He sighed. “Everything. According to Anne, she’s demure, accomplished—”
“And as boring as they come, no doubt,” Eleanor finished.
“Exactly.”
As always, Eleanor knew him well—probably because he took after her in more ways than one. Eleanor had been the black sheep in her family in her own right. It had been the family’s worst kept secret that she preferred the company of his mother’s governess above all others. The governess had gone on to be Aunt Eleanor’s companion until the day she died nearly ten years ago.
To society she had been a spinster—even worse, a spinster with a tainted reputation.
At least Davenport was a man, and a titled one at that. No matter how badly he behaved, he couldn’t seem to get himself ejected from society.
The Devil of Davenport was here to stay.
He’d born the “devil” moniker for as long as he could remember. At first it had been teasing. He could remember his father calling him a “little devil” when he was a small child. His mother would come to his defense back then, saying that he was just mischievous. And he supposed he wasn’t all that different from other rambunctious young children. It was just in comparison to his older brother Robert that he came up looking wicked.
For Robert, the heir, was kind and dutiful and obedient. Everything that Frederick was not. In addition to being a splendid heir and brilliant son, he’d also been a devoted brother, chasing after the wayward little boy whenever he got into trouble.
He’d been chasing after eight-year-old Frederick when the accident occurred. Frederick had refused to come inside even though thunderclouds were rolling in and Robert had gone running after him. Frederick remembered how proud he’d been when he’d lost his older brother by hiding in the old woodshed.
He didn’t know how long Robert continued to look for him. Long enough to get soaking wet and catch a cold which would lead to a fever, which left him dead days later.
Killing his older brother had not been his intention, obviously, but it had still been Frederick’s doing. At least, that was how his parents saw it. From that point on there was no amusement in his father’s voice when he called him “devil” and his mother no longer came to his defense.
Only Eleanor, his spinster great aunt, had been an ally. She’d understood when he’d embraced the “devil” nickname, in part to hurt his parents but also because there was truth in it. Intentional or not, he’d always had a knack for trouble—finding it, making it, and stirring it up.
Which was why it came as no surprise to his great aunt that the thought of marrying a simpering debutante with a spotless reputation sounded as appealing as eating gruel for the rest of his days.
He tapped a pawn against the edge of the table as his mind conjured an image of life with someone like that. He had a hazy picture in his mind of a pretty blonde with a kind smile.
The image did nothing for him, except perhaps fill him with a mild sense of guilt and shame. That was what life would be with a woman like that. He would continue to live his life as he pleased and she would be a victim of that selfishness. He’d find himself staring into softly accusatory eyes at the dinner table. He fought back a shudder at that thought. A lifetime of silent recriminations and pathetic martyrdom.
He was certain Anne was right and that she would make a wonderful countess, but he would have to watch her wilt and wither like a lily in winter.
No, thank you. He’d rather be stuck with a woman he despised than be responsible for the death of another innocent, literally or metaphorically.
Though, in an ideal world, he could find a woman he did not despise but who wouldn’t shrink in the face of a life beside the great devil himself.
“So it’s decided then?” Eleanor asked. “You will not marry Claire Cleveland?”
He opened his mouth to say no, he’d never marry her. But something made him hesitate. Regret ate at his guts. No, not regret. Guilt. He liked the Clevelands, he always had. All the Cleveland siblings had been good to him, as a child and as he’d grown older. As his closest neighbors, they’d become something of a staple in his life. The thought of them suffering with financial woes made him want to do something to help.
Knowing Jed, he would never take money outright, even if they were still friends. An anonymous donation, perhaps? Or maybe he could approach Jed with the offer of a loan. But to marry his sweet, meek sister?
That was not an option.
No, he couldn’t marry Claire.
But he did need a wife and it was time he stopped dallying over the issue and made a decision. He’d met every young woman the ton had to offer, it wasn’t as though there was a hidden gem locked in a tower somewhere.
He tapped the pawn once more before moving the piece to a new square.
All his marriage options were well known, it was just a matter of tallying up their traits and finding the woman who was the best match.
His wife needed to be strong, loyal, and dedicated.
He thought of Anne standing there in his drawing room, her jaw set and her eyes filled with earnest righteousness as she defended her sister’s honor.
His wife needed to be intelligent, rational, and perhaps most importantly, she had to be able to stand up to him.
He blinked off into the distance as he once again thought of Anne, meeting his gaze and giving as good as she got. Almost like an equal. A partner, even.
Damn. What was he thinking? Anne could never be his wife. She was too good, too pure, too innocent. If he was the Devil of Davenport then she was surely the closest thing to an angel this country had ever seen. Oh, she was no demure saint, nor was she the epitome of feminine gentility, as she’d described her sister to be. But she had a kindness about her, a genuine sweetness that deserved better than to be saddled with the likes of him.
But Anne is no longer the innocent young girl she once was, an insistent voice reminded him.
The idea had taken hold of his brain, and other parts of his body he’d rather not contemplate in the company of his elderly aunt.
She might have been pure, but she was a woman now. Surely she’d gained some life experience. He thought again of the strength in her eyes as she’d spoken to him, of the way she held herself with such dignity, despite his harsh language and poor manners in bringing up the rumors that plagued her family.
He leaned back, studying the pieces on the board before him but only seeing his current predicament. He needed a wife. The Clevelands needed a good marriage. Marrying Anne would solve the Clevelands’ money issues, just as surely as marrying her elder sister.
This was ludicrous. Was he really contemplating marrying Anne? Little Anne? He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring his great aunt’s inquiring gaze. He was confused, clearly. His brain was still addled from that bizarre interaction. After all, it wasn’t every day he returned home from his Wicked Earls’ Club to find a young lady waiting for him.
Well, not a young virgin, anyway.
He grinned at the chess board. But for a young virgin, Anne had been surprisingly… tempting. Not at all the waifish girl he remembered. At what point had little Anne become such a stunning young woman?
His great aunt’s voice cut into his wayward thoughts. “Surely you’re not seriously contemplating marrying that girl,” she said.
For a moment he thought Eleanor’s ability to read him had gone further than ever. She must have been reading his mind. But then he realized that he’d never answered her question, confirming that he was rejecting Claire Cleveland as a potential wife.
When he looked up, he saw her eyes filled with mirth. “My boy, what will become of the great and powerful Devil of Davenport if he marries a proper young lady?”
She was teasing him, he knew, but his aunt had a point. He’d worked long and hard to live down to his parents’ and society’s low expectations. He’d created a name that men feared and made women swoon. He’d made a new legacy out of the ashes of his good reputation.
There was no
way he would ruin that all now by marrying a woman who made him respectable, of all things.
No, his wife needed to be strong, responsible, level-headed… and just scandalous enough to be the devil’s bride.
He saw an image of Anne, with her scandalous red hair. The way she’d responded with shock and then rueful amusement at his abrasive words. There was no proof that Anne was illegitimate and no one had ever dared challenge her father’s word. But there was doubt. There would always be doubt.
Little Anne, despite her good heart and her loyal spirit, would always be doubted. She’d struggle to find a decent match in the ton for the very reason she would make him the ideal wife.
She had a touch of scandal about her and always would.
His grin was slow and satisfied. His aunt muttered a little prayer under her breath as she caught sight of it. “What are you up to now, boy? Whatever it is, it cannot be good.”
He stood from the table quickly and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Nonsense, Aunt. I’ve just decided who I shall marry and there’s no time to waste.”
He didn’t pause to answer the questions she called out after him as he strode out of the room.
Chapter Three
Anne paced before her sister in the townhouse’s drawing room after attempting to explain the logic that had prompted her to meet with Davenport… alone. She’d managed to avoid her sister the day before, but there was no putting it off any longer. Claire deserved to know what she’d done.
“You did what?” Claire’s voice had risen to a frightening pitch.
“You said you wanted to marry him,” Anne reminded her.
Claire’s eyes were so wide it looked as though it might hurt. Anne winced in empathy.
Claire shook her head. “I said I would marry him. As a last resort.”
Anne didn’t respond. She didn’t have to, the obvious truth of the matter was clear to them both. Claire groaned as she stated it for her. “And I suppose we are down to the last resort.”
Anne shifted, clasping and unclasping her hands as she looked around the room as if the perfect response could be found hiding in the curtains. Friends of the family had allowed them to use their home for the season as their own London property had been sold years ago, along with most of their valuables.
Their situation had gone from bad to desperate, and she and Claire both knew it. To deny it would be an insult to her sister’s intelligence. All seven siblings were well aware of the dire predicament they were in. Jed had been hiding himself away in the London townhouse’s study for weeks, avoiding them all as if by ignoring the situation it might go away. But it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t. Not unless something happened. Either a miracle or a marriage. Anne considered herself an optimist but even she could admit that a marriage was a far safer bet. “It could be worse,” Anne offered.
“How?” Claire moaned and dropped her head into her hands. “How could it be worse, Anne? We’re on the brink of bankruptcy. We’ll lose the house soon if we can’t find a way out of this mess.”
Anne held back a weary sigh. Her sister was stating the obvious. These were all the reasons she’d done what she’d done.
Claire lifted her head, her eyes wide and tear-filled. “What will we do? Where will we go?”
Anne didn’t have the heart to tell her that she did not know. Despite the fact that Claire was several years older, Anne was the one who protected her sister. Even now, she hoped to find her a good match. They all knew that Claire was their only hope. She was the only one with a dowry of any significance, thanks to money set aside before their father’s passing, and the only unmarried woman in the house whose name was not synonymous with scandal.
She was their golden goose, as Jed called her. Despite the fact that Claire had always been considered the lucky one, Anne quite pitied her. The responsibility now fell on her slim, fragile shoulders. Of all the siblings, Claire had been the most coddled. The most precious, by far. She’d been the apple of their mother’s eye—presumably because she was the only one of the girls who was actually hers.
Oh, the gossips had never been able to confirm that truth, but there were no secrets among the Clevelands. Their mother had raised them all, and while not quite equal in her affections, she’d given them a warm and loving home. Which was more than most would have done in her position, Anne imagined.
But then, their mother never made any claim to love their father. There was no mistaking their arrangement as anything other than a business merger orchestrated by their parents.
Rather like what Anne and her siblings were hoping to do for Claire. The thought made her want to weep. She threw her arms around her sister. “Oh, Claire, I hate that we’ve done this to you.”
Claire sniffled and patted her back. “Don’t be silly, Anne.”
That’s what she always said at moments like this. Claire might be emotional when it came to the prospect of losing their home, but she had none of the romantic notions that Anne harbored. Perhaps it was because she’d been raised knowing her role as the family’s most weddable asset, or maybe she was just unromantic by nature. Either way, she seemed unmoved by the fact that her sole option was to marry for status and fortune. Preferably fortune, if it came down to one or the other.
Anne on the other hand… well, a marriage without love sounded worse than death. But then, no one expected her to save the family with a good marriage so she supposed she had the luxury of romantic dreams, if not the expectation of an actual wedding.
It was a well-known fact that she was unwanted in society thanks to her questionable parentage. And without a dowry, she was not even a temptation to fortune hunters.
The only way she would become a wife was if she married for love.
She stared off into the distance for a moment, imagining a future in which she might find a man—perhaps a merchant or a vicar—one who was not daunted by the rumors surrounding her family and who had a solid income without the need for a dowry. A man who had such a passionate love for her that he could overlook her obvious flaws.
Her sigh sounded loud in the quiet room. Her fantasy man sounded too good to be true, but stranger things had happened. She could dream, at least, whereas Claire had little hope for love.
That sad thought brought her back to the present. Claire was staring off into the distance as well, her delicate features scrunched up in concentration. It was the same look she wore when she was debating between her two favorite gowns. “What exactly did Davenport say?”
Anne sat beside her sister. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t brought up the subject at all. Claire might not relish the idea of being married to the man, but she was clearly coming around to the idea and Anne hated to see her hopes dashed.
“He said he’d think it over,” she repeated with a heavy heart. Something told her that the Earl of Davenport was not a man who needed time to stew over a marriage prospect. No, that sort of consideration would be expected from a prudent man, one who acted on reason and logic.
Davenport might be intelligent—in fact, she knew that he was—but he was certainly not reasonable. He was a man who acted on instincts and emotion. He’d always been that way, even as a little boy. It was the sort of behavior that had given him a reputation as a reckless hooligan.
But it was also the trait that had made him her personal hero.
Not that he would remember or care.
She shivered at the thought of his gaze moving over her coldly, as though she were a stranger. Even if he did remember, he would never admit it.
She pressed her lips together as she came back to stand, pacing the room once more. The obstinate, thick-headed man seemed bound and determined to earn his nickname. She wished for a moment that she could see him again. Since parting she’d thought of a thousand things she’d wished she’d said—excellent points she’d wished she’d made. Perhaps if she’d appealed to his ego, or maybe she should have mentioned just how beautiful Claire was. Everyone agreed she was a diamond of the first water. If onl
y he would give her a chance.
Their maid, Greta, entered the drawing room looking more flustered than usual. Her younger brother, Collin, had gotten into the cakes again, no doubt.
“Oh, miss, you’ll never guess who is here.”
Greta had a tendency to turn everything into a guessing game, which was amusing when it pertained to how many crumpets were left after tea, but not nearly so entertaining when a visitor had arrived.
“Who is it, Greta?” Claire asked.
But the answer became obvious as Davenport strode into the room behind Greta as though he owned the place.
Anne gaped. Judging by her sister’s silence, she was most likely staring as well.
But really, who just entered unannounced? And looking like… like that. She couldn’t put her finger on what exactly irked her about his appearance. There was nothing untoward about his riding outfit, but by the way the breeches were straining against his thighs and the way his jacket molded to the muscles of his arms, it was almost as though he were bragging.
It seemed excessively unfair that this man had the wealth they so needed, a title that gave him all the power in the world, and, as if that were not enough, he was handsome to boot.
It was outrageously unjust in her opinion.
Claire seemed to gather her senses first, jumping to her feet and going directly into a curtsy which would have made their mother proud. Anne hastily followed with a curtsy of her own, which their mother wouldn’t have noticed.
Her lips twitched up at the rueful humor. She’d realized long ago that she could either pity herself for being the unwanted, illegitimate daughter of an actress, or she could find the humor it in. She’d chosen the latter. Despite what many seemed to think, including her own siblings, there were benefits to being a bastard.
Like right now, for instance. She watched the way the great Earl of Davenport eyed her eligible, sensible sister. Her poor sister’s entire life was out of her hands, one great sacrifice for that of her family. At moments like this, Anne was downright grateful to be unwanted.
The Earl of Davenport Page 3