor and cleverness.” He paused, knowing he needed to tread lightly. “I know you sense the attraction growing between us.”
Her mouth trembled, her lips calling out to his. “Be that as it may, I am a realist, Your Grace. Any attraction should be squashed as one would a pesky fly.”
“I disagree, Emery. I think the flames should be fed.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “Don’t you see? You aren’t of my world and I could never be a part of yours. I am practical to my bones, Miles. I understand that it could never work between us. That is why I must discourage your attentions to me.”
“And I must convince you that we do not have to be part of the world of Polite Society. We can create our own world. Here. Now. Together.”