Page 83 of My One and Only Duke
A good, foolish woman. What sort of mother leaves a daughter half orphaned for the sake of strangers? But then, what sort of woman abandoned her five-year-old son to be with a paramour, when that son was left in the care of Jack Wentworth?
“Mama would be alive now, Quinn, if she’d not been determined to take on the evils of the world. Papa said she died a saint’s death. I say she died of misguided stubbornness. My compassion for women in need is genuine—there but for your proposal I might have gone—but Mama wouldn’t listen, she wouldn’t give up, she wouldn’t take the prudent course even long enough to see to her own health.”
And thus, Jane’s personal commandments included avoidance of anything resembling a dangerous quest.
Or a dangerous countess. Good God, what a coil, and what a motivation for seeing Lady Tipton held accountable sooner rather than later.
Quinn meant to ask Jane why her father didn’t simply apologize to the affronted bishop and exchange the charms of Newgate for ministering to some rural flock, but Jane stroked his brow, and her silence suggested further interrogation would pain her.
Instead, he mentally drafted pronouncements about family safety, women in a delicate condition, and husbandly authority, but Jane’s caresses beguiled him, and then he was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-one
Jane needed to cry. To rage, weep, and curse for the young man who’d been served so many ill turns so early in life, but she instead remained sitting on the sofa while her husband dozed. Quinn’s recounting of his past had only made her respect him more and worry for him more.
Why would a scorned lover come after Quinn now, when he was infinitely more powerful than he’d been as a footman?
Why wait more than ten years to seek revenge, if that’s what this was? Why go to the excessive effort of bribing judges, prison officials, guards, witnesses—
Jane’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She eased herself around her sleeping husband, tucked a pillow under his head, and draped the afghan over him. If vengeance was the province of the Almighty, Jane hoped the countess soon stepped into the path of a celestial crossbow.
She kissed Quinn’s cheek, smoothed his hair, and went to the door.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” Ivor said. “Reverend Winston has come to call.” The footman scrupulously avoided peering into the library, though Quinn was fully clothed and merely napping—for a change.
“His Grace fell asleep while reading,” Jane said. “Let him rest. I’ll wake him after I’ve dealt with my father.”
Which ordeal Jane did not anticipate with proper daughterly joy.
“Mr. Winston is in the family parlor. Would you like a tea tray, ma’am?”
Jane would like Ivor to stand at the door of the family parlor, looking formidable and fierce, but if Papa thought he had an audience, he’d likely stay even longer.
“Please bring a tray, and then return here to ensure nobody disturbs the duke.”
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I send Kristoff to attend you in the family parlor?”
Stephen’s words came back to Jane: You need to realize when you’re not safe. You need to realize you’re a Wentworth now.…But what havoc could Papa wreak, besides pilfering knickknacks or overstaying his welcome?
“Thank you, no.”
Ivor’s shoulders tensed, suggesting that Jane had given offense to a loyal retainer. She hadn’t time to smooth ruffled feathers when Papa was unattended on the premises.
When she reached the family parlor, Papa was peering at the underside of a French porcelain bowl that held dried rose petals scented with a dash of nutmeg. Because the bowl was full, he’d had to lift it over his head to read the maker’s mark.
“Papa, good day.”
He set the bowl on the piano. “Jane Hester.”
Filial affection dictated that she go to him and embrace him—Papa had a half dozen sermons on the requirement to honor one’s progenitors—and yet she didn’t. “The tea tray is on the way. Shall we be seated?”
He took the middle of the sofa, leaving Jane an armchair. “You’re looking well, daughter.”
“I’m feeling somewhat better. I’ve been able to catch up on my rest.” Also to stuff herself with red meat, fresh fruits and vegetables, and the occasional sweet.
Papa picked up a gold snuff box that held lemon drops. The lid was embossed with an ornate W, and the formal parlor held others like it.
“He treats you well, then?”
