Strathmere's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mother,” he apologized.
    The woman narrowed her eyes at him. Never beautiful, Charlotte Harrington Hunt had always been what was referred to as a handsome woman. In her older years, that handsomeness had hardened, but her eyes were still bright and lively and the flawless bone structure had held up well.
    “Is it that wretched Pesserat woman?” she demanded.
    Jareth blinked, disconcerted with the non sequitur. “Pardon me?”
    “I was told you visited the nursery the other morning. Was that Frenchwoman impertinent to you?”
    He shook his head, but he could feel the frown lines deepening on his brow.
    That Pesserat woman…Had she been impertinent? He had to allow her devotion to his nieces was fierce. And that there was an aura of capableness about her, there amid all her haphazard foolishness. But she was so… disconcerting was the word. Indeed, the woman was that in spades.
    His mother was saying, “You must not be too lenient with the servants, Strathmere. You need to remember your station. It is a grand one, but it must be used properly, and wisely. As a boy, I did not think to instruct you as I did your brother. In this I failed you, I see, for tragedy is always a possibility, and one must be prepared. For my lack of foresight, and in allowing you to affiliate so many years with commoners, I regret bitterly the loose attitude I took with you.”
    Among the commoners to whom she was referring was his old partner, Colin Burke, and the reference stung. Although Colin was not a peer, his wealth was greater than the majority of titled families of England. The contempt in his mother’s voice whenever she referred to his business partner—and the man who had been his closest friend—was somehow…violating.
    “However, there is no sense dwelling on the past.You are the duke now. Let the knowledge of that fact take root inside of you and blossom.”
    The duke now. Yes, oh yes, how he knew it. As if for one second, for one blessed moment of peace, he could forget it.
    His mother continued, “Duty, Strathmere. Your duty to Rebeccah and Sarah is to show them a strong hand in their rearing. Never forget who you are. You are in command of this family.” She wrung her hands and looked at him with pity in her eyes. “Oh, my son, you were always such a gentle soul. Weeping for wounded pigeons and nursing baby rabbits unearthed in the garden, you were a sweet-hearted boy—but you must put all that behind you. You must change, alter your very character so that the easy authority of your title is second nature to you, as natural as all that you’ve known in your past used to be.”
    Her words spun around in his head, draining away to a hollow echo. There were more, but try as he might to concentrate on them, they were lost to him, drowned out by the shameful realization that he was, God help him, terrified of what she was describing.
    Because it was already happening. And he knew that it must.
    For he was the Duke of Strathmere, now and evermore.
    Helena Rathford made an even better impression—if that were possible—on Jareth that afternoon than she had the first evening of their acquaintance. Garbed in a day dress, she appeared refreshingly pretty with her soft blond ringlets bobbing about herface. The taut beauty of the previous meeting seemed more relaxed.
    Lord Rathford sent his apologies at not being able to join them this afternoon. These were prettily pleaded by his wife, who deftly took herself off with the duchess to examine his mother’s porcelain collection in order to leave Jareth and Helena alone.
    He gave her a rueful glance, and she remarked, “I am afraid they are rather obvious.”
    Her directness he liked. It relaxed him, and it felt good after the tensions of the day. “Don’t fault them too much.”
    “How kind you are,” she said, as if she truly meant it. He laughed and gave his head a shake.
    “Not at all, Lady Helena. I simply know there are many times when my behavior could warrant a