Between the Devil and Ian Eversea: Pennyroyal Green Series

by Long, Julie Anne

  Defends me in a crowded ballroom at the risk of his own dignity, because he knows me and loves me better than anyone ever has and ever will, even if he can’t say it.

  Yet.

  Chapter 26

  BY EIGHT O’CLOCK IN the morning, Ian had already been awake for four hours, accomplishing something that would surprise a good many people.

  He immediately took himself up to the room Falconbridge had been using as an office during his stay.

  The duke’s door remained shut. The clock had yet to strike eight.

  “What ho, Stanhope.”

  For there Stanhope already sat, just as a footman had told Ian, jouncing one leg nervously.

  When he saw Ian he shot to his feet and then staggered backward a few steps.

  “Eversea.”

  He looked nervous. As well he might. For numerous reasons.

  Ian, however, was all soothing contrition.

  “I’m sorry again about last night, old man. I drank a bit too much, and you know how it is when you’ve worked a bit too hard . . .”

  He was utterly certain Stanhope hadn’t worked a day in his life.

  “Certainly, certainly.”

  “Nervous?” Ian smiled enigmatically.

  “Well, of course. Ha. I’m about to ask for Miss Danforth’s hand in marriage.” He was decidedly green about the mouth.

  Ian whistled, long and low. “Marriage is forever.”

  Forever. A portentous word, forever.

  “Ah, yes. I know. Long time, forever.”

  “It is, indeed. It is, indeed. Listen, old man, I was sent to tell you that the duke isn’t actually in—he’s waiting for you instead at the vicarage. He’s there on a bit of parish business and the notion took him—he’d like you to meet him there.”

  “The vicarage?” Stanhope was confused. “The Pennyroyal Green vicarage? I was certain he would have liked to speak to me here. We made an appointment last night, you see, and when the footman admitted me I was directed to wait right here.”

  “Ah. I think it was an impulsive decision on Falconbridge’s part, and perhaps word hasn’t yet reached all the servants,” Ian improvised smoothly. “I think he thought the vicarage would more accurately reflect the gravity of the event. Confer a little more of the sacred upon it.”

  “Ah. Certainly, certainly. I can see that, I suppose. Very well, then. Thank you for conveying the message, Eversea. No hard feelings about the night before?”

  “None at all.” Ian smiled.

  Stanhope glanced at the door of the office uncertainly.

  He glanced toward the stairwell.

  “You’d best hurry. He dislikes tardiness. Considers it a character flaw.”

  “Thankfully I have my new high flyer.”

  “Thankfully.” Ian sounded relieved.

  “Good day, Eversea, and thank you.”

  He turned and hurried past him, jamming his hat down on his head.

  “Thank you, Stanhope.”

  And Ian settled into the chair to wait, and put his hand over the pistol in his pocket.

  THE DUKE’S MOOD was edging toward foul, because he’d just opened a message this morning from the solicitor responsible for Lilymont’s sale. It had been sold just that morning.

  Bloody hell. He knew Genevieve would withstand the disappointment, but there was nothing he loathed more than disappointing her.

  Deciding Stanhope had in all likelihood marinated in his own nerves long enough, and that he could probably expend a little of his mood upon the boy, the duke called him in.

  “Enter, please,” he said irritably.

  A clean-shaven, crisply dressed, white-faced, granite-jawed Ian Eversea slowly walked in, clutching his hat in one hand.

  And a pistol in the other.

  Ian strolled deliberately over to the desk and lay the pistol on it.

  “I’d like you to be able to make an informed decision, Falconbridge,” he said, “after you hear what I have to say. We will settle everything between us here and now. And then if you wish to shoot me, I’d like you to have that option.”

  The duke stared at him. Ian had the satisfaction of knowing he’d at least nonplussed the man a little.

  Something darkly amused twitched across the duke’s face. Then he gave a subtle nod. “Very well. What can I do for you, Eversea?”

  The tone wasn’t . . . warm. To say the least.

  “I’m here to speak to you about Miss Danforth.”

  There was a silence.

  Ian fancied it was the sort of silence once experienced before the guillotine dropped.

  “What about Miss Danforth?” His tone was deceptively casual. But the vowels were elongated. Nearly drawled. It was the duke’s way of warning him. His eyes flicked over to the pistol.

  “I would die for her,” Ian said simply.

  Drama was as good a place to begin as any.

  The duke blinked.

  Ian didn’t wait for the duke to speak. “But it will never come to that, because I, more than anyone, am uniquely qualified to keep her safe all of her born days. Because I love her. And I know her. I know her heart. No one will ever love her better. I will endeavor to deserve her every day of my life.”

  The duke’s fingers took up an idle, slow drumming on the edge of his desk.

  He said nothing. He hadn’t yet blinked.

  “I know you’ve cause to despise me, Falconbridge. I know you’ve cause to doubt my honor. To apologize for my past offenses against you only now would seem self-serving. But I am sorry. I was driven then by motivations I can scarcely explain to myself, let alone you. But one reckless night should not define a man for a lifetime. If you can look me in the eye and tell me your soul is stainless, I’ll leave now. And if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t think I deserve happiness, I’ll leave now. And if you truly believe I cannot make Tansy happy, I will leave now. I don’t know if she loves me. But I love her. And I would die for her.”

  The duke listened to this with no apparent change in expression. The silence was a palpable thing. Brittle as glass.

  “I thought you were leaving, Eversea.” He sounded pensive. “A trip around the world.”

  “She is the world. She is my world.”

  Something glimmered in the duke’s eyes.

  “And what about your savings?”

  “I think you may have already guessed what I’ve done with them.”

  Falconbridge gave a short laugh. Surprised and seemingly perversely impressed.

  “Very well. What do you want from me now?” The duke’s voice was a little abstracted. He sounded, in truth, fascinated.

  “I’ve come to ask you for the honor of Titania’s hand in marriage.”

  There ensued a silence so long and painful it was as though time itself had been stretched on the rack. Ian worried for a moment that he’d given the duke apoplexy, and would now have his death on his conscience, to boot.

  And then the duke stood up slowly.

  Ian didn’t budge.

  He moved deliberately around the desk. Not quite in a stalking fashion. More of a careful one. As if giving himself time to change his mind about what he was about to do.

  Ian consoled himself that the man hadn’t snatched up the pistol.

  He stood directly in front of Ian, eye-to-eye.

  Ian stood his ground. He didn’t like knowing that he could count his brother-in-law’s eyelashes if he so choose, but he didn’t blink.

  Which is why it took him a moment to realize the duke was holding something in his hand.

  The last time the duke had slinked toward him like that he’d been holding a pistol.

  This time he was holding what appeared to be a sheet of foolscap.

  “Titania delivered this to me this morning. It’s a list sh
e made of requirements for a husband. She thought it might be . . . helpful . . . to me.”

  He handed the sheet to Ian. Urged him to take it with the launch of one eyebrow.

  Ian eyed him skeptically.

  He took it between his fingers.

  The duke gave an impatient jerk of his chin, urging him to read.

  So Ian bent his head over it.

  His heart lurched when he saw that her fingerprints darkened the edges. And that it was stained faintly by what he suspected were tears. Despite this, he could read it well enough.

  And by the time he’d read all the way to the bottom, the foolscap was rattling.

  Ian’s hands were trembling.

  He took a long, slow breath and looked up at the duke. “I think it’s fair to say she loves you, Eversea.” Falconbridge sounded ever-so-slightly resigned. But surprisingly, his voice was gentle.

  Even amused.

  Ian found he could barely breathe.

  “And our accounts?” he managed finally.

  A hesitation. “Are even.”

  Ian gave a short nod.

  “Very well. My life is in your hands again, Falconbridge. What will you do with it this time?”

  “TANSY, WHY DON’T we go for a drive?”

  Tansy jumped. She’d managed to dress herself, and had taken a single cup of tea in her room, and picked the scone Mrs. deWitt had sent up into powdery smithereens. It now lay untouched on a plate. And she had stayed put, jumpy as a prisoner about to be led to execution, which was hardly the way she ought greet the day she might very well become engaged.

  “But . . .” Suddenly, she didn’t have an excuse. And going out seemed better than staying in. And movement better than not moving.

  Movement. Ian was likely on his way to London, anyway. He could even now be standing on the deck of the ship.

  Genevieve looped her arm through Tansy’s and tugged. “Come. It’s an excellent day for a drive. Some might even say a transformative day for a drive.”

  SHE STARED LISTLESSLY out the window as Pennyroyal Green scenery unfurled.

  Genevieve pointed out landmarks.

  “Look, there are the two oak trees entwined in the town square! There’s a legend about them, you know.”

  Tansy didn’t care.

  “Doesn’t the vicarage look lovely with all the new repairs? And look, there’s Miss Marietta Endicott’s academy. They’ve added a wing since you were a little girl. Do you remember it?”

  She shook her head noncommittally. She remembered it. Vaguely. She just didn’t want to discuss it.

  “Now we’re passing the O’Flahertys’ home. It certainly has improved over the past year or so. They’ve a new roof and paddock fence.”

  Who were the O’Flahertys’? Why should she care about their paddock fence?

  She began to wonder where on earth they were going. It had begun to feel less like an idle drive meant to distract her and more like a means to a destination.

  But then Tansy straightened as the scenery began to look a trifle more familiar. Just something about the jut of the rocks to the left . . . the slight rise and curve in the road . . .

  A peculiar tingle started along the backs of her arms.

  “Where are we going, Gen—”

  When the house came into view, she gasped.

  “And look. Here we are at Lilymont,” Genevieve said quite unnecessarily. “It occurred to me that you hadn’t seen it since you were a girl.”

  “No,” Tansy managed.

  She was helped down from the carriage by a footman and began drifting toward the house, reflexively. It looked the same, if a bit in need of paint and a bit of weed-tugging. The mellow stone walls still glowed amber in low sunlight. The windows all glinted at her, like smiling eyes. She could almost imagine her five-year-old self and her brother gazing down from one of them.

  Genevieve remained next to the carriage.

  “And look,” she said, “the garden gate is open.” She pointed at it.

  Tansy turned. The wooden gate was ever-so-slightly ajar. As if it had been anticipating her arrival.

  “Do you mind?” Tansy turned to Genevieve eagerly. “May we?”

  “Yes! Let’s do have a— Oh, drat! I’ve just dropped my glove in the carriage . . . you go on ahead, Tansy, I’ll be right on your heels. I know you’re eager to see it.”

  Tansy gave the little gate a push to open it wider, and stood motionless at the entrance.

  Her childhood came back at her in a rush that gave her vertigo. Everything had gotten larger and woollier, but the path was still there, obscured as it was by tufts of grass, and all the beloved trees, and the ivy still spilled over the walls, and there was a man standing in the garden.

  There was a man standing in the garden!

  “Ian.”

  Her hand flew to her heart. It was more a gasp than a word. It had leaped into her throat so swiftly she thought it would choke her.

  He didn’t say anything for a good long time. They stared at each other like witless people who had never before encountered another human.

  “Am I dreaming?” she said finally, softly.

  “No.”

  She jumped and swiveled around at the sound of the carriage pulling away at a swift clip. She took a step toward the gate, and froze.

  And turned around again.

  Her heart began to hammer.

  “Please don’t leave without hearing me out, Tansy.”

  “Well, I can’t leave,” she pointed out, practically. “I do believe I’ve been abandoned here.”

  He began to smile.

  She turned away from it, because his smile was almost too beautiful to bear.

  And restlessly she began to move.

  She could scarcely hear her own footfall, or the birdsong, as she wandered wonderingly into the garden over the woolly overgrown ground. She touched a flower. And another. She stretched out an arm and lovingly drew her fingers along the warm stone of the garden wall. She set one foot in front of another along the path. And yet she couldn’t look at him. She didn’t dare look at him. Not yet.

  What if it was a dream? Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes. To have everything she wanted, and only to wake up, would be cruel.

  But she was no coward, and so she stopped and turned.

  The expression on Ian’s face turned her knees to water.

  “Why are we here, Ian? Shouldn’t you be preparing to board a ship?”

  His voice was gentle. “First, I want you to know that Lilymont is yours. It belongs only to you. If you want it. No matter what you decide your future will be.”

  Her heart stopped.

  “You bought this house . . . for me?”

  “I bought the house for us, but if there is no us, it belongs only to you.”

  She stared. “I don’t under—”

  “I love you.” He sounded almost impatient.

  He delivered the words like a musket shot.

  Time seemed to stop. The birds ceased singing.

  The words echoed in the quiet garden.

  Magic words, those words: she felt them everywhere in her body, slowly, like tiny candles lit one by one in every one of her cells. And then suddenly she couldn’t feel her limbs, or the ground, and she would not have been surprised to look down and see a cloud beneath her slippers.

  “What did you say?” she whispered.

  Only because she wanted to hear him say it again.

  “I love you. I love you. So much it amazes me I’ve managed to live this long without you. I used to think that in order to find peace, I needed to keep moving, to keep searching, until I’d exhausted every corner of the world. But . . . Tansy . . . you are the world to me. You are my home, and, quite ironically, my peace, though I haven’t truly known a moment’s peac
e since I’ve met you. Which I quite like. And if you would do me the honor of being my wife, I will always love you better than anyone in the world, until our children come, and then I will love all of you more than life. I will devote the rest of my days to doing my best to making you happy. You must marry me, unless, of course, you’d like to see me perish. Will you?”

  She couldn’t yet speak. She was memorizing his beautiful face, and the way the light and shadows were just so, so she could savor the memory the rest of her days.

  “That was quite a pretty speech, Ian,” she said finally.

  “Thank you.”

  He looked quite apprehensive now.

  “Much more coherent than the one you gave at the ball.”

  “Thank you,” he said again, sounding clipped and tense.

  Ah, but she shouldn’t tease him.

  “What if I said I didn’t love you?”

  “I would say you were lying,” he said, and produced her list with a flourish. He dangled it in front of her.

  She stared at it openmouthed.

  And now she was blushing.

  “Falconbridge gave it to me. I have his blessing. So you might as well say it, Tansy.”

  She inhaled deeply, reached out and took his hand.

  His was shaking a little, but then, so was hers.

  Now that he had her hand, he pulled her abruptly close. Up against the sheltering warmth of his body. Wrapped his arms around her. Slid his hands down over her back, as if to claim her, as if to prove that she was real and she was his.

  “Say it,” he whispered.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I will be honored to be your wife. And I think the only way my name will ever make sense is if the name Eversea follows it.”

  He kissed her to seal that promise. It was gentle, that kiss, and slow, and deep, and it bound the two of them, soul to soul.

  When he lifted his mouth and rested his forehead against hers, she whispered, “I think I saw stars.”

  “Of course you did. And I will make sure you do. Every. Time.”

  IAN OBTAINED A special license so they could be married in spring in a modest clearing in the forest that had nothing much to recommend it apart from the profusion of brilliant wildflowers, all of them American expatriates. He had referred to the book in the library and planted even more of them than she had, as a surprise for Tansy.