Page 62 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
Jules bowed to the marquess. “Lord Linfield. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have read your arguments on the Third Reform Act. Impressive.”
Linfield smiled. “Flattery shall get you everything, my boy.”
Jules smiled and dipped her head again in a quick bow. “I shall leave you to your reunion, Your Grace.”
James slid his gaze over her face, noting the slightly heightened color. “I am pleased for you to stay, Southby.”
She blinked and quickly glanced at the marquess, who gave an affable nod. The tension eased from his Wildflower’s shoulders, and James went over to the mantle and poured brandy into three glasses. Linfield took his glass and lifted it.
“To whatever the hell saved you, Wolfe. I am damn glad you are here.”
“Here,” Jules said, taking a sip, eyeing the marquess with considerable curiosity and admiration.
James dipped his head close to her ear. “Do not admire his handsomeness.”
She choked on a sip and shot him an aghast glare. Linfield arched a brow at the exchange, and James merely smiled. Jules drank with them for several minutes before excusing herself on the pretext she needed to meet with her father. Once the door closed behind her, the marquess leveled him a stare.
“He is the son of the mind doctor? What are they called, alienists?” Linfield asked with a grimace. “The duchess informed me of it.”
James took a drink, knowing his mother had been the one to invite the marquess down, no doubt to garner his support. “Hmm.”
“I do not understand it, man, an alienist treats and studies mental maladies. What in God’s name are they doing here?”
“I have not departed from my senses if that is what you are asking. Dr. Southby and his son are guests.”
Relief lit in Linfield’s eyes. “I did not doubt it. What I remember of you was your dogged stubbornness. No damn ice wilderness was ever going to defeat you.” The marquess raked his fingers through his dark blond hair. “You seem close to the lad.”
James considered the subtle query. “Southby is one of my important persons.”
The marquess nodded solemnly as if he understood that Jules Southby had crawled underneath James’s skin. There were parts of himself James did not know or understand, parts shadowed by dark obscurity and pain and loss, a place where dreams and hope once resided. Somehow this creature had the power to prick at that hidden place, and he did not like it even as he accepted its existence. Jules Southby had dropped into his life like a giant from the heavens, shaking the foundation of things he had yet to comprehend.
Chapter Eleven
The next four days passed in a blur of activities for the guests—croquet on the lawn, boat rides on the lake, charades in the grand parlor, lavish dinners in the evening, and picnics on the lawns and outside games which allowed the ladies to mill about in their beautiful finery, all coveting the title of Duchess of Wulverton. The duke at times would join the ladies on the estate grounds, keeping a careful distance but making a reasonable effort to engage them in conversation, though he allowed no accidental brush or touches.
Jules would observe from the gazebo, careful to keep the longing from her gaze. At times she wondered what it would be like to stroll across the lawns with him, boldly flirting like the ravishing Lady Emelia and Lady Mariah. What would it be like to drive in a phaeton with the duke in Hyde Park, or be held in his arms for a dance? Those whimsical wants at times befuddled and amused Jules, even as she acknowledged the ache it left in her heart to want to freely enjoy such outings with the duke.
Whomever he chooses to be his duchess will be a most pleased lady.
Jules frowned, wondering at the peculiar prick deep inside her heart. It felt like the beginning of a wound she most certainly did not understand or appreciate. It was not as if she had any wishes or longing to be with the duke beyond the promised pleasure.
And when will that be, my good duke?
In the nights she waited in the west wing, hoping he would come inside from the woods, wondering if this was the night they would become lovers. The hallways remained empty, and she would lie in the bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she should invade his sanctuary without an invitation. The bustle of the days left little room for private meetings and interactions. All of their conversations were done within the presence of others, and even then, Jules was treated to his cool reticence.
She hungered to be alone with him…to speak and know everything about him. The door to the drawing room opened, tugging Jules from her musing. Stiffening her shoulders, she rose as the duchess entered and lowered her head in a bow of greeting. Her father entered on the heels of the duchess, his notebook clutched in his grip. He smiled at her over the duchess’s head, and Jules returned it, grateful that the tension between them had eased a couple of days ago. Though he had not brought up the matter again, she caught her father at times staring at her with deep contemplation.
“My son is doing remarkably well,” the duchess said as she stared at Jules and her father. “I wanted to meet this morning to express my gratitude, Dr. Southby. This is more progress than I had anticipated.”
Her father smiled. “I assure you I have done very little, Your Grace, for the duke will not speak with me through all fault of my own. We owe his remarkable recovery to my son’s efforts.”
Annoyance shafted through Jules, though she tried her best to present an unruffled composure. “His Grace only needed time to assimilate with his new situation, he did not suffer from a malady of the mind.”
“But hesuffered,” the duchess said quietly. “For he still does not allow me to touch him.”
“Yes, he did suffer,” Jules admitted softly, merely loathing when it was implied the duke was afflicted because he did things differently. “Please let me assure you, Your Grace: how one’s behavior becomes altered due to sensory deprivation and social contact with others is still something we are understanding as psychologists and mind doctors, but we do know enough to say with confidence that with time, the duke will once again allow certain privileges.”
“I wish he would cut his hair for the ball,” the duchess said with a grimace. “Though he speaks more to his sister and dined with us last evening, there are some things he is simply being stubborn on! I fear he will never change and what are we to do then? His manner is not gentlemanlike at all! I suggested an etiquette teacher and my songrowledat me.”
