Hell in A Handbasket (Devilish Debutantes Book 2)

by Annabelle Anders

  “Your fiancée has no opinion on this?” Most women, to his knowledge, were much involved in these sorts of details. And likely the chit would want all pomp and circumstance possible. She was marrying into a duke’s family, after all. What debutante would not wish to share the spectacle of her good fortune with all of London?

  “Her family will be amenable to our wishes.” It was his uncle who answered.

  Her family?

  Poor chit. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was getting herself into.

  Again, Dev conjured up the lovely Miss Babineaux. She embodied all that was feminine. Her groom, no doubt, eagerly looked forward to their wedding night. He would be wise to provide her with the moon and the stars.

  If he didn’t, he’d be a fool.

  “The lady best not take issue…” His uncle spoke in a stern voice. “…for all the blunt we’ve put up to secure this charade.” Delightful. Such pleasantness that could only be Prescott. And a charade it was to be? The puzzle pieces logically fell into place now.

  “It is an arranged marriage, then?”

  Harold laughed ironically. “Did you think I’d fallen madly in love?” Harold had never been a happy person, even as a lad. “Father wants to move the date up. I’ve resigned myself to the institution, and yet it is still not sufficient for his grace.” Tension had flared between Harold and his father for years now. Dev doubted they would ever get past it.

  “With everything settled, with the first installment paid, I’ll have a bride for you, and I’ll not wait.” Harold’s frown grew deeper as his father spoke. “The sooner we ease your mother’s worries, the better. What does it matter to you? It’s not as though it will change anything.” Ignoring his son’s obvious reluctance, the duke scribbled some notes on the ledger before him. “Besides, the announcements have been sent. The first of the banns are to be read Sunday.”

  Another example of why Dev did not dwell in Prescott House.

  Harold’s shoulders drooped in sullen defeat. “Does Mr. Scofield know? Does she?”

  “Mr. Scofield is as eager as I to have this done. You may inform her tomorrow night at the theatre. They are to attend as our guests, of course.” Prescott’s disdain insulted his son more than a raving tirade would have.

  “Do join us, Dev.” The duchess spoke up, dispelling some of the tension. She’d grown rather adept at that, soothing over the ruffled feathers created by her husband and sons. “Welcome her into the family with us.”

  Dev nodded, sorry for his cousin. What a twisted world this was…

  “What is it that’s brought on this visit, Devlin?” His father’s question broke into Dev’s thoughts. “Not that we aren’t pleased to be graced with your presence.”

  So, his would be a family discussion after all. No reason to hem and haw, then.

  “I’ve sold out. Signed the papers on an estate in the country, and as of this morning am a landed gentleman.” He would not soften the blow, so to speak. It was not his way.

  He expected disappointment. He knew his uncle nurtured hopes of him achieving the status of colonel. He was less certain as to what his father’s reaction would be.

  The room fell silent for a moment before his aunt stepped forward and embraced him. “I am so glad!” She effused her approval.

  But Dev kept his eyes upon his father. He tried not to be concerned with pleasing family, but his father’s good will mattered.

  Prescott reclined in his chair. “I would have provided an estate for you — something to cut your teeth on. In the country, you say? You’ve not much experience with land stewardship.”

  But Dev’s father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You have earned it, I’m certain. You’ll learn the way of the land, the ways of the people. I know that you will succeed in whatever you set your mind to.”

  Dev let out a breath he had not realized he’d been holding. He’d warred with a few niggling doubts. Was he taking the coward’s way out? He knew this was not the case, and yet… His father’s blessing reassured him of his decision.

  “So, you will not be leaving England for months at a time? This is wonderful news! We won’t have the constant worry for your safe return. And we will once again have your company for the holidays, and for birthdays. Oh, Prescott…” She turned toward her husband. “…this is wonderful news indeed.”

  St. John finally stepped out of the darkness. He was tall, slim, and Dev thought, more duke-ish than his father. “Well, if we aren’t to toast Harold’s wedding, then perhaps we ought to toast Dev’s new status.” He poured a splash of scotch in a short glass and handed it over. The others already held some sort of drink in their hands. “To Dev,” they all said.

  “To Dev,” Harold echoed.

  The drinks were tossed back heartily.

  Wonderful.

  * * *

  When Miss Mossant had first hinted to Dev that the ladies would be in the park this afternoon, Dev had thought it would be unwise to accept the bait.

  As a rule, he never dallied with engaged women. Married women, perhaps, if they were sophisticated and knowledgeable in the ways of the world. But even so… he preferred to avoid love triangles completely. Less complicated that way.

  Less dangerous that way.

  However, Miss Rhododendron Mossant was not spoken for. The dark-haired lady seemed interesting enough and was quite pleasant to look at. Perhaps Miss Babineaux would bring her fiancé along, and Devlin could size the gentleman up. He had saved the minx’s life, after all. He felt almost responsible for her!

  Perhaps the ladies wouldn’t even come. Or they’d been and gone already. Why, afternoon could mean practically anything!

  With such logical intentions settled, he strolled — for no reason whatsoever — along the calm waters of the Serpentine on the appointed day at the height of the afternoon.

  He’d not realized people thought to feed the water fowl. Didn’t most of the ton come here simply to feed their own hunger for gossip? Or to show off a new hat, or bonnet, or some other faradiddle?

  He laughed at himself.

  And then his laughter turned to one of pleasure. She was here.

  Across the grass he caught sight of a petite woman with soft blond curls trailing a leash. At the opposite end, a long reddish pup pranced along in front of her.

  It took a moment for him to register that her friend walked beside her, Miss Mossant, yes, Miss Mossant. The girls complemented each other in a most attractive way. One tall, dark, and slim, the other shorter, golden, and softly rounded.

  No fiancé in sight, damn his eyes.

  He watched as they reached into a cloth bag and offered pieces of bread to the more courageous ducks approaching them. It did not take long for every duck in sight to surround the two ladies.

  One might think ladies of the ton would be intimidated by such fowlish exuberance.

  Not these girls.

  Their giggling and laughter floated across the park almost musically.

  As he watched, Miss Sophia Babineaux, with a flourished twirling, tipped the bag upside down and turned it inside out. Any last crumbs scattered and were pounced upon eagerly.

  The ducks, it seemed, had experienced this before and knew no more plunder was to be had.

  As they waddled away, Dev sauntered toward the ladies.

  “No chaperone, again?” he asked.

  Smiling, Miss Mossant pointed toward two tittering maids seated on a bench several yards away. They were obviously caught up in their own gossip and oblivious to both Miss Mossant’s and Miss Babineaux’s affairs. “The best kind!”

  Miss Babineaux eyed him suspiciously. He did not blame her for doing so. His actions yesterday were not exactly those of a well-intentioned gentleman.

  Her canine, however, gazed at him adoringly. Taking whatever welcome he might find, he crouched down and scratched the back of Peaches’ head.

  “She is afraid of the ducks. She only barked at them once, and they nearly quacked her head off for it,” M
iss Babineaux explained.

  Her voice touched something elusive inside of him. Not long ago, he’d held this little bundle in his arms, tasted her lips…

  Looking up, he studied her as his hand massaged the dog’s neck. “She’s a good dog. How long have you had her?”

  “Almost four years now.” With her hair in ringlets, dressed in lace and pastels, she appeared to all the world a simple miss. And yet… her eyes were guarded. Something troubling lurked behind her smile. Something… dark?

  The dog licked his wrist before Dev rose.

  “You are still in town.” Miss Mossant addressed him, drawing his attention away from Miss Babineaux. “How delightful for us! We can thank you again for your assistance yesterday. You are quite the hero, Captain.”

  “My pleasure, ladies.” Dev spoke cautiously.

  Miss Mossant watched him from beneath fluttering eyelashes — fluttering and flirtatious eyelashes. She was a beautiful woman in her own right, but the ladies seemed to be the closest of friends. This could become complicated if he did not watch himself.

  He ought not to have come. He would converse briefly with the two of them and then bid them farewell.

  Intentionally keeping both women in his sights, he would not appear to single either of them out.

  “A circus is in town.” The words left his mouth of their own volition. Good God, what was he doing?

  Brilliant blue eyes flickered with interest. “Is that why the animals are in town? They’re not here for the menagerie then?” He remembered now, that in spite of the danger she and her dog had been in, she’d been concerned for the lion.

  “They are not. They’ve set up not far from Westminster Bridge, just off Church Street.” Dev could escort both ladies to the spectacle.

  “The lion is there?” An unmistakable light of curiosity entered her eyes.

  He’d caught her attention.

  Dev nodded, oddly satisfied. He’d rarely, if ever, actively pursued a lady of the ton. A gentleman was bound by too many rules.

  He was likely to stumble into one of many traps.

  All too aware of her engagement, he nevertheless could not prevent himself from watching her: the curve of her mouth, the gloss of a curl as it fell casually along her silky cheek.

  She was a well-bred, genteel young woman, as was Miss Mossant. And strictly speaking, he’d not yet been properly introduced to either of them. He had no knowledge of the two women’s families, nor they of his. He was going to have to remedy this.

  “I’ve brought my conveyance today.” He dared her.

  Miss Babineaux seemed to consider his invitation for a moment, but then she sighed. Her expression, he noted, showed reluctance.

  “I cannot take Peaches.” She then looked over at her friend. “But Rhoda, you should go. I will make up some excuse and send your maid home. You oughtn’t miss it for my sake.”

  “Really, Soph? You wouldn’t mind?” It seemed, Dev thought ruefully, he was getting his due. Not that he minded escorting the other woman… but he’d hoped…

  “No,” Miss Babineaux reassured her friend and then glanced over at Dev and frowned.

  Dev knew she was not indifferent to him, although she might wish that she were. Dev forced himself to turn toward the other lady. “Miss Mossant?”

  “Rhoda, go with Captain Brookes,” Miss Babineaux urged her friend once again. “I’ll take Peaches home. I’ve a great deal of letter writing to catch up on anyhow.”

  Dev forced a smile. It was early in the day, and letter writing was a weak excuse indeed.

  It seemed she did not intend to stray.

  Again, anyhow.

  “Won’t you join me, Miss Mossant?” He bowed in the direction of the taller, darker lady. She was quite lovely in her own right. He ought not to feel so disappointed.

  “I’d be delighted.” Her warm eyes sparkled as she took his arm. Miss Babineaux scooped her dog up and turned to leave just as Miss Mossant abruptly halted their progress. “Oh, no! Except I cannot! I rescheduled my fitting with Madam Chantel for today! After breaking my appointment yesterday, I cannot possibly miss another one. Madam would be livid!”

  Miss Mossant looked crestfallen and dropped his arm reluctantly. “You go, Soph. Church Street isn’t far, and I can drop Peaches off with your mother.” Miss Babineaux went to protest, but her dear friend persisted as she gathered Peaches into her own arms. “I’ll take care of everything. You are the one who will wed soon. You ought to have a little fun. Go, Sophia… Go!”

  Not allowing for any argument, the taller girl tucked Peaches under her chin and strolled confidently away.

  And just like that, Dev was alone with this engaged lady.

  The lady who’d occupied his thoughts, quite persistently, for the past twenty-four hours.

  Chapter 4

  Suddenly bereft of her dog, Miss Babineaux seemed nearly as stunned as Dev.

  He’d not expected time alone with her. He’d fully intended to introduce himself to a worthy fiancé today and assure himself of her well-being after yesterday’s harrowing experience.

  Fate had different ideas, which, if Dev were to be truthful with himself, he appreciated.

  Not one to let such an opportunity pass, he winged his arm for Miss Babineaux to take before she could come up with another excuse.

  But she did not.

  Instead, she smiled timidly and placed her hand upon his sleeve. She appeared hesitant but not reluctant.

  A warmth filled his chest, and the cloud that had been blocking the sun moments before dissipated.

  “I am curious to see how the lion is faring today.” She looked over at him from beneath an indigo-colored bonnet. Her skirts swished over his boots. Her scent was fresh, sweet, and uniquely female.

  “Then the lion, you shall see.” Dev covered her hand with his.

  Her fingers were so much smaller than his own. He steered them away from the water and toward the road where he’d left his curricle with a groom. Three of them could have ridden on the rather narrow bench, but it would have been a tight squeeze.

  “This is the second time we’ve seen you out of uniform, and yet we know you as Captain Brookes. Are you leaving military life behind?”

  Clever girl. “I am. Unless necessary, I’m henceforth going to live the life of a country gentleman. Enough war for me.”

  She nodded.

  Dev wondered if she’d felt ill-used by him. “I behaved badly, yesterday,” he began. “I owe you an apology.” She was a lady, a gentlewoman, after all.

  “For kissing me?” Her candor startled him.

  “I shouldn’t have done it, but I have no regrets. Do you wish for one?”

  “Another kiss?” Her glance was sharp this time, and she pulled away slightly.

  “An apology.” He laughed, pulling her close again.

  “Oh.” She resumed her stride. And then she further surprised him. “I don’t know.”

  He knew it. She’d been affected, regardless of the existence of said fiancé.

  “I don’t know you,” she added.

  “But you will,” he almost said. Something inside him insisted.

  And then he considered the enthusiasm she’d exhibited in his arms the day before. “And yet, you do.” Walking beside her, holding her arm, he felt the tremor that ran through her.

  And she did not argue his point.

  Dev had never been one to walk away from a challenge. Especially when compelled strongly by the prize.

  It would require some finesse. He’d perhaps need to move a few mountains. “I had planned on leaving London in a few days’ time.”

  Again, she glanced over and up at him. He watched her swallow. “For this new country estate you mentioned?”

  “Yes. I’m to become a respectable gentleman. The embodiment of all I raged against in my youth.”

  “It is to be admired. The desire to live a peaceful life. You are weary of war.” Her voice washed over him like a benediction of sorts. She spoke word
s he had not realized he needed to hear.

  “You do know me, then, Miss Babineaux… Sophia.” He said her name slowly; spoken out loud it sounded like a whisper.

  “But you,” she pointed out, “do not know me.” And yet she trusted him. She was slipping away with him for a secret outing.

  Alone.

  He would not give her cause to regret doing so. He patted her hand once again and began listing all that he knew of her. “I know you care deeply for animals. You are not prone to the vapors, and you are a generous and loyal friend.” He paused. “You are also a beautiful woman.”

  She tucked her head down at those words. They had arrived at his vehicle, and he turned to assist her. The cushioned bench seat was high off the ground. This gave him an opportunity to place his hands around her waist, lift her up, and linger until she was safely on board.

  Dev then pulled himself up as she gathered her skirts into herself.

  “Do you think anybody ever really knows another person? Sometimes I find it difficult to even know myself.” She’d not relinquished their train of conversation. She’d also, he noted, ignored his compliments. Most debutantes would have fished for more.

  Dev lifted the reins and guided the pair into traffic. “Perhaps in allowing the right person to know you, you can come to know yourself more fully.”

  A small hum escaped as she seemed to contemplate his words. “I feel that way with Rhoda sometimes, and some of my other friends.” She sounded almost melancholy. “We speak of private matters when we are together, and yet, I feel they cannot ever really know me completely.”

  As Dev drove along the crowded road, an odd sense of intimacy wrapped around them. What a strange conversation to be having with a lady, and as they drove through town, no less. He glanced sideways at her.

  So serious, and yet, for all the world, one might think she was as empty-headed as any other debutante. She wore pastels and lace, naturally. Her lips were full, and he imagined, usually inclined to smile and laugh. It was that troubled look in the back of her eyes that intrigued him.

  Was it a troubled look? Anxious even? Was he imagining something that did not exist. Perhaps, and yet he’d learned to trust his instincts. They’d gotten him through more than one assignment alive. Thousands of others had not been so lucky.