"You. knew?"
"Not always. Did you know?"
"When I. left."
She put a finger to his lips very gently. "I'm sur-prised she told you at all. I had always wondered about the affinity I felt for you, but not for your sister or brothers. I finally asked your mother right out. She wouldn't answer. It couldn't have been something she would have wanted to admit, that her oldest daughter wasn't the only one to bear my father a child. But that she wouldn't deny it was answer enough for me, es-pecially since I so wanted it to be true."
"Jessie, don't you think this conversation ought to wait for a better time?" Chase said.
She nodded and let her finger trail away in a loving caress across Colt's cheek. It was the signal for the two men standing behind him to step forward and grasp his arms. Colt closed his eyes again when Chase moved directly in front of him.
"Sorry, my friend."
"Don't be an ass, Chase," Jessie said matter-of-factly, earning an I'U-get-you-later-for-that-crack glance from her husband, which she typically ignored. "It's the only thing he'll have to be grateful for on this hellish day. Get it over with."
Chase did, drawing back his fist and letting fly with it toward Colt's jaw.
Chapter Two
Cheshire, England, 1878
Vanessa Britten ignored the embroidery in her lap aid watched the duchess complete another circle of the room. She wouldn't exactly call it pacing the floorboards. She doubted the girl was even aware that she was wearing a path in the fine Eastern carpet.
Who would have thought the duchess would even care about the little tragedy taking place upstairs.
Vanessa certainly hadn't thought it was possible when she had accepted the position as companion to the nineteen-year-old duchess just last month. It was such a common thing, young girls wedding older lords for their wealth and titles. And Jocelyn Fleming had latched onto one of the best catches, Edward Flem-ing, sixth Duke of Eaton, in his late middle years and already ailing when they wed last year.
But it didn't take long for Vanessa to change her opinion of the young Duchess of Eaton. Oh, she had certainly been destitute when the duke had proposed to her. Her father had owned a stud farm in Devon-shire, one of the finest in England, if Jocelyn could be believed. But like a great many of his contemporaries, he was a man who had a detrimental fondness for gambling, and when he died, he was so in debt that Jocelyn was left without a farthing. Edward Fleming had literally saved the poor girl from what was considered the worst of the worst for a gently reared lady — seeking employment.
Vanessa could only have said "Good show" to such a feat. She loved success stories, wasn't the type to begrudge another a little good fortune or a lot, as in the duchess's case. But Jocelyn Fleming wasn't the fortune huntress she had first assumed her to be.
Vanessa had lived too many years in London, where her peers were a cold-blooded lot, out for anything and everything they could get. Jocelyn wouldn't know how to be cold-blooded if she tried. She was too na-ive by half, too open and trusting, too innocent to be believed. And yet she really was exactly what she seemed. The most amazing thing about her was that she really loved the man who was at this moment upstairs dying.
Vanessa had been hired for this very contingency. The duke had taken many unusual precautions over the past months, selling unentailed properties, trans-ferring money out of the country, buying the essen-tials needed for traveling. He had taken care of all the necessary details. The only thing Jocelyn and her rather large entourage needed to do was leave. Even the packing was already done.
Vanessa had been quite skeptical of the reasons for this foresight on the duke's part until she met his dis-tant relations, the "vultures," as he called them, who were waiting to descend on his estate and pick it apart.
If ever a fellow could be termed avaricious and on the hard side of ruthless, it was Maurice Fleming, present heir to the dukedom. Edward had no immediate family. Maurice was a mere cousin, once re-moved, whom the duke could not tolerate to be even in the same room with. But Maurice had a large family of in-laws to support, as well as a mother and four sisters, and to say he had been avidly awaiting Edward's demise would be putting it mildly. He also had spies in Fleming Hall keeping him apprised of Edward's condition, and the moment the duke was pro-nounced dead, the knocker would undoubtedly sound at the front door.
Poor Jocelyn was in the middle of what could only be termed a family feud of long standing. Edward's relations had done their best to convince him not to wed her. Failing that, they had made certain threats, not in Edward's hearing, but he had nonetheless learned of them. He was not just being overprotective in all the preparations he had made for his young wife's future.
Vanessa would be the first to agree now that it would be folly to remain in England to tempt the fates.
The new duke was not going to sit by idly while the bulk of the Fleming estate flew out of his reach. He would do everything within his power to get it back, and in his position as the new Duke of Eaton, his power was going to be immense. But Edward was bound and determined that Maurice and his greedy family should have nothing of his that was not en-tailed, that it should all belong to Jocelyn for her loy-alty and selfless devotion to him.
If anyone needed Vanessa's advice and guidance, this young girl with the teary eyes did. Jocelyn didn't want to leave England and all that was familiar to her. She had been arguing with her husband since he first suggested it, to no avail. She was like a child in that respect, fearing the unknown. She couldn't grasp the danger to herself if she stayed and fell under Mau-rice's control. Vanessa could. Good Lord, it didn't bear thinking of. Jocelyn might be the duchess, soon to be the duchess dowager, for Maurice had a wife who would be the new Duchess of Eaton, but Jocelyn's title would give her no protection at all if Mau-rice managed to get his hands on her.
"Your Grace?" The housekeeper appeared hesi-tantly in the doorway, the queen's own physician at her side. "Your Grace?"
It took one more "Your Grace" before Jocelyn could be called back from her gloomy thoughts to the present. Vanessa could see that she had still held hope, however small. But one look at the physician's expression and that hope died a final death.
"How long?" Jocelyn asked in a tiny voice.
"Tonight, Your Grace," the old physician re-plied. "I'm sorry. We knew it was only a matter of time…"
His voice trailed off.
"May I see him now?"
" Certainly. He is asking for you."
Jocelyn. nodded and squared her shoulders. If she had learned anything from her husband this past year, it was poise and a certain self-confidence that came from a position of importance. She wouldn't cry, not in front of the servants. But once alone.
He was only fifty-five years old. His brown hair had been sparsely peppered with gray four years ago, when Jocelyn had first met him. He had come to Dev-onshire to purchase a hunter from her father. She had recommended a less showy mount, and Edward had taken her advice over her father's trainer's. The hunter she had favored had more heart, more stamina. Edward wasn't sorry.
He came back the next year for a pair of racers. Again he bought only on her recommendation. She was terribly flattered. She knew horses, had been raised with them, but no one would take her seriously because of her tender age. Edward Fleming, though, had been impressed with her knowledge and confi-dence. The Thoroughbreds she had sold him had since earned him a great deal of money. Again he wasn't sorry. And somehow, they became friends, despite the vast difference in their ages.