The Devil's Own

by Liana Lefey

  He’d missed this, missed being with people who wanted to be close to him not for his money or what he could do for them, but because they loved him. Inside, a tightly coiled spring began to relax, relieved of a constant tension he hadn’t known was there until its absence.

  …

  Two days later

  The blank walls of her still-undecorated bedroom stared back at Mary. In her hand rested a silver-backed brush, but she couldn’t seem to make herself move.

  “What’s wrong with me that he continues to be so utterly blind?” she whispered aloud to the empty room. Other men regarded her with admiration. Why not him?

  Last week, the handsome vicar had attended a public dance in the village. At first, her spirits had risen. She’d find a way to make him dance with her—he couldn’t fail to notice his dancing partner! But all such hopes had been quickly dashed on learning he’d come only to serve as a chaperone for his sister, Lady Diana.

  Though others had been disgruntled over the fact that the Duke of Winterbourne’s substantially dowered half sister had drawn the bulk of the male attention, Mary hadn’t cared. She’d suffered no lack of dance partners, but Reverend Wayward had not been among them. To be fair, he’d disappointed all the other hopefuls, as well. When he wasn’t actively ushering his sister about, he was talking to the men and matrons of the village.

  Papa had spoken with him for at least ten minutes that night concerning delays in the construction of the bridge he’d designed. Having already been introduced, Mary had stood right beside him throughout the conversation, hoping he’d ask her to dance at the end.

  No such luck. Just as he’d done every Sunday, he’d acknowledged her with a cordial nod and no more.

  Just thinking about it made her want to fling something breakable at a wall.

  At this rate, Augie will be married before I am, and at a year younger, too. With a snort of discontent, she continued brushing out her hair. Handsome the reverend might be, but his good looks did no one any good as long as he refused to marry.

  At one point during the ball, she’d heard one disgruntled lady comment rather shockingly to another that she suspected him of being attracted to other men. But Mary had already concluded he was not. His eyes never lingered on anyone unless it was during a conversation, and then his gaze never wandered from that lucky person’s face.

  How she longed to be the one to make those blue eyes stray! But it seemed nothing, save perhaps nakedness, might attract his notice.

  In her mind’s eye, she envisioned them happily married. She’d greet her husband for dinner dressed in naught but her robe and shift. His beautiful eyes would widen as she let slip the robe from her shoulders, the dinner forgotten, and she’d step into his open arms—

  “Mary?”

  Flinching, she dropped the brush and bent to retrieve it, her face afire. “Y-yes, Mama?”

  “Good heavens,” said her mother with a frown. “Has Ginny not yet come up to fix your hair?”

  Mary shook her head, struggling to hide her discomfiture.

  Mumbling about the shiftless nature of certain servants, her mother bustled in, plucked the brush from her daughter’s numb fingers, and began the business of detangling the heavy mass of her hair. “You know, it’s been several months now. You could hang a painting or two in here to cheer it up a bit.”

  “What’s the point?” answered Mary. “We’ll be leaving as soon as the Season begins.” And once Papa’s bridge was finished being built, there would be no reason to come back. They’d go to London for the Season, and if she didn’t marry while there, they’d settle afterward in whatever town Papa’s next project was located.

  Her mother didn’t acknowledge the old complaint. “Mrs. Barnes will be coming by later for tea,” she informed Mary. “You remember her son, Anthony?”

  She barely refrained from groaning. Anthony’s father owned the local brickworks and had become fast friends with Papa. She was not fond of the ham-handed young man. “Yes, of course,” she answered dutifully, wincing as her mother pulled on a hank of hair. “Will he be accompanying her?” She held her breath in dread.

  “No, but I believe she may be coming to represent his interest in you.”

  Oh, merciful heaven! “What makes you think such is her intent?”

  A triumphant little smile lifted the corners of her mother’s mouth. “Earlier this week, we chanced to meet in the village while selecting fabric. Some little way into our conversation, she told me that her son admires you a great deal.”

  The thought brought her no pleasure and more than a little worry. “I cannot see why I should be anything special to him.”

  The brush stilled. “You dislike him?”

  “No,” she lied. “But…” She met her mother’s eyes in the mirror. “Oh, Mama. I’m sure he’d make someone a fine husband, but I’m afraid it cannot be me.”

  Her mother seemed to gather herself for a moment before speaking. “I know you think yourself skilled at keeping your thoughts to yourself, Mary, and I hate to destroy that illusion, but…your chances of marrying the Reverend Wayward are at best slim, if not nonexistent.”

  The heart in Mary’s chest all but stopped beating.

  “Oh, my child,” murmured her mother sympathetically. “Your liking for that particular gentleman is quite transparent.” Her gray eyes, so like Mary’s own, were sad and gentle. “Unfortunately, my dear, he is a man already wed—to his vocation. His mind is set on a higher purpose.” She held up a hand as Mary made to protest. “Such men have little interest in marriage.”

  “Surely he must want a family someday? He’s taken no vow of celibacy to prevent his marrying.”

  Her mother’s cheeks reddened. “Perhaps not, but you are not to go making a fool of yourself over the man when he has given you no encouragement. The Season is not that far off, and you don’t want people gossiping about you before we even get to London.”

  “Of course, Mama,” she said meekly, bowing her head so her mother could start plaiting her hair into a chignon. As if anyone else from the vicinity but Lady Diana is expected to make that trip! The thought elicited a wave of disappointment. Reverend Wayward would, of course, remain here.

  If only my parents could be persuaded to forego London this Season! But even now the dressmakers were plying their needles to sew her gowns, and Papa had already secured lodgings.

  “You’re not getting any younger, you know,” her mother commented drily. “It’s time to put aside wishful thinking and focus on what is actually possible.”

  Mary bit her tongue. At twenty-one, she was expected to end this Season engaged. Unlike her mother, she saw her age not as a detriment, but rather an advantage. Reverend Wayward seemed the sort of man to prefer the company of an intelligent, serious-minded woman over some giggly girl straight out of the schoolroom, but thus far she’d been unable to get his attention.

  There has to be a way… The scrape of the comb’s tines sliding against her scalp, securing the top of her coiffure, brought her back to the present. Her hair was done. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Finish dressing and then come down for breakfast. Be quick. You know how your father dislikes tardiness.”

  An hour later, Mary’s stomach was tight with nerves as she and her family walked the short distance to church. Her breath caught as she spied the reverend off to the side of the front door, meeting all comers with his typically sunny smile.

  She thrust her shoulders back and made ready. Look at me. See me.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine warmth as he greeted her family. His deep blue gaze, however, met hers for only the briefest instant before continuing its journey.

  Damn. Guilt assailed her as she passed beneath the archway. Entering the house of the Lord with a curse, albeit an unspoken one, was hardly the way to win His favor when she planned to beg for His servant to fall in lo
ve with her.

  She smiled and nodded to all she met, but their cordial greetings only made her more heartsore. Their faces were friendly enough, but there was no real warmth in their eyes. No joyful recognition. She and her family had been accepted in Harper’s Grove, but as guests, not as members of the community.

  And they were right to be so guarded. Newcomers were an unknown quantity. Time was required to establish trust and intimacy. Of all the young women she’d met here, only Augie, who’d been in Harper’s Grove less than a year, had extended to her the hand of true friendship.

  And I’ll be leaving her behind in a few months. Just as she’d done every friend she’d ever managed to make during her short stints in various towns across England. Maintaining contact through letters was all well and good, but after a time the letters tended to become fewer and farther between. Eventually, they stopped.

  She wanted a home. A real home. And she wanted it to be in Harper’s Grove. Of all the places she and her family had lived, this was her favorite. London held no appeal for her whatsoever. It was too big, too impersonal. She wanted to walk through the village and have people draw her aside to talk about their lives, share their secrets, or show off their babies. She wanted to be inside, enjoying the warmth and camaraderie with everyone, instead of always peering in through windows.

  After the service, Mary stayed behind to offer up a few more fervent pleas to the Almighty while the townsfolk gathered outside. Just as she was preparing to rise, the answer to her prayers reentered the sanctuary—unaccompanied.

  Hope leaped inside her like a startled rabbit as Reverend Wayward came to a halt beside her pew, his brow furrowed with concern. “Miss Tomblin, is it not?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, gazing up into his eyes.

  The frown deepened. “Your parents are outside. Should you not join them?”

  She wanted to look down, to pretend shyness, but she couldn’t bear to break the spell. He was seeing her. Actually seeing her. “I…I was praying.”

  Nodding solemnly, he lowered his voice. “Prayer is always a good way to begin solving any problem. If something is troubling you and you need to talk, I’m happy to provide counsel.”

  Thoughts jumbled, one atop the other, piling up on the tip of her tongue. But she couldn’t speak.

  “Miss Tomblin?”

  Say something! “You are all that is good and kind in this world,” she blurted, feeling her face heat. “I’ve wanted to tell you for ages that I—”

  “Mary?” called her mother’s voice from the door. “Oh, Reverend. My apologies. I did not know I was interrupting a private consult.” Her eyes flicked between the two of them and then narrowed as they came to rest again on her daughter. “Mary, your father and I are ready to depart.”

  Damn, damn, damn! She shot to her feet. “I was just telling Reverend Wayward about the…” She reached for words, but all vocabulary seemed to have fled her mind.

  “About your family’s participation in the upcoming charity bazaar,” he finished for her smoothly. His blue gaze, now full of caution, shifted to her mother. “I cannot begin to express my gratitude for your time and generosity.”

  The tension left her mother’s face as she answered, “It is our pleasure, of course.”

  Mary, relief washing over her, watched as he went over to her mother and continued to converse, leaving her standing alone at the end of her pew. Her heart withered in the fires of mortification and failure. Because of her impetuosity and ill-handling of her own sentiments, she’d been rejected. Though he’d not said anything to that effect, she knew it for a certainty. The object of her affection now regarded her with naught but wariness.

  Begging the Almighty would do no good now. He’d provided her with an opportunity to form a rapport, and she’d flubbed it. The good reverend would certainly never allow himself to be alone with her again.

  …

  Devlin gave himself over to laughter, tilting his head back to lean against the trunk of the tree in which they’d made their second home as boys. Now he wished he’d attended church this morning instead of claiming a headache to get out of it. “You really think she was about to make a declaration?”

  “I fail to see the humor in this situation,” bit out Daniel, flushing scarlet to the roots of his hair. “I told a falsehood to spare the poor girl any embarrassment, but now I must find a way to gently yet unequivocally let her know her affections are misplaced.” His hands raked through his hair, leaving it standing on end in places. He looked a complete madman.

  “I could do it for you.”

  His brother’s head snapped up. “What?”

  He grinned. “We used to do it all the time, remember? And we still can—Diana and Evangeline could not tell us apart, and they see you every week. ” But his brother was already shaking his head in denial. “Oh, go on! Think about it! Your Miss Tomblin is merely infatuated. I’ll set her straight, and next Sunday all will be back to normal.”

  “She’s not ‘my’ Miss Tomblin, and the answer is—”

  “I can ensure that she’s once and for all disabused of the idea,” Devlin tempted, giving his best “trust me” smile. “Once I’m done, she’ll never even look at y—”

  “Devlin…” His brother’s voice had lowered ominously.

  “I’d do it gently. She’ll never know the difference. You remember how good I was at it.”

  “We are not children anymore,” said Daniel, all tolerance vanishing in favor of the stern demeanor he usually reserved for delivering moral admonishments. “This is my problem to deal with, and deal with it, I shall. In my own way.” His frown deepened. “Besides, even if I were to allow such a deceit, there’s no way anyone would ever believe you are me. Not anymore. You’re a man of the world, saturated with its carnality and steeped in its avarice. You use your God-given gifts for your own personal gain and consort with gamblers and…others utterly lacking in morals. You would not fool a child, much less the people of this parish, who know me well. You’d be found out in an instant, and then I would be called upon to answer for the deception. No. Absolutely not.”

  Raising his hands, Devlin conceded. “Fine. Fine. I understand. I was only offering to help.” Letting out a long-suffering sigh, he shoved off from the tree’s support and dusted bits of bark off his rump. “You coming?”

  Daniel didn’t move. “Actually, I think I might stay out here a while longer. Alone,” he added. “I need to think about things. Pray for guidance. Tell the others I’ll be a few hours.”

  A few hours? He was going to pray for a few hours? A wicked idea began to form in Devlin’s mind. It was pure mischief—which of course meant it was completely irresistible. Making a sour face, he wiggled his fingers in farewell. “Have fun with that, then. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Turning, he strode down the orchard path with purpose. If his twin doubted his ability to still mimic him convincingly, then he would prove his skill. And if he happened to run into Miss Tomblin, he’d do Daniel a favor.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t think his brother capable of taking care of it on his own, but he knew how shy and awkward Danny was when it came to women. He was a gifted orator and could preach to a congregation with utter confidence, but he was a tongue-tied disaster when confronted with a flirtatious woman. Had his twin expressed any liking for the girl, he’d never consider intervening on his behalf, but it was clear she needed to be dissuaded. So, if the opportunity presented itself…

  His brother’s situation was a grim reminder of his own troubles. In little more than a week he was due to board a coach and return to London. If Miss St. Peters had not found a new target for her matrimonial machinations by the time he arrived, he’d have to find a way to evade her pursuit without ruining his business relationship with her father.

  He’d been wracking his brain for a solution that wouldn’t put him on the wrong side of things with St.
Peters. The man’s daughter was pampered and spoiled, given everything she wanted. He only hoped she hadn’t told her father he’d been added to her wish list. He’d figure it out sooner or later. In the meantime, he had other pursuits to attend to.

  Slipping into his brother’s room, he disrobed with all haste and stowed his clothes under the bed. Danny’s cassock fit a bit more loosely than he expected, especially around the shoulders, but the overcoat would conceal that just fine. Getting out of the house and borrowing his brother’s horse without being discovered proved a bit more of a challenge, but he managed and was soon making his way to the village.

  Chapter Two

  Mary’s lips formed words as she strolled down the street beside Augie, but her heart and mind weren’t in the conversation. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell her friend about the humiliation she’d suffered this morning. She didn’t think she’d be able to tell anyone about it.

  He would never fall in love with her now. He probably wouldn’t even look at her again. And it was her fault. She should have approached him more tactfully, eased him into awareness of her tender sentiments. Instead, fool that she was, she’d all but thrown herself at him.

  If the opportunity presented itself, she would apologize and ask his forgiveness. It was doubtful he’d ever give her such a chance, but she was prepared in the event. It was the mature thing to do, and she at least wanted to leave him with that impression.

  “Oh, look!” whispered Augie excitedly as they rounded a corner. “There’s the vicar. Let’s go and say hello.”

  Mary’s heart sank to her toes as she spied Reverend Wayward talking to Mrs. Grierson outside the apothecary. “He looks busy,” she whispered back, desperate to avoid him. She’d changed her mind. It was too soon. She wasn’t ready. “We should visit the mercantile. You must help me find an appropriate gift for your sister’s birthday.” Hopefully by the time they emerged, he’d be gone.

  “Nonsense! We can look for that later.” Augie, seemingly determined to facilitate an encounter, linked arms with Mary and practically dragged her the remainder of the way. By the time they reached him, Mrs. Grierson had turned to leave. “Reverend Wayward, how lovely to see you,” said her friend with over-bright cheer. “We were just talking about how exciting it is to be helping with the church’s upcoming bazaar.”