Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3)

by Susan Ward

  A small smile curved his lips. “Your temper, Merry, is half your charm. It brings the most delightful color to you cheeks. I have always enjoyed witnessing your temper and its afterglow on you.”

  Merry felt her cheeks move from pink to burn. In a manner dismissive, she turned to a footman. The footmen came, tray by tray, heavily laden with the morning fare. Merry concentrated on food. The child made her appetite ravenous, and it had been so long since she’d seen such a wonderful selection of dishes. Every tray that passed, she took something. A pile of strawberries, rich cream covered pastries, a mutton chop, herring, and a sheep’s kidney. It was enormous by the time she was done, the china of her plate completely covered.

  Merry was biting into a strawberry when she realized everyone was staring at her. Noting her plate, she tensed. It was outrageous. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Varian slide his arm along top of her chair and lean close to her ear. Softly, he whispered, “I would not eat all that, Merry. It will make you sick.”

  “I will do as I please, you odious insufferable man. You will not order me.”

  It seemed as though her entire family sharpened their gazes on her at once. Varian sat back and said with utter calm, “You have had a bland diet, for a very long time on my ship, Little One. I am not ordering you. I am merely trying to instruct you. You need to reintroduce rich food slowly. You will make yourself very ill if you don’t do this wisely.”

  She cut off a section of cream covered pastry, stuffed it in her mouth and then glared at him. “If I am not wise, it should be no surprise to you…” Mimicking his voice. “‘…you are quick, you are clever, but you, Little One, are not wise.’ True words. Leave me alone. I wish to eat.”

  “What you are is stubborn beyond your own good,” Varian said, unruffled. “Enjoy. Do as you will. You always do, my dear, but your stubbornness has a way of working out for the best if given time.”

  Shoving a strawberry into her mouth, Merry made a face then shifted her gaze. Her family was listening to every word between them and not making a polite pretense of doing otherwise.

  Merry went back to her meal and vowed to ignore him. From across the table, Philip tried to draw her into conversation. She attempted to listen to his concise review of all the events of the last year, the scandals, the gossip, both in Falmouth and London, as he offered her any tidbit he thought might brighten her mood. It was impossible to be bright of mood. She was burning from head to toe.

  Although Varian sat an interested listener to Rhea’s table chatter, she knew damn well he hadn’t turned his unsettling attention from her. She began to mutilate her pastry with the harsh moves of her fork, unaware she had caught the reproachful gaze of her mother. Shoving the last fork full into her mouth of what was little more than a crush of blackberry atop a flatten tart, unable to endure the burn against her flesh any longer, she slanted Varian a look, and noting his stare fixed on the slow swirl of his coffee in cup.

  She swallowed her food half chewed and slammed her fork down upon the table. The angry clank of silver against china made everyone look up. Kate nearly sprang through the ceiling.

  “You odious insufferable man,” she ground out. “Must you watch every move with my fork that I make?”

  Varian tilted his face toward her then, lifting his glance with a slow move from his cup that with no added effort made her seem in the least irrational and more likely quite vain. Her family had stopped all motion and conversation.

  “I sailed with you for a year,” she accused, blue eyes flashing. “You are watching me every time you swirl your glass. You may pretend otherwise, but I know the meaning of that annoying habit and have for a very long time. Your black eyes carry the burn of the demon you are. If you swirl that cup again, I will throw it at you.”

  What surfaced on Varian’s handsome face was expertly correct as he reached across the table to retrieve her fork from the middle where it landed after a bounce. He held it for a servant who quickly retrieved it from his hand. It was an absolutely perfect charade and infuriating in all ways.

  He said, “I am watching, Merry, but not your fork. Would you like me to tell you what I am watching?”

  Even Merry, who knew him well, hadn’t expected that comment, not here in front of her mother and father. It was wickedly provocative in tone, and she didn’t know what to do with it. A year ago she wouldn’t have understood the suggestiveness of Varian’s word play.

  Into her silence, on a voice warmly approving, Varian remarked, “You are very beautiful when you are in a temper, my dear. It makes it extremely palatable you are so often in a temper.”

  “I am only ever in a temper with you. If you don’t like my temper, go away.”

  “Ah, but I like your temper. Would you like me to tell you why?”

  Panic rounded her eyes. What was the point of this? Why was he doing this to her in front of her family? He was purposely rattling her and rattling her well. After the fiction they’d given her father, why would he intentionally push her to behave in way that would make it obvious it was untrue?

  She arched a brow. “What I would like to do is eat, Your Grace.”

  He was focused on his plate. “I would not attempt the herring. As I recall, it agreed with you not at all yesterday.”

  Merry lowered her gaze to her plate. “Perhaps it was not the herring. Perhaps it was the company.”

  She noticed her hands were trembling as she moved her knife. Damn him. On top of everything, he had been right. The herring was her undoing. She was starting to feel sick again, that unrelenting nausea that had plagued her for nearly two months now. Stubbornly, she took another bite and wished she hadn’t. She’d had to force it down, and her stomach turned.

  She struggled against the nausea, struggled against Varian next to her, and struggled through breakfast beneath the heavy stare of her father until she could leave without making another scene. One by one her family left, until there remained only Varian, her mother, and Uncle Andrew at the table. Merry motioned for a footman, but it was her husband who came and pulled back her chair.

  Softly, Varian said, “I would like to speak with you. You did not give me the opportunity to speak with you last night. Come walk out of doors with me, Merry.”

  “I don’t wish to speak you. I wish I had never set eyes upon you.”

  She left the salon quickly and raced up the stairs, back to her bedroom, back to safety, and unfortunately back to the washbowl where her breakfast would soon be.

  Rhea and Andrew sat in the heavy silence left in the salon. Her brother-in-law came to her then, pausing at Rhea’s chair, picking up a strawberry from the ridiculous mountain Merry had left on her plate.

  “I have never liked that man, Rhea. It is a tragedy that Merry is married to Windmere. Lucien would do well to end this miserable farce and rid your daughter of him quickly,” Andrew said, and then added, “And you Rhea would do well to take count of the serving girls at bedtime while Windmere is here.”

  Elegantly calm, Rhea said, “That was no serving girl you heard last night, Andrew. That was my daughter. If you tell Lucien, I will never speak to you again. He is angry enough. He needs to calm so he can deal with this sensibly. Leave them alone. I don’t understand the purpose of this farce, but they fight like a married couple. Merry is angry with him. It will pass. This marriage will not be annulled, Lucien’s displeasure or not.”

  ~~~

  Merry sat on the grass against a stone wall in a meadow. She was shoeless, stocking-less, surrounded by kittens, her brother and Kate.

  A light fall breeze whispered upward from the channel redolent with the rich scents of Cornwall, brushing feather light against Merry’s cheeks and freeing wisps of dark curls from her combs. She laid her cheek against her knees, fighting her swirling web of hair as she tried to follow Kate’s rambling chatter.

  The rain had come on and off all morning, the faintest of drizzle, and the sky had taken on a grayish ombré behind the low dipping clouds of swan white. The drop
lets had collected on the tips of the grass and in the pockets in the stone wall, giving it the appearance of silvery glass. A quilt rested beneath them, a protection against the dampness, and Merry fixed her gaze on her icy toes, pink at their tips from the cold and the dampness of Falmouth she was no longer accustom to.

  She tried to work her feet into the warmth of a fold in the quilt. Beside her lay a forgotten bouquet of wild flowers, lily-of-the-valley, star grass and day flowers that Kate was enthusiastically weaving into a crown.

  Across the farm the news of Merry’s marriage had spread like a wild fire. The reaction was one of curiosity and celebration. Though the state of her marriage was uncertain at best, beyond the walls of the main house the story that was circulated was shrewdly crafted to spare all concerned added scandal since it was unavoidable the talebearers would have the account clear across Falmouth by sunset.

  Whatever Lucien Merrick released would eventually collide with the gossip rushing southward from London. Merry’s sudden return and marriage to Varian Deverell was no doubt the main topic of conversation in the drawing rooms of polite society.

  When Merry had stepped out of the front garden with Philip and Kate, the excited well-wishes from the workers was an indication of how expert her father was at scandal control. Her father had made an informal announcement to the house staff. That she had learned from Kate, who had told her with a reluctance you could taste, and Merry was now witnessing the artfully crafted result.

  If a hint of suspicion existed that something was amiss between Merry’s new husband and the Merricks it was not evident in the blur of glowing eyes, bobbing aprons, and quickly stripped off hats. The workers stared at her as if she returned to them bathed in stardust instead of shame.

  The farm wives had surrounded her before she’d finished hoisting her hem to pick her way across the muddy ruts of the carriageway. It had taken an hour for Merry to escape their enthusiastic exclamations over how well she looked, what a fine figure His Grace was, and all their hopes and prayers for her future.

  It had been an agony to endure their joy for her, these dear people she loved, but when Jane Coleman, her playmate from childhood and now wife to the under-coachman, had shyly approached her, tear in eye, bundle of freshly picked wild flowers in her arms to present to her with a proudly exclaimed ‘Your Grace,’ Merry had had enough. She had disengaged herself with more abruptness than she had wanted, ashamed to note a misty tear of understanding here and there, and had quickly charged off with Kate and Philip in tow. Varian had left her suspended in a nightmare.

  At last in the friendly shelter of her siblings, Merry was finally free to try to lose herself in a lazy afternoon with Philip and Kate. The hours were for renewing bonds, and trying to feel like a family again. She had been gone a year and that left a gulf between them. They were exactly how she had left them. It was as though time had not touched Bramble Hill. Smiling, she leaned into her cousin’s worn wicker basket to retrieve a blackberry tart. Blackberry tarts. Touch of Kate. It is all the same.

  It came to her memory that afternoon a year past when they had gathered in this very spot, Rensdale with them, the day she had recklessly gone to Grave’s End and ended up crossing paths with Morgan. The irony of it was unbelievable. Rensdale was Varian’s cousin and enemy. Rensdale had been her nemesis, and the cause of her colliding with Morgan. Varian she had gossiped about in girlish romanticism on that long ago afternoon, later to be kidnapped by him, taken as his lover and was now his noble wife. If one had the impulse to laugh, there was certainly plenty to laugh at here. Merry couldn’t rally even the mildest of good humor.

  Staring at them both with wide eyes sealed to her thoughts, Merry wondered what their reaction would be if they knew of the adventure she had been on and that her husband was the infamous Captain Morgan.

  Thrusting her finger beneath the soft underside of a kitten, Merry watched as the kitten turned, chased its tail and then settled in a ball on her leg. She could never tell anyone the truth about Varian. No matter what he had done to her, no matter the humiliating state her life, he was her husband and father of her child. Though undeserved, he would have her loyalty and silence. The truth had the whim to hurt them both.

  It was only then she remembered that Varian knew Uncle Andrew was the agent of the foreign office assigned to the capture of Morgan. Why had Varian been as reckless as to come with her to Cornwall when he knew this? It seemed a dangerous act in the extreme and was certainly a needless gesture. It was one thing to give her the protection of his name. It was quite another to step into the bosom of one’s enemies and set to stay for a while.

  She had never before seen such a force like her father’s dislike for Varian or his fury as it was over her marriage. Uncle Andrew was only a shade more generous in his opinions. Varian marrying her was an act of recklessness at best. Confronting her family with the deed was lunacy. In those frantic hours from London to Cornwall, somehow all this had never occurred to her.

  “But I don’t understand, Merry. How did you get from Grave’s End and later find yourself on His Grace’s ship?”

  Merry looked up from the kitten to find Kate shaking her golden head, her pale brows puckered in confusion, and her eyes fixed on her hands still weaving flowers. Both Philip and Kate had been questioning her for hours.

  Lifting her delicate brows, Merry replied dryly, “I don’t understand why you weren’t at Saint’s Cove when I went to meet you there, Kate. I was only in Grave’s End but a moment. Long enough to see that Philip and Rensdale had quit for other amusements. I escaped through the storeroom and immediately went to the beach. Why weren’t you waiting for me? How could you have left me there?”

  Kate’s sweet face jerked up to meet Merry’s and her green eyes flashed. “You told me to ride off if anyone approached the horses. You had just stepped into the tavern and the beach was overrun with men and this terrifying boy appeared from nowhere. He had a long black braid, black eyes and a scarred face. The man he was with was no less frightening. A jagged scar here on his brow. By the looks of them they had mayhem on their mind. The boy’s companion almost caught me, but I hit him with your crop and rode off because more men were coming and I wanted to get help. I went to Saint’s Cove as you ordered me to, but then I realized I just left you, my dear cousin, alone in a smugglers den. I left to raise your rescue. However, you were nowhere to be found to be rescued.”

  As much as she hated this discussion, it settled one of Merry’s concerns. Kate hadn’t seen Varian at Grave’s End. She smothered her unease and returned mockingly, “A boy with a long braid and a man with a jagged scar. You did have an adventure, didn’t you, cousin?”

  Kate puffed up like a hen. “It was your adventure, your scheming, Merry, not mine. I hate it when you make me sound foolish.”

  “You are both a couple of feather-brained females,” Philip put in sagely, his gaze following the blade of grass that he twirled in his fingers. “And you are both lucky that a little fear is all that you met instead of your death for attempting such idiocy.” His eyes shifted to Merry. “And of course, nestling, you were punished with a husband in this. Does Windmere know what a rare handful you are?”

  Glaring at Philip, Merry said indignantly, “How unchivalrous for you to be worried about His Grace in all this instead of your sister. And His Grace isn’t going to be burdened with my vexing presence in his life for much longer. We may be married, but he doesn’t intend to have me live my life in his pocket. We do not suit. I don’t expect His Grace to stay past a fortnight. I have no intention of living wherever the man settles himself. There, a modern marriage. I can be fashionable. How thrilled the ton will be. Merry Merrick being fashionable.”

  “Merry Deverell,” Philip reminded. “A neatly planned future, nestling. There’s just one wrinkle as far as I can tell. What if His Grace has other plans? What will you do with your husband then?”

  Her cheeks were undisciplined enough to color at that. However, the past year had not left h
er without weapons of her own. “What I do with His Grace won’t be half as interesting as all the things I won’t to do with him. The man will go to London compelled by boredom if nothing else. You would know better than I, Philip, what drives a man to seek town amusements.”

  Her bold rejoinder took Philip by surprise. Merry stared at him, popped a corner of her tart in her mouth, and prayed he’d leave off on this. She did not expect Philip’s cunning response. “You are being overly confident in your knowledge of what drives a man for a girl who doesn’t share a bedchamber with her husband.”

  It was Kate who saved her, nervous with their escalating tempers and embarrassed by the course of their conversation. She broke in frantically and said, “We digress. I would rather hear how Merry met His Grace. That is the part of the tale that confuses me. Your explanation makes no sense. How did you get to Falmouth? Why did you stow away on His Grace’s ship? Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

  Staying carefully to the tale Varian had forced her to repeat over and over during their journey to Cornwall, Merry said on a voice of straining tolerance, “What is there to give you such difficulty in this, Kate? I have explained. I went to Falmouth by foot to find Philip and Rensdale. I was approached by a group of men, ruttery on their minds, and in running from them I found myself on His Grace’s ship. In waiting for the danger to pass I fell asleep in the galley. When I woke we were out to sea. By the time His Grace discovered me, he had no choice but to allow me to sail with him.”

  Kate was anxiously chewing her lower lip. “But, Merry, why didn’t you tell him who you are? Why didn’t you demand to be returned to Falmouth?”

  “I was trying to avoid marriage, not see myself trapped in it. I thought there was a chance I could fix having been alone with His Grace. I was hoping to spare us both this marriage.”

  “You are lucky His Grace is a man of good character and was still willing to marry you after having a year’s insight into your sweet and docile nature,” Philip teased.