My Captive Duchess (The Reeves of Reeves Hall #1)

Chapter 12

Broek

I watch Jane’s window from my lair, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but tonight, I am not rewarded with any sighting. The light goes on in her bedchamber, then soon thereafter is snuffed out, in a change to her usual routine.

I frown, wondering what is going on at Penhale Manor. The note she sent me stated there was some matter she wished to discuss. It can only mean one thing. She has changed her mind and decided to sell. If she is dining on soup and bread, then her situation is more parlous than I had thought. That knowledge is enough to ignite my rage once more. Damn the female! Had she but accepted my offer first time, none of this drastic economising would have been necessary.

I retire to bed in an ill temper and wake with no discernible improvement in my mood. At breakfast, I am sullen and morose. My family, thankfully, knows better than to engage me in conversation when I am under such a dark spell. As soon as I am done with the meal, I bark a message on my communicating device—hidden within a signet ring on my finger—asking for my horse to be saddled.

“Going somewhere?” enquires Liora.

I do not respond, merely stand and make my way out of the room. Grabbing hold of my tailcoat, I slip my arms into it then sit on the bench by the door to pull on my boots, grimacing with the effort. Great Yol but I despise these garbs! Once I am ready, I stride quickly out of the front door, to find Galok waiting at the foot of the steps with my horse. “Thank you,” I say brusquely, already lifting my foot to the stirrups. Within seconds, I am galloping away.

I reach Penhale Manor a short time later, dismounting and throwing the reins to a servant that comes out from the stable at the sound of my horse’s hooves on the cobbled stones. I take the steps up to the house two at a time and ring the bell. When the door opens, I boom, “I am here to see the duchess.”

The maid bobs a curtsy, inviting me inside then leading me to the parlour. I wait there, walking about, too distracted to sit. It is not long before the door opens and a pale-faced Jane enters the room. “Mr Reeves,” she says impassively.

“Duchess,” I grit out.

She points to a set of chairs by the fireplace, and we both take our seats. I decide to get straight to the point. “So, you wish to sell Penhale Manor,” I state decisively.

At this she stiffens. “What makes you so certain that I wish to sell, Mr Reeves?” she demands.

“Is that not the matter for which you have summoned me?” I counter.

She hesitates, then nods, dropping her eyes to gaze at her joined hands. There is a moment’s silence between us. Then I tell her, “My offer still stands. In fact, I am willing to raise it to ￡3,600.”

Her gaze flies to me in pained confusion. “There is no need to do so,” she cries. “I do not want your charity, sir.”

“It is not charity,” I respond smoothly. “I am a fair man, Duchess, and wish to take into account the many improvements you have made to the house since my last offer. I believe the additional ￡100 is an honest reflection of the expense and effort that has been expended.”

“It is still very generous, Mr Reeves, but I thank you, sir,” she murmurs.

“Then, if you are in agreement, I will have my solicitor draw up the contract of sale.” I pause before I go on, “It may take a week, perhaps two, for the contract to be made ready. In the intervening time, I should like to propose that we seal our bargain with a sum of ￡100, which I shall make sure to send forthwith.”

She wrinkles her brow at this. “Is it quite necessary? I assure you, once I have given my word, that I will not back out from the agreement.”

“And I assure you that neither will I, yet I would prefer that we supplement our word of honour with this small advance on the final amount.” I see her hesitate and harden my tone. “Do not be prideful, Jane.”

A fire returns to her eyes, as I had hoped. “I can hardly be accused of being prideful,” she bristles, “when circumstance makes me accept an offer I would otherwise decline.”

“It was pride that made you decline it in the first place,” I assert, rising to my feet. “Now, cease with the arguing. The deal is done. Good day, Duchess.” I do not wait for a response but stride out of the room to take my leave.

On the ride back to Reeves Hall, I am hardly more cheery than before, though I ought to be well satisfied. Have I not accomplished all I set out to do? Penhale Manor is mine, and the duchess will soon move to far more appropriate lodgings where she can live comfortably with her daughter. Furthermore, before the day is out, she will also be in funds enough to have a decent supper. A good morning’s work this has been.

Yet still, the pall that has been cast over my mood does not dissipate. I had enjoyed sparring with my duchess, and now that it is over, this victory, if one could call it such, feels very hollow indeed.