Page 77 of As the Earl Likes
“You’re having a party here?” Sheff asked.
“Yes, in a few days. This can be my last event of debauchery.” He waggled his brows. “You must join in, though I can’t promise there will be a great many people your own age. I’ll see what I can do to rectify that since you are here.”
“It’s all right. I don’t need to attend your party. Honestly, I’m not in the mood for debauchery.”
“You do love Miss Harker, then?” his father asked.
Sheff avoided a direct response, saying only, “It won’t last.”
The duke frowned. “Why not?” He held up a hand. “I think I know the answer—you expect to be like me. I can assure you that you are not. My choices are the result of events that happened to me. They have not happened to you. You may have rakish tendencies, but you are conscientious and caring. You’ve gone out of your way to protect your sisters from my behavior while I’ve not thought enough about how I may affect them.”
Sheff supposed that was all true. But what if his fear wasn’t so much that he was like his father, it was that marriage was a battleground? That was all he’d ever observed. Now that he knew the reasons behind his parents’ chaos, he could rationally see that he was not necessarily destined to suffer the same fate. Especially not if he and his wife loved one another. When he was with Jo, he felt something he never had before—a sense of rightness and belonging, harmony, even.
“I wasn’t even sure that I knew what romantic love was until I met Jo,” Sheff said quietly. “I assumed I was incapable of feeling that.”
His father’s gaze turned fierce, but there was affection too. “Do not think that you don’t have the free will and ability to be a loving, devoted husband. That’s all I wanted to be,” he added softly.
Sheff’s heart cracked. “Perhaps it isn’t too late for you to find that.”
His father smiled—it was the warmest expression Sheff could remember seeing on him in some time. “I had given up hope, my boy, but I am beginning to think you may have restored it.”
Perhaps it wasn’t too late for Sheff either. He wanted what his father had been denied—a loving partner, a joyous family. Listening to him talk about his dreams and knowing they hadn’t come true was gut-wrenching, but at least his father had tried. He’d taken the risk, and while it had failed, he was still here.
“You don’t regret marrying Mother?” Sheff asked, recalling what he’d said earlier about not having regret.
“Never, for then I wouldn’t have you and Min. Or Ellis, even.” The duke gave him a pointed look. “My only advice to you is to be as certain as you can that your love is reciprocated, that your expectations match that of your bride. Otherwise, your romantic ideals will be dashed, and I couldn’t bear if that happened to you too.”
That was the problem—Sheff wasn’t certain at all.
Chapter 16
On a Thursday morning in late June, Jo was resetting tables and chairs in the common room at the Siren’s Call. In a few days’ time, her mother would leave for Weston, and Jo would be fully in charge of the club. She didn’t mind, for it was a temporary situation, just for this summer. They’d hired a bright and enthusiastic woman a fortnight ago, and so far, she showed promise as a future manager for when Jo’s mother was not present.
That very woman came from the kitchen, a pencil stuck into the knot of light brown hair atop her head. Edith Henshawe was thirty years old and had worked as a governess, a teacher at a school for girls, acting headmistress at that school, and then decided she no longer wanted to work with children. She’d responded to Jo’s mother’s advertisement in the newspaper, eager to try something new. Though Jo’s mother had been hesitant at first, Edith’s references were excellent, and what she didn’t possess in knowledge, she was keen to learn. She’d already proven herself to be clever and quick.
“Sorry to disturb you, Jo,” she said, glancing at a ledger in her hand. “I’m preparing the list for the pantry and don’t see that there are any potatoes. But that cannot be, can it?” She looked at Jo, her brows pitched into a V over her moss-green eyes. “We just purchased some the other day.”
The cook did most of the shopping for the kitchen. “I do recall that. Perhaps the cook has stored them somewhere odd. Or someone put them away who does not know where they are typically kept. I would wager that’s what happened.” It would not be the first time.
Edith nodded. “I’ll look more thoroughly.” She smiled, then hastened back to the kitchen.
“She’s doing very well,” Jo’s mother said, coming into the common room.
“I agree.” Jo set the final chair at its rightful table and faced her mother. “You may travel to Weston in a few days without a care.”
Jo’s mother laughed. “I will always care, but I will not worry. I would not have even without Edith since you are here.” She exhaled. “Are you still going to search for a small terrace to lease? I can’t believe you are going to leave our household. You don’t need to.”
“I do if I wish to establish myself as a woman of independent means who hosts literary salons,” Jo said shrewdly but with a smile.
“I understand. I will miss you.” Her mother pulled a chair from one of the tables and sat. “I did wonder if I should not go to Weston. Not because of the club, but because I will miss you. And it seems you may need me just now.” She sent Jo a searching look. Without words, she was conveying her concern about how Jo was managing since Sheff had left.
“I am no longer moping,” Jo scoffed. She moved to join her mother at the table, taking the chair next to hers. “I want you to go. It’s only for a couple of months.”
“Or less if I hate it.” Jo’s mother wrinkled her nose. “I sincerely hope Sheff’s mother won’t be at their estate. I hadn’t even realized they had one near Weston until you told me the other week. I would have told Marcel to find a different seaside village.”
“I can’t help thinking that is not just because of the way she’s behaved during this betrothal scheme,” Jo said tentatively. “It seems to me there is more to it—the uninteresting story you’ve never shared with me about how you know the duchess.”
Her mother frowned at the table. “I don’t know that I want to share it. Sometimes things are better left in the past.”
