by Liz Tyner
‘Yes. I noticed. She is an inspiration. You cannot miss her.’
Then he glanced at the Duchess, unsmiling. ‘I knew her when she was just plain Meg.’
When the dance ended, Devlin deposited her near some of the other couples he knew and managed to get her included in the conversation before he left.
* * *
Rachael didn’t say a word, but followed her mother up the stairs after they’d arrived home. Her father had taken a detour by the kitchen.
At the top of the stairs, the older woman turned and interlaced her arm through Rachael’s. ‘I saw you dancing with Devlin. I trust you to be sensible. If he is anything like his father, he isn’t at all reliable. Do take care with your reputation.’
‘I know. I know the risk I take.’ They stopped in the hallway and Rachael pulled away from her mother.
‘Then why do you take it?’
‘He may have saved my life once.’
‘A nice thank-you letter to his mother would suffice. I took care of that for you.’
‘And he’s giving me support as I put Mr Tenney behind me and he’s helping me feel comfortable among the ton so I can be an ambassador for Father’s undertakings.’
‘I’ve never regretted marrying your father.’ Her mother reached to Rachael, combing an errant lock behind her daughter’s ear. ‘But if I had wed differently, you might have had a stronger place in society.’
‘I’m completely happy with the way things have worked out.’ Except perhaps she might have liked to have been in Devlin’s social world. Someone he’d known all of his life and might consider like he’d—he’d thought of plain Meg.
Her mother put her hands in a prayer-like clasp and touched her forefinger against her lips. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m reading Grandfather’s book.’ That was true. And the life she was destined for. The life she promised herself she would have.
‘You should not be reading that. It is not for women. Besides, your grandfather didn’t approve of me and the man noted I was too high-born for his son. Perhaps that is why I can’t discourage you with Devlin. You belong in that world, Rachael, even if you don’t know it.’
‘If Grandfather had lived longer, been as wise as everyone says, and known you better, he would have thought you perfect.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘I have a duty to continue his legacy.’
‘Your duty is to follow in my footsteps. To have children and to be a mother. What could be more important than that?’
She didn’t want to tell her mother that providing for her parents could be foremost in her mind. ‘I will always have your example in my heart.’
‘Then surely you don’t want to spend one second thinking about the drudgery that Grimsley handles?’
‘I do. Our largest sales are to people who live in the best houses, but I think we can get many smaller ones by also creating a welcoming place for people of middling fortunes.’
Her mother grimaced. ‘You sound like your grandfather. I used to hate when he would visit and all he would want to do is talk with his son about the shops. Your father put up with it out of duty.’
‘I wish I had known my grandfather.’
Her mother put a hand on Rachael’s shoulder. ‘He rather liked his own way. Much like the rest of us. Even you. That may have been why you accepted Tenney. He didn’t disturb your life.’
‘I seriously considered Mr Tenney and concluded he wanted the same goals for us that I had. So, I erred tremendously. I tried to do everything exactly right and did as I believe I was destined. And that ended in a heap of nothing.’
‘He thinks you were scarred by the accident. I’ve heard the rumours. I have tried to quash that, but everyone believes I am merely defending my daughter.’
‘Oh, please, let them believe that.’ It would keep others from speculating on her family’s finances.
‘I would like to have discovered that Tenney would have placed me above everything else in life...at least before marriage,’ Rachael continued. ‘I have been fortunate to discover how shallow he is.’
‘But now you’re acquainted with the Viscount. He may not be any more substantial than Mr Tenney.’
‘He’s far more aware than Tenney. He sees me as a person. Not a wife.’
The room was silent.
Her mother answered slowly, ‘A wife is such a bad thing?’
‘I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant I waited years expecting marriage. I don’t want to fall into a mire a second time. I like the Viscount. He is a friend.’
‘If he just wants companionship, he should get a puppy. But do as you wish.’ She shook her head. ‘You will anyway, I suspect. Again, you are like your grandfather. My husband’s family concluded I would beggar him and my family perceived him beneath me. But we loved each other and have had so much happiness. So, I can’t tell you what to think. If either your father or I had taken our parents’ advice, we would never have married.’
‘Don’t worry.’ She put her arms around her mother’s shoulders and drew her close for a second.
Her mother patted Rachael’s elbow.
‘I know the risks,’ Rachael said.
‘I hope you tread carefully and know I will always be here for you. I like the Viscount much better than Mr Tenney and not only because he saved your life. But I fear he is not as insincere as he lets on and that, perhaps, is what worries me. Perhaps he is deep enough to make you love him, but not deep enough to return the feelings as you deserve.’
‘Would you think less of me if I told you that I wish to be selfish? If a man can leave his feelings behind, then I should be able to also.’
‘You aren’t like that.’
She paused. ‘I want our family to be a financial success more than ever before. That is what I want more than anything. That will give me purpose and make me proud to be a spinster.’
‘Don’t use him to get more business for your father.’
‘Devlin is agreeable to it. We may meet at some point to discuss it.’
‘Rachael.’ Her mother gasped the word.
‘I like him, Mother, and he is straightforward with me and I am honest with him. Perhaps we are two of a kind.’
‘Now I will not sleep a wink.’
‘You can sleep peacefully.’
‘Plubbt...’ her mother gasped. A garble. ‘I’m not that forgetful. I know what it is like to be young.’ She turned, her face hidden. ‘But I understand.’
‘Don’t worry.’
Her mother dotted a handkerchief to her forehead. ‘I’ll worry. His father has a chipped tooth.’
Chapter Seventeen
The next night Rachael crept down the stairs, holding a lamp and a plate of biscuits, and a pencil and paper were tucked into the book under her arm. She’d left her book of Byron’s poetry behind.
She unpacked her bounty and sat by the entryway in the overstuffed chair, prepared for a night of reading.
The butler heard her and appeared, giving her one of those I know what you’re about glances and she tried to answer with a so do I, but it had more of a waver in it. ‘I will be fine.’
He hesitated.
‘I expect to inherit this home some day,’ she said. He left.
Rachael lifted The Complete English Tradesman, but couldn’t concentrate on it.
She hoped she knew what she was doing. For the past two days she had studied ledgers and multiplications and cosmetics. The new understanding of the ledgers had jarred her and she needed comfort and couldn’t find it in a pot of lip stain.
She needed to feel Devlin’s strength and assuredness that everything would work out. And it might not. If her father lost everything, she and her mother would as well. Then she would have to marry for money and whoever she married would always wonder if she’d have chosen him if he
r fortunes hadn’t changed.
The business had to succeed.
She considered whether she would have liked to have lived in a way that the words mad, bad and dangerous to know could have applied to her, even if they were exaggerated, and decided she wouldn’t.
She was reserved, restrained and asleep before nine.
But it was well past nine.
She’d eaten one and a half biscuits and read part of a chapter when she heard the pattern of raps.
A knock sounded and echoed in the empty entryway. She paused. It would change the course of her life for ever if she didn’t move. It would be the safest thing. And she could endeavour to get invitations through her mother’s relatives.
But then it was as if her heart had stopped beating.
She leapt to her feet and opened the door. He stood there, a dark shadow with an emotionless face that told her more than if he had smiled.
Her pulse pounded and her mind raced so fast everything else slowed by comparison. Her body responded to him, every feeling heightened—from the tips of her toes to her fingers to her breathing.
His eyes—the ones she thought lacked emotion—didn’t.
He stood, strong enough to hold the ribbons of two horses going opposite directions and keep them steady, a man whose body had been naturally created for strength, and who was so used to it that it couldn’t be imagined any other way. She could have spent all her life imagining a man built to perfection and her mind would never have been able to conjure Devlin.
His face was recently shaven, as if he’d known that the morning one wouldn’t last throughout the night.
She closed the door behind him.
Her composure faltered and she retreated into her manners. She reached for the plate. ‘Have a biscuit,’ she said.
He picked up the lemon one she’d half eaten. ‘I take it you didn’t like this one?’
‘Yes. No.’ She heard herself and ducked her head.
He popped it in his mouth, chewed once, then swallowed. ‘Thank you.’
‘Mother mentioned that your father has a chipped tooth and I should remember it.’
‘She was warning you about my family’s trials,’ he said. ‘Rumour has it that a man had the audacity to throw a teapot at an earl, chipping a tooth.’
‘That’s wrong.’
‘Father said he shouldn’t have been at the man’s house, in the wife’s room, having tea, with the husband gone for the night.’
‘Tea.’
‘Yes. Truly. Tea and biscuits.’
‘That must have been tense.’
‘Father said it is not to be repeated. He was thankful the tea had cooled and that they had not been polishing a broadsword.’
Silence lengthened between them and she wanted to end it.
She bit her lip. ‘I wonder if the teapot was one produced for us. One should always check the marking on a teapot,’ she said. ‘One wouldn’t want to throw one of inferior quality.’
‘I doubt he paid any attention. He was more concerned with escaping with all his parts intact. I think it changed his perspective.’
‘Then I’m pleased a teapot could help change someone’s life.’
A silence drifted between them again and she touched his sleeve. ‘Thank you for the efforts to make me more comfortable in society. I view it as an act with everyone in on the performance.’
He gave a nod of approval.
‘Your mother guided me after you left,’ she said. ‘She chatted with a few people with whom she expected I might share a common interest and introduced me to Susanna Winston, whose betrothed had died. I embarrassed myself by replying that we cannot all be so fortunate.’ Rachael shrugged. ‘But after Susanna had spluttered somewhat, she then laughed. But she had loved him and had been devastated.’
‘Lord Johnstone. What did you think of him? You spoke with him while I was there and danced a reel with him.’
‘Yes. A forlorn lord who’d lost his wife and was just out of mourning.’ A shoulder shrug. Words tossed aside with a flip of her hand, but he caught her fingers and she let them rest in his, amazed at how much warmth could flow between two people simply touching.
‘He’s not a bad sort.’
‘He gulped away tears when he spoke of his lost wife, but then a peach tart distracted him.’
‘That’s Lord Johnstone. The one and only.’ Their clasped fingers rested between them and he ran a fingertip over the knuckles of her hand. ‘He would likely wed you if you pursued him and threw in a few confectioneries.’
‘Contrary to what the world thinks, marriage is not my goal.’ She contemplated. ‘Which is good for me. Everyone thinks I’m attending to society because of the broken betrothal. Not because of the vagaries of business.’
‘Spoken like someone with an eye to commerce.’
‘Did you enjoy the evening?’ She had to know. After he’d slipped away, she doubted he’d returned home. But that was his way of life. What she would expect of him. Not to spend his nights doing something that might be admirable, but something entertaining.
‘A little long. A little dull after I left the party.’ He looked at her as if to say after he’d left her. ‘I’d promised to finally make good on my promise to Payton to join a few card games. Some drink. Light stakes.’
This time she didn’t move closer to him, but she didn’t have to. Only their hands were touching, but it felt as if they were one person.
He shrugged. ‘Payton was there so I knew not to wager much. The odds are not in favour of anyone who bets against him. I mainly played to watch him win. An attempt at trying to work out how he does it.’
‘You relish gambling?’
‘No. I enjoy the camaraderie, but even that bores me sometimes. It appears I’m gracious when I’m winning and leave, but I’m not. I’m just doing what I wish and everyone assigns me good motives. I’m always assumed to have the best of intentions.
‘It’s true.’ His face was towards her. ‘The perfect society events usually fascinate me for the first hour or so, and after I’ve spoken with everyone I leave, ready to search out friends for more revelry. I enjoy them immensely at first, get bored, then I want to find something else. Often, of late...’ he chuckled, an inward jab at himself ‘...I sometimes just long for my own bed and my own pillow.’
Perhaps he was more of a homebody than she expected. Not entirely the devil-may-care man he appeared. Or, perhaps, he just knew so well what to say.
‘The first dance that I attended with you there... I can’t think it bored you.’
‘The night rather grabbed me by the throat.’ He regarded the floor, shaking his head before giving her a gaze followed by a commanding glare. ‘Don’t do that again.’
‘Once you’ve experienced it, it doesn’t bear repeating.’
‘It was a living nightmare. What if I hadn’t been there? I was so grateful I’d promised Mother I’d stay until the end. I hadn’t wanted to. But I knew it meant a lot to Mother, particularly as my brothers left earlier. The longest night of my life was in the seconds I ran across the room.’
‘I didn’t really comprehend what was going on.’ It wasn’t the longest night of her life. It was a second, a flash, the Viscount throwing his body against her and people staring. She’d really not understood what was happening, except she was in pain and everyone was aghast. A secret that she hoped to take to her grave was that she’d almost slapped him, except somewhere deep in her brain she’d had a realisation that he had just saved her.
‘That night, later, I woke up, the enormity of what had happened blasting into me. And the scent you wore. Even with the toasted silk around you, it was as if you smelled of a summer day’s innocence.’
She held her wrist in his direction. ‘The same perfume I’m wearing now.’ Nothing special. ‘I couldn’t believe—and can’t—after all
that has happened—you were interested in what my hair smelled like. I could give you a bottle of the mixture.’
He took her hand in the same way he’d clasp a dandelion stem, not wanting to disperse the fluff. He lifted her closer, her arm rising, and he kissed the little hollow opposite her elbow.
She was off balance and only in place because of his strength.
‘It would never be so enticing in a bottle. Never. Or never on another woman.’ He took his time, rubbing his cheek along her skin, letting the bristles rub against her. She stilled. Savouring. Breathing. He had some power over her body that she’d never experienced before. When he’d rescued her, he’d changed the connection between them for ever. She understood now the legend of owing your life to the person who’d saved you.
It was not based in fact, but in the emotional realisation that the person had given you the opportunity to live another day.
‘I didn’t even know you, but within a few moments, I’d always known you,’ he added, reflecting her unspoken words. ‘Almost that we were a part of each other. I’d never been so close to a woman before in such a short time.’
She knew what he meant. Could see it. Just an honest statement from him filled with nothing but the truth. And she’d experienced the same connection with him.
‘I’m grateful.’ She filled her body with a breath, freeing her from the emotional hold he’d captured her with and she could have stepped further from him, but she didn’t want to.
With a caress, he released her wrist. ‘I remember that giant ring,’ he said. ‘You stared at it as if someone you cared about had given it to you. I envied the person who’d captured your attention so wholly and I couldn’t ignore you. Probably why I realised you were in danger. My senses had heightened where you were concerned, almost blurring out anything not connected to you.’
He laughed softly. ‘Later, I woke up thinking of you. Hoping you would be in the library. Disappointed at first you weren’t. Then surprised by you and the relief I felt. On the inside, I could have wept for joy. You were basically unharmed and you were also mortal. Not a dream I had imagined. I’d begun to wonder if I had conjured the intensity I’d experienced around you.’