Page 46 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Chapter Fifteen

Jeremy read throughthe morning papers while he breakfasted. Rachel quickly downed her meal and asked to be excused. He nodded in agreement, not looking up. Once he finished, he folded the last section and placed it on the top of the correspondence Cor shuffled through.

Rising, he said, “I will see you—”

“Sit,” she commanded.

He did so without thinking and then eyed her warily. “You haven’t used that tone with me in quite a while. Not since I became the Duke of Everton.”

“We need to talk.” Cor set aside the letter in her hand. “More than a year has passed since Mary’s death. It’s time you find another wife.”

Jeremy stood. “We are not having this conversation.”

Her steely gazed seemed to pierce his soul. “Oh, but we are, Grandson. Sit,” she said firmly.

Once more, he returned to his chair.

“Your daughter needs a mother. And you need a woman who can provide you with an heir. A spare would also be nice.”

“I’m too busy, Cor. You know that. Besides, Luke is my heir now.”

“Jeremy, you have done the impossible. You paid off all of your father’s debts. You put Mary’s dowry to good use. You invested in businesses at the right time and made profits beyond what I could have imagined. The St. Clairs are now on firm financial footing and will be for generations to come.” She paused. “I’m putting my foot down, though, as the matriarch of this family. I want to see you wed again before I’m gone. And I want more grandchildren from you.”

“That’s nonsense, Cor. You’ll outlive us all.”

She sniffed. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. My bones creak every time I move. Too many of my friends have gone and died on me.” Her gaze locked on his. “I’m getting old, Jeremy, whether you want to admit it or not. Please, do this for me. The Rutherfords are having a ball tonight to open the Season. Go. Find a wife. Make me—and yourself—happy.”

She placed her hand over his. “You haven’t had happiness in your life for years. Not since Timothy died. It’s time you found some. Or someone.”

“I’ll go,” he conceded. “If only to please you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

He left the breakfast room and went to his study. Closing the door, he sat behind the large desk, covered in papers. Contracts. Files. Information about his competitors. Ignoring it all, he walked to the window and stared out at the April day.

Cor was right. He’d spent the last five years doing everything he could to pull the St. Clair name and fortune from the mire. He’d worked long days, sometimes twenty hours or more at a stretch. He’d made the right investments. Bought the right shares. Scooped up properties and sold them for three times their worth after making improvements. He knewtongossips must discuss him with glee, dirtying his hands in business, but he’d kept his family from going under.

He was lonely, though. Not that Mary had been a witty companion. The poor girl never got over her initial shyness. He’d treated her with kindness. Given her all the pin money she desired. Even made love to her—and gotten her with child. After the first miscarriage, he was loath to touch her. After the second occurred, he didn’t for several months. Finally, she’d begged him, telling him only a baby would satisfy the emptiness inside her.

She’d died in childbirth.

At least he had Jenny. Sweet, sweet Jenny. When he felt the black cloud descending upon him, he would take a trip to the nursery and spend time with his daughter. She was fourteen months now. Toddling about. Calling him Papa. She had Mary’s blond hair and sweet disposition.

Cor was right. His daughter deserved a mother. Rachel, too, would need a feminine hand to guide her for her come-out in a couple of years. Cor might not be around by then. It was time for him to reenter society for their sakes. He needed to set the wagging tongues at rest and do what was right for Rachel and Jenny. Society would judge them by his actions and reputation. He wanted the best for them both.

He also wished for someone to share his life. Not some empty-headed miss straight from the schoolroom who’d bore him to the point of madness. Instead, Jeremy wanted a companion. A friend. A lover. He refused to have a woman bear his sons, though. Luke was maturing and would make an excellent duke someday.

Wistfully, his thoughts turned to Catherine Crawford and what had become of her. He knew she still cared for her invalid father at their country estate in Kent, near Canterbury, thanks to Charlotte. The two women corresponded on a regular basis and Charlotte would mention Catherine a few times a year. He never asked about her but eagerly took to heart any scraps of news that Charlotte shared. Anytime he traveled from London to Eversleigh, he thought of how they were no more than twenty miles apart—and yet a gulf wider than an ocean separated them.

Jeremy returned to his desk. He knew Morefield and Charlotte had returned to London two days ago since Morefield had sent a note informing him so. He hadn’t seen them yet. Knowing how Charlotte still loved to dance, despite her widening waistline, he assumed they would be at the Rutherford ball tonight. He dashed off a note to Morefield, telling him that he would be at tonight’s ball and rang for Barton.

“This is for Morefield.”

“I’ll see that it’s delivered at once, Your Grace.”

“And tell Manfry that I’ll be attending a ball tonight.”

The butler tried to hide his smile and failed. “Certainly, Your Grace. Manfry will be pleased at that news.”

With that, Jeremy pushed aside thoughts of dancing and empty talk of the weather and picked up a contract to review.

---