The certainty made her want to sob, to shatter and transform into a torrent of grief that flooded the duchess’s centuries-old castle.
Because she was his home, and him hers, but they were wanderers and always would be. No home for them, especially not in each other.
One
February 1822, London, England
It had been nine weeks and three days since Jackson Cavendish had kissed Miss Gwendolyn Smith. And it had been twenty-eight minutes and approximately fifteen seconds since Viscount Albee and his half brother Viscount Cordell had begun their cravat-tying competition. A tradition of sorts for the competitive siblings. An odd one. But distracting, and Jackson needed distraction.
He'd always been a patient man, particularly in regard to Gwendolyn. But nine weeks and three days could change a man, boil impatience in his blood. Doubt too.
The brothers stared into identical oval gilt looking glasses, appearing almost identical themselves with their black wavy hair and tall frames.
Lord Cordell, Bax, stood a bit taller and broader than his brother, and he frowned into the mirror on the wall as he wove the linen slowly yet precisely around his throat. He finished it off with a nod, then unwound the cloth and dropped it into a pile beside him.
Lord Albee, Cass, was married to Jackson’s cousin Ada, and he wore a wicked grin his older brother could never achieve, no matter how hard he tried. He wove the linen like a whirlwind, and when he finished off a tangled bow, he cried, “Done!” then unwound the cloth and dropped it into a mangled pile of cravats at his side.
Bax shot him a look of pure frustration and moved his fingers a bit faster, grabbing for the last cravat in his pile.
Jackson tapped the dented case of his pocket watch.
“Are we done yet?” Bax asked. “Jackson, the time please?”
“Oh, yes.” Jackson peered at the watch. “Less than a minute remaining.”
Bax’s fingers flew, but Cass had already moved on. He leaned a shoulder against the fireplace mantel and grinned, arms crossed over his chest just below the most hastily tied cravat in all Christendom.
“Time!” Jackson called.
Bax’s arms dropped to his side, leaving a half-tied cravat dangling around his neck. “How the deuce do you do it, Cass? You wallop me every time.”
“It’s the simple knot, brother. Fancy ones were all well and good when I was a bachelor, but now that I have a bride to keep happy, the simpler ones are best. Undo the easiest. I’d think you’d know all about that.” He winked.
“Next time, Cass, we’re using the same knot, agreed upon beforehand. I’ll look into the matter, see which knot offers the best challenge.”
Cass dropped into a seat near Jackson with a whoosh of breath. “Of course you will, dear brother.” He elbowed Jackson. “Why didn’t you join us?”
“I’m too distracted for play.” He was too distracted for everything. Yet he needed distraction from the thing that distracted him from all else. He could neither work nor eat in the last nine weeks and three days since he’d shared Gwendolyn’s bed.
Bax joined them, crossing an ankle over a knee as he sat. “Distracted by what?”
“Miss Smith is my bet,” Cass said.
Jackson snapped his pocket watch closed and replaced it in his pocket. “No.” Yes. What had begun on a moon-bright midnight had ended in the dusty sunshine of the next day. She’d left the bed before him, and when he’d met her over tea but hours later, she’d pretended the night before had never happened. Every attempt to talk about it locked her further behind her own walls. She kept her distance. Emotionally. They often could not avoid being in the same room together. She’d built a moat between them and filled it with crocodiles. Likely because she knew he could swim.
Nine weeks and three days.
An impossibly long time, no matter how short it truly was.
He stabbed his elbow into the chair arm and propped his chin on his hand. Two happily married men before him, and he was sick of silence. Why not share? Perhaps they knew a secret to wife catching Jackson did not.
“Very well,” he said. “Yes, I find myself distracted because of Miss Smith.”
“Knew it.” Cass preened. “You two can’t keep your eyes off of one another.”
“Love? Is it?” Bax asked, scratching at his jaw and leaning deep into the back of the chair.
Jackson gave a tight nod. “For me at least.” He was not yet ready to let the word pass his lips. When it did, it would be to caress the soft shell of Gwendolyn’s ear.
