by Liz Tyner
He waited as his conveyance rolled into the street, letting his mind catch up to his body, leaving the solitude even more pronounced.
The night air had perfection in it, enhanced by the scent of a flowering bush in a nearby garden, or perhaps his own. He didn’t know.
He didn’t know what kind of plants grew in his garden and wondered if he was missing out on something.
In the distance, he heard a dog’s muffled whine which ended on a whimper, the poor soul sounding tortured. He questioned if the noise was an unusual occurrence, or if every night the animal barked just to hear himself.
Stars glowed overhead. Just as they always did on clear nights, he supposed. And they didn’t care if he saw them or not. They did as they wished.
But he knew that dark early mornings didn’t usually feel like this one. They weren’t so clear. So pristine. Wholesome. Alone.
He heard her words again. Cherish... Memory... Rushing into something...
He’d not realised how clichéd the phrases were. They’d been convenient in the past. But now they mocked him.
He contemplated his life while staring up at the heavens.
Even with the disastrous discussion with Rachael, he preferred the feel of the solemn night over the murky ones caused by too much revelry. The world he was created to be in. The celebrations of life. The laughter of others. Rachael’s world called to him as well.
The thought that had reverberated in his mind as she’d lain sleeping beside him had been how he’d wanted to see inside the world of other families when he’d talked to the drivers that night.
He’d wondered if Rachael’s parents were truly happy, or had created an illusion for their family. The coachmen had convinced him it was real.
He huffed. To merely create that appearance of happiness was a feat. One his own family hadn’t mastered easily.
One thing was an unknown factor in such an endeavour. The man he saw in the mirror. How could he ask Rachael into his world when he could not promise her happiness in it?
He didn’t want to grow old some day and see Rachael despairing. And he certainly never wanted her to entertain the idea that she would have been better off with Tenney.
He knew more about the social world and she knew more about a quiet home life and had the example of her parents’ marriage to examine. Just as he’d guided her in society, he’d begun to wonder if she could teach him about family.
He remembered the feeling when Payton had retorted that she’d probably had her embroidery needles named and his instinctive realisation that if she’d been born into higher society she would have already passed through his life.
Devlin had thought it all for her benefit, but now he saw how leading her into society had furthered his opportunity to pursue her. He’d not considered his own motives before.
Just as it always did, his mind seemed to be thinking without letting him in on the fact. He was grateful it was on his side.
Shaking his musings into the recesses where they would not trouble him, he strode into the house, past a doorway perfectly adorned by flowering vines.
He lived on one side of the house. His father lived on one floor and his mother another, and his brothers were spaced so everyone could take different paths and rarely run across each other.
A well-ordered family.
The butler greeted him, voice groggy from sleep, the servant pretending he’d been awake all along. The overstuffed chair at the base of the stairs had probably heard more snores than the man’s bed.
Devlin didn’t know why Tomlinson had stayed at his post so late. He wagered the one man knew more about the family’s lives than either his father, his mother or he knew.
Yet it could have been dedication that led to such knowledge. He wanted to find out.
He accepted the offer of a lamp to light the way to his suite, his excuse for entering the main doorway.
‘Does the Earl tell you to wait up until we are all home?’ he asked.
The butler stood straight. ‘No... Not now...’
Devlin waited.
‘When you were younger. Now I await your brothers.’
‘You stay up to see that Eldon and Oliver are home? Why?’ They were old enough to manage themselves, particularly when they were together.
‘The Earl. He asked me to.’
‘They’re with Payton and they might not even arrive home until daybreak. Our cousin will make sure they have no funds left to lose to him. Their allowances should go directly to him. Go to bed instead of waiting.’
‘I would, but your father may...’
One foot on the bottom tread, he stilled. ‘Is Father home?’ When the words left his mouth, he realised how often he’d asked them. How often he’d entered through the main entrance after his night out...to get the lamp the butler had for him...to ask if his father was home. Then, later, to ask if his younger brothers were home.
‘Yes.’ The butler’s words brightened. ‘He is.’
He took the steps two at a time, then stopped again. The butler hadn’t left the post. ‘Why does Father ask you to wait for my brothers?’
‘You’d have to ask him.’
Devlin reversed directions and strode into the second lamplight. He smiled at the butler. ‘What would your guess be?’
The butler spoke just as Devlin knew he would. Everyone trusted that smile and he supposed they should as it wasn’t false, just useful.
‘His children. He just wants to be reassured they are still returning home. That they are managing well.’
Devlin remained, knowing his presence, his relaxed question and his quietness prodded the man to continue. What good was a gift of encouraging people to talk if you didn’t use it?
‘Some day you’ll be doing the same to your children,’ the butler added. ‘On occasion, at night, the Earl wanders down the stairs and asks who is here.’
‘He could ask the next morning and he usually leaves his carriage for my brothers. The driver can let him know what transpired.’ A ruse Devlin had known his father used to keep up with him when he was younger.
‘But I suspect he resumes his sleep easier if everyone is at home. Or if he just hears word that all is well. It seems to soothe him and he rarely returns a second time in the same night. He’s said that if I’m not here, he knows everyone who is supposed to be home is in bed.’
‘Ah, we must have disturbed your night so many times...’
Tomlinson answered with brief nods and a smile. ‘I’m fortunate that I don’t need much sleep.’
‘I’ll hire someone to assist you so you don’t have to stay awake so often.’
The butler put his head down. ‘Your father already did and I let the young man help with my other duties. But I couldn’t let him take this one. Not often anyway.’ His words softened and he glanced up. ‘I feel better knowing everyone is safe.’
Devlin thanked the man, an inadequate gesture, but heartfelt, and continued up the stairs. He heard the butler settle into the easy chair. Another member of his family that he’d not realised existed.
He took the long hallway to his rooms.
Who knew? They’d been a family going their own directions his whole life, or so he’d thought.
A tradition he’d not really wanted to follow, but he’d not seen any reason to marry and risk adding another person who might clutter the peace it had taken them so long to obtain.
He laughed in the silent hallway as he thought of his father. Perhaps his family wasn’t as disconnected as he thought.
He remembered the thousands of times his father had told him to keep an eye on his brothers and watch out for them, then recited a litany of mistakes the boys could make.
His feet stilled and his mind whirled, racing over the nights of his youth.
He realised that part of the reciting of the mistakes his you
nger brothers could make was most likely for his benefit and he’d never suspected.
Likely his father had done something similar to his siblings. His brother had once complained to him that they were tired of hearing of Devlin’s missteps from their father and he wished he’d not been the youngest because their father constantly warned him not to do this or that because it hadn’t been well for Devlin. His brother had complained that Devlin had all the adventures and all the fun and they were being punished for it.
Devlin shook his head.
He’d thought himself watched carefully because, as his father reminded him so many times, he was the oldest, the heir, and he had to set a good example.
Changing direction, he went to his father’s rooms and knocked the same pattern he’d tapped on Rachael’s door.
He let himself in and his father jolted awake. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Tonight, I heard words I’d said before coming from someone else’s lips and it wasn’t a proud occasion.’
His father slumped back and reached out to fluff his pillow into the shape he wanted for his head. ‘If we were held accountable for every utterance...’ He slapped his pillow. ‘What words?’
‘The words where you say how much someone means to you, but really they don’t mean as much as they’d prefer.’
‘To that woman you saved from the fire?’
‘Yes.’ That his father knew of Rachael didn’t surprise him as it would have only moments earlier.
He snorted, slapped the pillow again and mumbled, ‘Woman must not have a thought in her head.’
‘Perhaps she has considerably functional ones.’
‘Surely not.’
‘I don’t know whether I’m relieved or my pride has been hurt. Or sad. Or what.’ He had been surprised at the reactions he’d felt when she’d spoken and wanted to rush out. He’d been incredulous. After all, they were so new to each other.
Next, he’d been engulfed by wave after wave of loss.
With the women trying to catch his attentions, when the friendships ran their course, he’d usually ended them or they’d naturally faded away.
The loss still surrounded him and seemed to be laughing at him in the darkness, calling him a fool.
Somehow, his conscience teased him that he valued her more for leaving quickly than he would have if she’d lingered.
He could not imagine what direction his brain was taking when it hinted he valued a woman more because she didn’t want to be with him.
His father pushed the covers to the side, put his feet into his slippers and stood, his nightshirt to his knees. He donned his robe. ‘Sounds like a wise woman.’
Devlin didn’t think he’d ever seen his father in a nightshirt without a dressing gown, but then he’d never entered his father’s room in the middle of the night.
His father snapped his fingers. ‘There’s a hundred women who’d say yes to you if you asked them tomorrow. Easily a hundred.’
‘Not a thousand?’ Devlin asked and his father stopped moving and peered around the room as if he’d not seen it before.
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ He glanced at Devlin and recovered his poise. ‘Well, perhaps I overestimated. Ten. Eleven on a good day...’
He took off his dressing gown before he’d even tied it and threw it to the bedpost. ‘Women fall easily at your feet. Just like they did at mine when I was younger. It becomes about the conquest. Not the woman.’ He returned to his spot between the covers and picked at them, placing them just so. ‘They’re all so perfect. Perfect. At first, anyway. It has to be about the conquest because when you get to know them better, they’re all irritating. They’re all blemished. Just like us. Your mother is the best of the lot.’
Instantly, Devlin reacted, his voice light. ‘I searched throughout all London until I was certain I’d found the only woman who’d not be interested.’
His father chuckled. ‘That’s what I expected you did. Don’t worry, son, the next one will be daft enough to please you. You’ve practically been tripping over agreeable ones your whole life.’
‘It was time I met one who’s particular.’ Devlin noted how easily the smile came to his own lips. How easy to find words that would diffuse his father’s irritation.
His father deliberated on Devlin. ‘Is that all you woke me up for?’
‘I came in to tell you that and that you’re tolerable.’
‘You’re tolerable, too, son. Now that you’re older. Sometimes better than tolerable. Sometimes not.’
‘Sometimes you’re better than tolerable also.’
His father burrowed into the bed, rolled over and pulled the covers high. ‘Now go to sleep. And don’t darken my bedroom door again unless you need fatherly advice.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll be glad to give you hours of it.’
‘You probably won’t chance upon me here again, then,’ Devlin said and walked over to tap his father on the foot that was hidden in the covers. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Same to you.’
Devlin left, taking the lamp.
His father’s words might have had some truth in them.
He tried to think of anyone he’d ever been unable to convince to do as he wished and his mind flickered to Rachael.
As a viscount, with a fortune at his fingertips and an amiable attitude, people found it easier to accommodate him than not. He really asked so little of anyone. Truly asked nothing of them in most instances.
He’d also fallen into the same trap of the people around him. He’d fallen for his own easiness.
He walked the hallway to his rooms just as he had so many nights before.
He was little different from the barrister. Rachael, as a secret merchant, had her own thoughts and he’d not expected that. He’d expected her to put everything aside to turn her attention to him.
He’d expected Rachael to refuse to make love until he’d proposed. Perhaps even obtained a Special Licence. He’d truly expected that. That he’d been prepared for.
Inside his sitting room, he didn’t stop until he reached his bedside and put the lamp on the table.
He felt in his waistcoat pocket and took out the small parcel not purchased from her father’s building. He’d not wanted her to know he had it for her.
Unwrapping it, he extricated the trinket. He’d had the choice to go either to ornate or to the plain. He’d seen the gaudy stone Tenney had given her and known that simple would be best.
Turning the gold band with a ruby stone in his fingers, he imagined it on Rachael.
He’d not presumed she would even think of any financial concerns after they’d made love. His laughter at himself sounded hollow in the room.
He’d not planned on a secret merchant for a wife. He’d known that his skilled man of affairs could take on the particulars of the business and evaluate each on merit, giving Albright a say in minor decisions. Rachael would be relieved—at least she had been in his imagination.
Now he wondered if he’d been thinking like society and not taking her dreams into consideration. It was more than just her dreams he needed to understand. It was her willingness to educate herself in the endeavour and accept challenges.
He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. Rachael was willing to take on the strategies needed to succeed, even though she was afraid. She had a warrior’s heart hidden inside.
The ring reminded him of the folly of his thoughts and he slipped it on his little finger, then took it off. Rachael had a trove of trinkets at her fingertips and more than likely a discerning eye for only the best of jewellery.
He had no knowledge of baubles, but he did have an understanding of what made true beauty, and he hoped that he hadn’t directed Rachael to destroy the true loveliness that was inside her in an attempt for her to become accepted by society.
But he didn’t know the real woman, or perhaps he did,
and that was why he’d considered her for a wife.
He’d encouraged her to concentrate on her father’s business and she’d taken his advice.
He’d not thought how it could change his life.
The old Rachael would have wed him. The new one that he’d influenced her to be had reservations about a commitment.
The old Rachael would have been easy to please. A keepsake that would have satisfied her of his devotion and care. She would have liked the little trinket and been satisfied.
This Rachael expected more.
Perhaps she wanted the impossible, but he wasn’t sure exactly what that was. He didn’t know if she was aware either.
The jewel he held was just a token. It didn’t prove anything. He walked to the window, opened it and thought about tossing it outside. It would be the second ring he’d disposed of that way. But he couldn’t. Not this one. It was the one he’d selected for Rachael.
Then he shut the window and twisted the latch one sharp turn. The latch broke, scraping his fingers.
He held the cold, broken metal in his fist, but the window was locked, and he couldn’t toss it out.
He sat on his bed and examined the ring. Examined his life and what he wanted for his future.
Then he slipped the circle on his smallest finger.
Chapter Twenty
Devlin travelled to Rachael’s house at near teatime. When the butler told him Rachael wasn’t at home, the information hit him like a jab to the stomach. He spoke before thinking. ‘Are you telling the truth?’
The man moved a half-step away in reaction.
Devlin remembered his manners. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound harsh. I was just disappointed, and I thought...she might truly be home and not wish to see me.’
The butler smiled, eyes knowing, then spoke. ‘She really isn’t.’
Instantly, he realised where she was, gave the servant a nod of thanks and went on a search for her.