Chapter 8

Eight

T he smooth keys of the pianoforte calmed Ruth’s nerves as she played. She had never felt like an aficionado in the realm of music, and yet she knew enough to find comfort in the familiarity song. This particular tune she played reminded her of her parents, bringing back memories of cool autumn evenings around the fire; toasted bread and cheese, and the soft humming of her mother’s voice over her embroidery.

She saw Lady Cecelia and Stephen sit in the corner halfway through the dance, pausing from frolicking for a bit of conversation perhaps, and moved on to another Irish tune about the fairies. This tune was sung in Gaelic, and she did not know the words. Instead, she played without singing, letting her mind drift. She was lost in thought when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and looked up in surprise to see Lord Darnley looking down at her. He raised a finger to his lips and motioned toward the couch.

Lady Cecelia, white and tiny in the folds of her dark navy dress, had fallen asleep on the cushions of the settee. Ruth slowed her playing and stopped, rising carefully from the instrument.

“We ought to take her upstairs,” she said softly. “She is too old to sleep on a settee without sore joints in the morning.”

Lord Darnley nodded. “I will find a servant to help.”

Ruth shook her head and smiled. “There is no need to disturb them. They eat their meal after hours, and are likely turning in for bed at present. I will help you carry her upstairs. She is a wee thing, after all.”

He looked at her with mild surprise, and it occurred to her that the son of Lord Richmond had likely never considered his servant’s meal schedule before. He paused a moment, and then nodded.

“Right, then. Let us carry her up together.”

He walked over and picked her up, very gently and quite easily. Ruth found there was no need for her to offer aid. Instead, she gathered up the shawl and shoes that had slipped off the lady of the house. She tiptoed after him, helping to open doors as they went. He seemed at ease with his task, and arrived at the door to Lady Cecelia’s chambers without a hint of being winded or tired. He carried her in and laid her gently on the bed.

“We ought not to wake her,” Ruth said. She would have to sleep in her grand evening gown — changing her into nightclothes would be the task of another evening. Instead, she pulled a coverlet over the lady and made certain she was comfortably arranged on her pillows. Then she bustled about silently, blowing out the candles and tamping down the fire before slipping outside again and closing the door behind her.

Lord Darnley watched all of this in silence. He stepped outside when she did, and waited for her in the hall until the door was fastened. Ruth was uncertain how to interpret his nearness. She hoped he trusted her, and yet here he was seeing that she did everything properly.

“Good evening, my Lord,” she said significantly, curtsying before preparing to go to her chambers.

“It was a good night, wasn’t it?” he asked, making no move to leave. “I thought as much.”

“It was not a very long night,” Ruth said, smiling and glancing at the clock. “I doubt many people would consider nine o’clock the definition of ‘dancing the night away.’ It shows that a very little bit of excitement will go a long way with our dear Duchess. We shall have to keep that in mind in the future.”

“You are right that the night is young,” he said. Then, as though a thought had occurred to him, he asked, “Would you like to come back downstairs to the drawing room for a glass of sherry?”

She looked at him, uncertain.

“I didn’t mean—” she paused, blushing to think that he had interpreted her statement as a plea for companionship or a request to further the evening. “I am quite happy with an early bedtime.”

“It is just a glass of sherry,” he said, tilting his head to one side and looking at her in an inscrutable manner. “I only wish to share some conversation with an intelligent lady and finish the evening as pleasantly as it was begun.”

She bit her lip. “It is rather bold of you to assume I am both intelligent and a lady. I’m not a Bluestocking yet.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said with a smile. “But come downstairs and prove me wrong. Fill my ear with dull and meaningless conversation, and I shall never plague you with another evening request.”

She looked at him a long moment, then let out her breath quietly. He is being kind, she thought. It is nothing more. It was tempting, with a man so bright and handsome, to think more of such charming banter than it was. She looked down at her hands, remembering the tasks she had done as a governess and a lady’s maid; noting the lesser quality of her muslin skirt and the plain cut of her shoes. As long as she remembered her station, there could be no real risk in enjoying this gentleman’s company for an evening. She smiled up at him.

“Quite right,” she agreed. “Let us seek out the sherry.”

They walked downstairs to the drawing room and Stephen went to the wine cart, pouring a glass of amber liquid from a crystal container. He carried it over and handed it to her, looking over at the pianoforte as he did so .

“You play well,” he said.

“If you are looking for intellectual conversation,” she prodded, “then you ought not to start out with an unnecessary overstatement. I play passably.”

“You are too hard on yourself,” he said. “You are no concert pianist, but what we required tonight — and what most peaceful parties require — was a bit of music that was easy to follow and pleasant to listen to. You provided both, and you did so well.”

She blushed and took a sip of the sherry. It warmed her chest on the way down. She looked around the room. “There are quite a few good volumes in here,” she said. “Better than the library.”

“Yes, I noticed that.” He frowned around him. “The library is primarily law review books, and a few agricultural texts. It is hard to find enjoyment there.”

“Perhaps not enjoyment,” she answered, “but I could see usefulness in such a library. Especially as a landowner. I imagine you have spent some time learning about agriculture so as to better understand the plight of your tenants.”

He looked at her, that tell-tale expression of surprise on his face again.

“I have not spent as much time studying such things as I ought,” he said after a moment. “Father always emphasized the need for a landlord to be aware of the bigger picture; to make the necessary and difficult changes that people down in the weeds cannot make.”

“I see the wisdom in that,” she answered. “But I think that a big picture is often made clearer by the details.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You speak your opinions very forcefully.”

“No,” she said with a smile. “I just speak them. They seem forceful because you aren’t used to hearing such things from a woman.”

He laughed then, quite unexpectedly, shattering the aura of intimidation that she had previously felt.

“Miss Selwyn,” he said. “I must say that I enjoy your companionship.” Before she could answer, he went on, “Tell me something about yourself. What is it about your former position as a governess that you most miss?”

She thought a moment, and then answered. “I could tell you that I most enjoyed watching my pupil flourish from a petty girl into a brave woman willing to learn difficult things—”

“But that is not the truth?”

“Not exactly.” She took another sip of sherry and bit her lip. “I most miss these little French loaves the cook used to make on Friday afternoons. They were absolutely scrumptious—” she paused, seeing her companion hiding a laugh, “ —no, you mustn’t think me shallow. They really are the most delicious things you’ve ever eaten. You can’t laugh until you’ve tried one.”

“And that would seem unlikely, as I am not planning to be a governess,” he said, smiling broadly.

“And a fortunate thing,” she said gravely, “for I have heard that bearded governesses are quite looked down upon in the community.”

He laughed aloud and set down his glass.

“How did you become a governess in the first place?” he asked.

She froze, her fingers suddenly clammy against the cut crystal. She thought, as she always did in moments like these, of the last memories she had of her parents. The carriage, rolling away. The horses pulling at the traces. The wool of her mother’s coat rippling in the wind. No, Lord Darnley might be a charming man, and a kind one as well, but he was still her employer and did not have rights to that story. She forced a smile.

“It was the one option that was open to me.”

He looked at her with knowing eyes, but did not press further. She was grateful for the privacy he had afforded her. After a moment, he offered up of his own accord, “I have always had many options open to me — and yet one rules all in my father’s estimation. I am to be the Duke one day, and all my life trajectory must point to that end.”

She smiled, but said nothing.

“Why do you smile?” he asked.

Because your woes are so very aristocratic, she thought. “I am only listening.”

“No, you think me spoiled,” he corrected her. “You think it is not such a terrible thing to be forced to be a Duke one day.”

“It is only that, when speaking of life trajectories, all you had to do to fulfil yours was…” she paused, wondering if she was overstepping, and then plunged ahead. “ —to be born.”

He raised his eyebrows and sat in silence for a moment. Then he leaned back and looked at her.

“You might be right.” He paused. “I am fortunate. I ride through London and see men and women fighting for their very survival. I hear about my tenants going through hard times, and though we do what we can to help those under our care, I know that my golden difficulties would be luxuries to them in their time of trial.”

Ruth froze, listening with amazement. She had never heard a man of nobility speak so frankly; certainly not with so much compassion for the poorer classes. He went on.

“All I am saying is that there are many types of cages, and mind is simply that the good things in my life are conditional on me resigning myself to a position and responsibilities that are tied to a title.” He looked into the fire. “They are good responsibilities, and I think I will be good at executing them. Still, I will always be beholden to that title and that position in society. I am unable to make the choices I wish about work or livelihood or…love.”

This last work he spoke so softly that Ruth almost did not hear it. When she did, she sat quite still. It was not wholly appropriate for him to be speaking to her this way. He was not, of course, speaking of love with her — but he was sharing something intimate about his life. She knew she ought to discourage such openness; she ought to tell him that the night was late and that she ought to go, but she could not. Instead, she found her eyes locked on his face, the red hair glinting in the firelight, watching those eyes stare off into the emptiness before him and reflect. After a long moment she spoke.

“We are none of us completely without choices,” she said quietly. “You are a man of power and nobility. You have more sway over your future than many. It would honor those under your care — your tenants, those governed in the House of Lords — if you used that power to do what was right in your life and in the lives of others.”

He looked up at her, a strange ferocity in his gaze. “You will not allow me to wallow in pity, my lady?” he asked, almost mockingly. “You insist upon calling me to some higher standard?”

“I am not a lady, my Lord,” she said firmly. “I am only conversing with you as required. I do not like to see a man of your standing and talents wasted in any way — even in self-pity.”

He picked up his drink and tossed back the rest of it, pausing a moment as though waiting for the amber liquid to take effect. Then he turned to her, a forced lightness in his tone.

“Do you play chess, Miss Selwyn?”

So, we are done with the private conversation. “Passably well, as I do the pianoforte,” she answered.

He reached into the table between them and pulled out a little carved set, the pieces of weighted oak and cherry; the squares to match. “Do you fancy a game?”

She shrugged, then nodded, and helped to set up the pieces. She noticed he set out the white ones on her side; taking second start for himself. She opened with a pawn move to the middle of the board. He countered by bringing a knight out early. They went back and forth at a leisurely pace, both focused on the game, conversation for the moment stalled.

Ruth caught him out in an attempted fork and turned the tables on him by moving her knight into a protective place behind the queen. He winced and pulled his piece back, looking up at her briefly.

“It appears, Miss Selwyn, that you’ve undersold your abilities in this arena just as you’ve undersold your musical talents.”

“Hardly, sir.” She moved her rook into place beside her queen. “It is only that you are playing rather shabbily on the right-hand side of the board. You’ve let out your pieces too early, and now there is no protection from your wall of pawns.”

He looked over at her pieces and frowned. “And you have wisely held some things back.”

She swallowed hard. He is speaking about this conversation — how I let him share about his life without reciprocating any personal information of my own. “Perhaps it can be salvaged yet,” she said, rather lamely.

But it could not be salvaged. Even playing rather poorly in an attempt to let him catch up, Ruth found her own strategy winning the battle within the hour, and Lord Darnley was forced to knock over his king in an act of surrender. He reached out across the board to shake her hand. She placed hers in his for the obligatory, “good game,” and it rested there a brief moment. His grip was warm and firm. She kept her eyes on their hands, unwilling to look up into his face lest his eyes were there, dark and intriguing. She pulled her hand back.

“Why did you come here,” she asked, her voice soft. “Did you come to care for your aunt so you could escape the life your parents wish you to lead?”

He was quiet for a long time. She thought he might be thinking better of answering honestly after their exchange, but he surprised her with the truth.

“Yes,” he said. “That is why I came. I wanted to escape. It is not why I am staying, however. I am staying because I find a strange peace here with you—” he corrected himself, “ —with you both. In this house.”

“Ah.” She looked up at him and ventured a smile. “I am glad,” she said. “I also am quite happy here. Happier than I have been in some time.”

“I will not leave until I know my aunt is well, and her progress is secured,” he went on. He took a deep breath and stood, stretching. “But for now, Miss Selwyn, I think it best that we turn in for the evening. I can see that another game of either conversation or chess will most assuredly result in my surrender, and I have no desire to be thrashed twice in a night.”

She smiled at him. “I think I will not be so fortunate in our next game,” she said. “You merely started off easily, as if you expected little of my strategy.”

“There, you are wrong.” He looked down at her, and Ruth realized all of a sudden that he was standing quite close to her. He didn’t move to take her hand or approach her in any way, but there was something about the way his eyes held hers that was as intimate as a kiss. “I do not underestimate you, Miss Selwyn. I see that you are my equal in both intellect and strategy, and, though you disparage your own talents, I prepare for them at our every interaction.”

She couldn’t pull her eyes away. She stood there for what felt like an eternity, her heart in her throat, and at last felt him step away and drop her gaze. She nodded, grateful for the candlelight to disguise the heat that had suddenly poured into her cheeks.

“Good night, my Lord,” she said quietly, stepping towards the door.

“Good night, Miss Selwyn.”

She walked out into the hall and up the stairs, her heart hammering in her throat. What is wrong with you, Ruth? She had never behaved this way before. She had never before been captured by the attention of any man, and no man had captured her attention in return. There had been stable boy at her first posting — a charming, bumbling fellow who brought her flowers and preyed upon her good nature. There had been a store clerk who visited the Engleton’s on occasion and always left her a note. There had even been the lawyer she’d met at Lisa’s dinner party — he’d monopolized her dance card and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. All these, Ruth had met with mild annoyance and tolerance. She had felt nothing in return. Nothing.

Now, she’d shared only a few conversations with his man of significant nobility — an earl, Ruth! — and she was having trouble thinking straight. She stumbled into her room and shut the door behind her, feeling his eyes in her memory like a brand. It is impossible, she told herself again and again. Impossible. Impossible.

At long last the words seemed to work, like some sort of mystical incantation. She changed into her nightgown and braided her hair quietly, chanting the refrain until Lord Darnley and his chess game and his words of honesty and encouragement had faded from view. Everything would be resolved in the morning. Everything would be professionalism and propriety again. She lay down and, after a few minutes, fell into a fitful sleep.