Her marriage was arguably the greatest.
She was married to a duke, after all, but she would not live in his house, or attend to his estates, or pretend to be his wife in any way.
She would not take the privileges of being his wife if she was not his wife in every way. Though, she couldn’t escape it entirely.
The solicitors had already made that clear with the financial settlements that had been heaped upon her. The Duchess of Stone had a fortune in her own right…and she had handed it over to her family, not wishing a shilling for herself.
She had wondered if he might protest. If James might insist she come to live in his house or fulfill her duties for the sake of society.
She had heard nary a word from him since the ill-fated garden party.
She swallowed.
She did not know how she would face the years to come, but she was strong and so, somehow, she would.
At least she still had a piano. She would be able to play as often as she liked, and that was something. Tears filled her eyes. What an empty thing. She loved her music, of course, but it was not the same as the sort of marriage she had hoped she might have. Even if it had been just a whisper of a hope.
A bang against her windowsill startled her. She whipped in the direction of the sound.
The curtains shook with the jarring reverberation.
It was still early in the morning and she had shut her windows against an unusual chill the night before.
There was another clatter on the glass, and it rattled the pane.
Jack rushed to it, whipped the curtain aside, and threw open the window. She poked her head out and gasped.
Much to her astonishment, the handsome and somewhat anxious face of the Duke of Stone stared up at her.
“Jacqueline, Jacqueline, wherefore art thou, Jacqueline?” he called from the pavement, to the complete astonishment of the people strolling by.
It was then she spotted the ladder angled against the side of her family townhome, just beneath her own window. “Whatever are you doing?” she exclaimed.
Her heart thudded wildly against her breast, completely uncertain as to what he might mean by these antics.
“What I should have done days ago, duchess.” And with that, he all but vaulted up the ladder, taking it with ease. And when he met her gaze, he declared, “I am glad you have not hied off to parts hitherto unknown.”
How she longed to laugh. There must have been something in her expression which gave him pause, for he hesitated, and the action put his balance off and the ladder shook ever so slightly.
His eyes widened and she grabbed him by the lapels of his blue coat. As the ladder righted itself, Jack pulled him forward until they were but a breath away from each other. “I am seriously considering a trip to fair Verona, Your Grace,” she managed to reply.
“You cannot go,” he said firmly.
“Why?” she asked, that blasted heart of hers now all but skipping beats at his nearness. “I have heard that Italy is an excellent place. Anything has to be better than London at present.”
“You cannot go,” he said again, his voice deepening, and some emotion she couldn’t identify darkening the blue of his eyes to cobalt.
“Whyever not?” she replied, not quite able to keep her voice as even as she wished. “I have no ties here.”
She let her hands slip away from his coat.
“Because,” he said, seizing one of those hands, apparently not giving a care to his precarious position, “Jack, you will take my heart if you go.”
She stilled. “I beg your pardon?”
“May I come in?” he asked, his lips curving in a tentative smile, as if he was certain she’d tell him to climb back down and hie himself hence.
Instead, she kept hold of his hand, stepping back.