“I have to agree with the truth of your words, as your voice has been a constant companion since he proposed to you,” Penelope mused, and hid her face under her arm, as she was attacked with a pillow.
“Today we were talking about the wedding, and he told me how much he looked forward to spending time with me alone, when the whole wedding thing finally was over. When I reminded him gently about the family party we always have at Chester Park every August, and told him how we are to stay here for another week, he was genuinely surprised and quite aghast about it.”
“Well.” Penelope pondered. “I too would have been a little vexed about having to stay put for another week, when all I wanted to do was to take my new bride home.”
“But he has no right to be vexed,” Fanny cried out, startling her friend.
“For goodness’ sake, Fanny.” Penelope rolled her eyes. “He wants to be with you! Why are you so upset? If someone I loved made a little fuss about not being able to have me all to himself, I would thank my lucky stars for finding this man, not be upset about it.”
Fanny glared at her friend. “I. Do. Not. Love. Him.”
Penelope rolled her eyes again, not answering such an obvious lie.
“I don’t!”
“Yes, you do, and stop denying it.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, if you don’t, why are you so upset about him not listening to you?”
“Because I thought he respected me.”
Ah.
“Fanny, dearest,” Penelope said with her softest tone, silently wishing her friend would come to her senses again. “Being upset about finding out you won’t be able to have your new bride all to yourself is not in any way disrespectful. You know this is the truth, if you only let go of this childish tantrum of yours.”
“I’ve already told him about the festivities twice during the last week, so I still do think I can have as many tantrums as I like over the fact he apparently didn’t hear a word I have said.”
“I have to admit, that is a bit disrespectful.”
“Thank you.”
Silence ruled in the bedroom for a while. The dying fire in the old fireplace cast a soft yellow light over the ceiling above the large bed, and the shadows seemed to be dancing to the faint music still drifting from the barn.
“I don’t know what to do,” Fanny said quietly, in a hoarse, tearful voice. Penelope rolled over and hugged her tightly.
“Do you love him?”
Fanny nodded. This was not the time nor the place for pretending not to.
“Then marry him. If you don’t, you will regret it for the rest of your life. He is a good man, and he cares very much for you. And you know you will never find anyone better or more suitable.”
“Well…” Fanny laughed drowsily. “I can always marry Mr. Pembroke.”
Laughter filled the room, effectively wiping all sadness away, and when Caroline peeked in an hour later, they were both sound asleep.
She stood by the bed for a little while, watching the sleeping beauties. Her only daughter mumbled something in her sleep, just as she had done since she was a little girl, and tears over times now gone forever filled the loving mother’s eyes.
Never again would she be able to stand at her daughter’s bed watching her sleep. Fanny would now be sleeping in her new home with her husband.
If she only could turn time back and relive these past wonderful eighteen years again, she would do it in an instant. She was happy for her daughter’s marriage, and she would celebrate tomorrow, but this was her night of mourning.
She bent down and kissed her daughter’s cheek, her nose on the soft flesh smelling the faint scent that was Fanny’s.
The daughter was still too young to understand how much her life would change now, but the mother knew and could only hope she would have as little friction as possible during her installment as the new duchess. With tears running down her cheeks, she quietly left the room.
Chapter 22
Francesca Darling Ross, the Duchess of Hereford, was so angry with her new husband she couldn’t even look upon him.
Silently she stared out through the window of the carriage, watching the countryside slowly pass by. She was worn into pieces from keeping herself behaving like a lady instead of the furious woman who raged within.
He had tried to talk to her at first, awkward attempts to reach through her anger, with reasonable arguments about why he had decided they would leave as soon as the wedding ceremony was over.
But when she didn’t react to his words, he gave up and stayed just as quiet as she was.
One would think four days of silence would decrease her anger, but instead it had grown, and now as they drove up the road leading to his ancestral home she was practically seething. She had done everything she could think of to make him as angry as she was. She had even locked him out from the rooms he had rented for them at different inns throughout their journey.
But he had not said a word about it.
The first night he had knocked for a few minutes, begging her to let him in. But when she refused to reply or open the door, he left. She had spent the rest of the night wondering where he had gone and imagining him sharing a bed with some barmaid.
The following nights he had left her alone.
Absurdly enough, his meekness had made her even angrier. If he cared as much about her as he said he did, she thought he could at least try a little harder.
Not just give in and ignore her.
On the day of their wedding, her new husband had practically dragged her into the carriage before any of her relatives had a chance to object. As their carriage got underway with impressive speed, her family had been left outside the church openmouthed with shock.
She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to her parents. Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away harshly.
****
Devlin saw her movement, and felt as if his heart were being slowly crushed.
He had been so sure leaving without too many emotional farewells would be the best thing for her, as she never had been without her family before. But now, as he saw her pain, she made him feel like the worst human being ever to set foot on the face of the earth.
He was an awful, selfish ogre who not once had thought about her or her feelings. He was too used to living by his own head, not answering to anybody, and he guessed he had a lot to learn when it came to being a husband and belonging to somebody.
The wedding had been beautiful, and his chest hurt with pride in this wonderful young woman who was his bride. He adored her so much he almost cried when the archbishop pronounced them husband and wife.
Her equal happiness had been obvious, as she jumped with joy, and he had thought himself the luckiest man alive—only to destroy everything with one bad decision.
He looked out through the window as Pendragon came in sight. The ancient castle stood on the top of a gigantic rock at a point where the River Wye did a large turn, not far from Symonds Yat, with an extensive view for miles in every direction. It was a large castle, though not as enormous as Chester Park. Still, it was large enough for one to be able to get lost among the winding corridors and small stairs.
His father had never liked the ancestral home with its towers and pinnacles, and had preferred the shallow home in London. Maybe this was why Devlin always had thought of Pendragon as his safe haven.
As the carriage stopped in front of the castle, he could see all his servants and his aunt and cousins standing at the front stairs, waiting for their new mistress.
He closed his eyes with distress.
He had yearned for the day when he would arrive home with Fanny, in a haze of newlywed bliss. Instead he would have to drag his hate-filled new wife through the crowd. It would probably be a spectacle to delight Delia and her children. His happiness had never been in their prayers.
He took a deep breath to brace himself as a footman opened the door. Immediately everyone’s gaze was glued to the ope
ning. He climbed out and waved to the cheering servants, before he turned and met Fanny’s gray eyes for the first time in days.
There was no hatred, as he had thought, only grief and disappointment. He held out his hand to her, and when she snorted, disgusted with him, he whispered, “Please.”
Something unreadable flickered across her face, and she sat still as a statue for a minute, her eyes not once leaving his.
Without a word, she put her hand in his and climbed out of the carriage. She gave the servants a shaky smile, and they cheered again for their master and their new mistress. Without letting go of her hand, he led her up the stairs, introducing her to the housekeeper Mrs. Blair, the cook Mrs. Stone, and the butler Jarvis.
Fanny smiled shyly to everyone and stayed close to Devlin, giving the servants the unintended impression that she found strength and security with her new husband, and so also starting the rumor that this young bride was indeed in love with her husband.
Devlin stopped in front of Delia, Simon, and Amelia, who effectively blocked the front door. The two ladies curtsied elegantly, and Simon bowed deeply, a worthless show of respect, as they had never shown him any before.
Fanny bowed her head slightly, aware of her own standing in the eyes of these relatives of Devlin’s. He had never said it, but she had read between the lines when he spoke of his childhood, and she understood how these three had joined against him and made much of his early life miserable.
Even though she was angry with him, she would never give them anything to hold against him. As quickly as he could, Devlin whisked her away before they had a chance to talk to her, and she forgot them immediately as she entered the foyer.
It was the size of a ballroom and breathtakingly beautiful. A perfect circle, with a stair that curved its way upwards to more than five floors. At the roof hung the largest chandelier Fanny had ever seen, spreading its soft light.
Three doors, four if you counted the front door, led to primary points of the compass, with the front door at the south. The floor was of white marble, partly covered by thick carpets, and Fanny forgot all about her anger for a second as she gasped with delight.
“Oh, Devlin, it’s so beautiful!”
The housekeeper, Mrs. Blair, beamed with delight over her mistress’s obvious admiration, and Devlin had to turn slightly to hide his grin over his wife’s easy conquest.
“There is not one house in all England who can boast of having anything equal to this room,” Mrs. Blair confided to her new mistress. “And you should know, Your Grace, there is rumors going ’round how this, the oldest part of the castle, actually is the true Camelot.”
“Really?” Fanny breathed, genuinely impressed.
“This very room we are standing in is said to have been the large hall of the old castle, and it is said the round table was placed in the middle.”
“Oh!”
Both stared at the round stone that marked the middle of the floor, awe in their eyes, and Devlin had to cough, this time to hide his laughter. There was of course no truth in the tale at all, but Mrs. Blair loved to dazzle guests and visitors with it. He could find no harm in it, so he had let her be.
The housekeeper was a warm and caring person with a heart large as London, and she had been there his whole life. Delia and her children didn’t get along with Mrs. Blair at all, as the housekeeper loathed his aunt, and if this wasn’t a sign of a good head, then he didn’t know what was.
“You know,” Mrs. Blair told her newest audience. “There is a cave, not so far from here, called King Arthur’s Cave. It is said to have been a sanctuary to our former monarch in times of desperate need.”
“If you’d like, we could go for a ride and search for the cave,” Devlin told Fanny, and she threw herself in his arms, hugging him tightly.
“Yes, thank you,” she cried out happily, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her curvaceous body against his. But Fanny couldn’t stand still and soon released herself from his arms and almost danced around the room with excitement.
“You know,” she confided to Mrs. Blair, “King Arthur is one of my favorite historical persons, and it’s amazing he actually has been here in my new home.”
“My, my Devlin,” a sarcastic voice accosted from behind. “I would never have thought you would end up marrying a dimwit.”
Devlin turned to stare angrily at his aunt. She stood, flanked by her children, just inside the front door. Delia had a way with words, and he had a sinking feeling she would do anything she could to make Fanny feel small and inferior.
She walked slowly and gracefully across the floor until she stood face to face with the young duchess, who now had everything Delia ever had wanted. Hate and envy filled the older woman’s eyes, and she gave Fanny a falsely sweet smile.
Devlin sent Fanny an apologetic shrug, trying without words to tell her how sorry he was over his aunt’s behavior. How would Fanny ever be able to handle this woman? He knew Delia, and she was trying very hard to intimidate Fanny. By the look of it, she was succeeding. Fanny was too kind and good-hearted—and too young and inexperienced—to know how to handle a slight such as Delia’s.
“Delia...” he began but was rudely interrupted by his aunt, who seemed unable to stop herself now as she had the full attention of her prey.
“Are you a dimwit, child?”
“N-no,” Fanny stuttered, taken back by the older woman’s profound contempt, and Devlin wanted to throttle his aunt for behaving so patronizingly toward his young wife.
“Your Grace,” Mrs. Blair interceded gently before he had a chance to react, effectively breaking the tension between the young duchess and the aunt. Delia sent her a hateful look, but the housekeeper pretended not to notice. “You must be tired. Let me show you to your bedroom, where you can rest for a while. Dinner will be served in an hour, and you will want to use the time well, since you have been travelling for so long.”
Fanny nodded gratefully and followed the housekeeper without another word.
Devlin watched her leave, not turning to face his aunt until Fanny was out of sight. He knew he had to confront Delia sooner or later, and it was better to have it over and done.
Fanny would never be happy here as long as his aunt lived under the same roof. That left only one possible choice: his relatives had to go. He could tell from Delia’s frantic look that she too knew this.
This was the final battle, which could only have one winner, and he could tell she thought she had every available trump card. She would fight like a cat to be able to stay here and act as his hostess.
“Never again look upon my wife in such a discourteous manner,” he snapped, his eyes cold and filled with disdain. Delia flinched, but held her back straight, as if strengthened by her children, who hid behind her.
“I didn’t know it was discourteous to show one’s true feelings,” she sneered.
“Fanny is innocent in this. If you have a problem with my marriage, you can direct your concerns toward me.”
“If I have a problem? Of course I have a problem with you marrying someone else, when you have practically promised to marry your cousin.”
“I have never promised you or Amelia anything.”
Amelia stepped forward and grabbed her mother’s hand, pulling it back in an obvious attempt to hold her back.
“Dearest cousin,” she said in her smooth, ingratiating voice as she moved gracefully to her mother’s side. “Please, is there really any reason to use such harsh words? You should be more polite toward my mother, who has nursed you and loved you since you were just five years of age. After everything she has done, you should be grateful, not hateful.”
Amelia offered him her sweetest smile, and it was as though he stared a viper in the eye. When he was younger he had thought Amelia as sweet and innocent as she looked. But through the years he had learnt her true nature. His aunt was an angel in comparison to her daughter.
Ignoring the little chit, he locked eyes with Delia. “You have until lu
ncheon tomorrow to remove yourself, your children, and your personal things from my premises. If you still remain here, I will tell my servants they are free to force you off the Pendragon holdings.”
Delia gasped with horror. “You can’t mean this! Where will I go? I have no money, no connections…”
“It’s not a concern of mine,” Devlin spat. “You have spent over twenty years under this roof as a leech, grabbing everything you can and never returning anything. I don’t owe you a thing.”
Delia looked ready for a nervous breakdown, and her hands clutched his jacket in one last desperate try to win him over and force him into taking his words back. “You disgrace your mother’s memory,” she raged. “I’m the only living relative you have. How can you even think to send me to a life of misery?”
“Your son inherited money from your late husband. Why don’t you use that instead of living large on mine?” Devlin replied, fully aware of how Simon long ago had gambled every penny away. He knew his relatives were poorer than church mice, but he didn’t care.
Delia sobbed, defeated. She had lost the war before it began. If she had put her own pride aside and shown the young duchess some warmth, this wouldn’t have happened. But apparently she had assumed he’d married her only because he had to, without caring for his wife.
She let go of his jacket and fell to the floor, unable to stand on her two legs. Simon and Amelia rushed to help their mother, who obviously was in deep distress.
Devlin turned to leave, but his conscience knocked on his shoulder, begging him to make a clean cut. With a sigh he turned again toward the threesome on the floor.
“I have a small house in London where you can stay until either you remarry or one of your children marries into a new home. My wife is a woman with a large heart, and for her sake will I grant you a thousand pounds per year to use as you feel necessary. My carriage will drive you to the nearest inn, from whence you can take the coach to the city. My obligations to you end there, and you will never contact me or any of my family again.”
A Family Affair Page 18