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

by Susan Ward

  Merry went a shade darker, and chided, “Grandmamma! Behave yourself.”

  Margaret’s gaze locked on the Deverell carriage. So where was Varian? She was still enraged by the note he’d sent. She had done his bidding anyway. Her life was too tame, too calm of late, the curse of being old. Varian’s exploits were always so amusing. Lucien would have her head if he ever discovered how much she knew and how much she had helped Varian. Morgan or not, it was in all their interests that she give him what protection she could. Not that she could explain that to Lucien. Not yet. Most probably never.

  Out of the corner of her eye she gave her granddaughter a fast once over. Against all odds, she shared a secret with Merry, not that she’d tell her, and against greater odds the chit had married their secret. How the devil had the girl managed that?

  This time when her eyes settled upon her granddaughter she allowed a smile to soften her lips. “Go inside, child. Let me deal with your father. Then I will deal with you.”

  Margaret pursed her lips in that crotchety way she had and completely pushed from her mind her granddaughter. Right now her thoughts were fully claimed by the angry countenance of her son.

  Blue eyes locked on blue. “Lucien, take your mother’s arm. We will talk in your study, or do you prefer to leave your mother standing here all day?”

  Aggravated, but not showing it, Lucien said, “Hello to you too, mother.” He kissed her on the cheek and offered her his arm.

  She made one hard stare at the Deverell carriage before she allowed Lucien to assist her toward the door. “Why does Windmere tarry in his carriage? Is he injured? Infirmed?”

  Lucien features stiffened as he guided his mother on the stairs. “Regrettably not,” he said gruffly.

  Margaret permitted herself a single chuckle. Then, “You are still angry, I suppose, for my having sent for you. Someone had to take charge of this matter. Someone with reason.”

  “Not only do I dislike your interference, I dislike your methods,” Lucien replied fiercely.

  Margaret ignored the comment. Her eyes floated around the foyer and fixed on her butler. “Butterworth, see that His Grace is immediately shown to my private salon to await me, if he deems to ever make his presence.” As Lucien continued to assist her down the long hallway toward his study, she added, “Do you think it benefits any of us to be made constant sport in the street pamphlets? It would have served us all better if you had put on a tolerant face and stopped your covert negations toward annulment. Which have been covert not at all, I might add. Yes, look fierce, if you like. You cannot solve this issue with such clumsy diplomacy.”

  “You will leave the issue of my family to me, Mother.”

  “My family, Lucien. You forget yourself.” At the study door, Margaret announced, “There will be no annulment. I forbid it.”

  She smiled and touched her son’s cheek. The look on Lucien’s face was a small amusement, but amusement nonetheless. She left her son staring after her as she made her way toward her private salon. It was a long walk, and damn Butterworth was nowhere near to assist her. Probably out doing Rhea’s bidding.

  So what was she to do with the scoundrel? As confidently as she had spoken to Lucien, she was not as confident as she wished to be. There was much here dangerous to them all. And much that did not set well on her. Much she had to navigate carefully.

  She lifted a cane, gesturing a footman to open the door to her salon. Damn, sloppy staff. The footman should have had the door open and ready without her telling him to. Things were getting too lax around here. Most probably the result of the time Rhea spent at Merrick Hall. Lucien’s wife had never known how to manage either her staff or family. She waited for the door to close behind her and rummaged in her pocket for the letter.

  Her gaze fixed on Varian standing across the room. His back was towards her as he stood at the walnut sideboard pouring his own drink. His posture was still strong and tall. He looked fit. Definitely not infirmed, was her fast assessment of the little she could see.

  “How dare you send this to me?”

  A thundering voice filled the intense quiet of the salon. Varian whirled. Margaret stood in the salon like a tiger ready to pounce, a crumpled letter in her thin, pale hand.

  “Maggie,” Varian said with a warm smile of greeting, coming forward and pulling her into his arms. “What a pleasure and a charm to see you again.”

  She resisted the hug and tapped with her cane on his chest. “Bah! Save your nonsense for your wife,” she scoffed. She rejected the arm Varian offered her, lumbered across the room, and then settled heavily into a chair.

  With the cane she pointed at the chair beside her. Varian sat, taking her hand to give it a slight squeeze.

  “You are looking well,” he said, smiling.

  She arched a brow and gave him a critical survey. “I see you are still as handsome as ever.”

  Varian laughed. “And you have not lost one ounce of your wit.”

  “Don’t try to charm me, scoundrel. I’ve done as you asked, though I do not know why. What are you involving me in this time, Varian?”

  “I would not have imposed if it were not necessary. And I regret having involved you ever in my activities. Though you have proven as capable and cunning as ever. Castlereagh heading the investigation into Lord Branneth I am certain was brilliance at your hand.”

  Margaret’s gaze grew more brittle. “How dare you insinuate that I’m a party to any of your treasonous, nefarious activities. I merely gave the Queen counsel when she asked for it.”

  Varian grinned. “As it should be. You are even better at the politics of our government than your husband had been. It is well you stand as close to the Queen as ever.”

  Margaret’s eyes sharpened. “I can only help you so far, Varian. I cannot cross the line where I am working against Lucien.”

  “And I would not ask you to do that. I’m trusting Lucien will be thorough and objective in his discoveries. I have no want for anything else from him.”

  “You have a great many wants, like all men,” Margaret growled. “Not the least of which is making sure I put an end to the annulment with Lucien. I have done that. Not that I’m completely convinced that I should have.”

  Varian’s face broke into a smile and Margaret could not help smiling back, as she thought, dear lord, Varian is as handsome as ever. No wonder Merry had gotten herself into such a complicated muddle over him. Knowing all she knew of his activities, from his years as Morgan to the chaos he was presently unleashing in the government, she paused to wonder if she were foolish to interfere with Lucien. A woman belonged to her husband, body and property. His crimes were her crimes. His fate her fate. Was it wise to trust Merry to him? Was Varian still the man she knew him to be or had time changed him? Margaret didn’t know for certain. It was troubling.

  Into the silence between them, Margaret said on a halting whisper, “Why did you marry my granddaughter? Tell me the truth, scamp. If you lie, I will know it. Is she breeding? It would be nice to go to my grave knowing the chit did some part of her duty well.”

  Those great black eyes slowly warmed and began to sparkle. She had forgotten how mesmerizing he could be, and it was not a completely pleasing thing for her to see. Varian kissed her hand and then looked up at her. “My motivation is only of my heart, Margaret. You need have no fear of that.”

  Margaret studied his face and stood up then, feeling a vague disappointment and still unsure if she were doing the right thing. “Trite. I expected something better from a man of your age and prowess. You are a foolish man, and if you harm my granddaughter in this I will kill you myself and spare Lucien the effort.”

  Varian rose and stared down at her. “If Merry is harmed I would not wish otherwise.”

  She pursed her lips. He was too clever for his own good.

  Abruptly, she said, “They arrested Lord Sanderson today. Some irregularities with military contracts have come to light. It is dark days in London, indeed, to learn so many fine men ar
e not fine at all.” She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. She held it under his gaze. “Have you seen this? It is new. It arrived beneath my breakfast plate, though no one could tell me how it got there.”

  Varian stared at the caricature depicting Merry. His gut tightened when he read the verse: “The Duchess of Windmere, young and gay she cavorts. An object of pity. An object of sport. Both an old man’s fancy and a young man’s curse. She will soon be seen, in the back of a hearse.”

  “Rensdale,” he said without inflection. “Smacks of the ballads a decade ago. It is of no worry.”

  “It is of great worry to me,” Margaret returned fiercely. “I do not like this nasty business you’ve involved me in. I cannot guarantee after this farce I will be able to manage Lucien’s endeavors against you. As for my granddaughter…Merry is young. She will not understand what you are doing. You will hurt her and I will hate you for it.” Margaret began to make her way to the door. She gave Varian a hard look. “Do not hurt her too well in this.”

  “I would not hurt her at all if there were another way.”

  Margaret nodded.

  “Watch over her heart for me in this, Margaret,” Varian said. “I have not explained the things I must do in London.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened. She shook her head. Cruel, cruel man, though she reluctantly acknowledged it would play better this way, having Merry not know what was coming. Still, it was cruel. She wondered if Merry was strong enough to stay on her feet through it all. She had been through much with Varian. It did not mean she could make it through this.

  She asked, “Did you really kidnap my granddaughter from a smugglers den?”

  “In a crate,” Varian admitted ruefully, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

  Then Margaret remembered the letter in her hand. She held it out to him. “Burn it, Varian. It was foolish to put such a complete tale in a letter to me. It is not wise to think you know people too well. It could very well cost you your head.”

  Margaret’s next stop was Merry. It would be hard to face the girl with all she knew. Grimly conceding the necessity of what she was allowing to have happen did not make it any easier to carry its weight.

  She found the girl as she expected, curled on a bench before the window staring out at the courtyard. The scene familiar, much cherished and miserable at once.

  How young she looks, Margaret thought. Was I ever that young? The love of her own husband had put Margaret through much, though nothing quite as cruel as what Merry’s husband would put her through. She reminded herself that all woman must bear at times great pain to love great men. Roger Merrick had been a great man. Varian Deverell was a great man as well. It was a woman’s lot. Her duty. It was time for Merry to suffer that fate and learn it.

  Margaret closed the door behind her, strangely still undecided if she would let Varian have his way, and strangely still moving forward to do his bidding. The man had a baffling power about him that even she was not immune to and had never once been able to fully understand.

  “Are you well?” the duchess asked. There was a bit of snap in her voice. There was always a bit of snap in her voice. Merry’s beautiful face turned to her and she sprang from the bench, a smile brightening her face. Her abrupt manner had never intimidated Merry or sent her to jitters like it irritatingly did Kate. It was good that Merry was not a girl easily knocked off her feet. Very good. Perhaps it would help carry the girl through the coming days.

  Margaret settled on the bed and made a poor show of pushing off Merry’s embrace.

  “Will you stop pretending you are angry with me, Grandmamma,” Merry pleaded sweetly. “I will not believe it, so you should well save yourself the effort. It is good to see you. I have missed you.”

  “Quite an adventure you’ve had this past year,” Margaret announced stiffly, arching a brow. “Quite a bit of nonsense you’ve put your family through. Instead of a smile on your lips, I should see tears of shame in your eyes. At least Kate would have the good decency to show some remorse for her conduct. Instead, you sit here trying to soften my bite with your foolishness.”

  Merry sank down beside her on the bed. “I am not angry with you,” she pointed out. “Though I would claim I have cause to be since you are meddling in my affairs just as high-handedly as my father is. Ordering us to London. Having a ball in honor of my marriage. Could you not have at least asked me if I wished it so? Too many meddle in my affairs as it. I expected better of you, Grandmamma.”

  Margaret lifted her chin, though her aged hand softly patted the top of Merry’s smooth, delicate fingers. “What if I told you I thought your father right in this? That your marriage should be annulled and Varian Deverell sent on his way quickly?”

  Merry’s eyes rounded. That was not a question she had been expecting. Certainly, not in light of the unspoken message her grandmother’s edict and celebration was surely intended be sent to society.

  “I would say it is not what I wish,” Merry said, softly and cautiously.

  “Ah. Can you tell me why not so that I may reason the best course in this? Your father has strong opinions. Your husband does as well. I am not of an opinion to agree with either of them yet.”

  Merry’s silence told Margaret everything. Only pride was keeping her granddaughter from speaking the truth so poorly hidden in her heart. Merry was in love with Varian, struggling against those affections, most definitely confused by everything at present, woefully unprepared to manage wisely the dangerous endeavor Varian was about to fully undertake with his arrival to London, and more woefully unprepared to love a man like Varian Deverell. But Margaret knew, as she watched Merry, that her granddaughter was in love with Varian. It explained much, and made everything much, much worse.

  Margaret stood up. There was no point probing the girl further. She cupped Merry’s chin. “I have always loved you best, my child, but I don’t think ever quite as much as I do at present. You’ve come back from your year greatly improved. Remember that, Merry. There is much we must do while you are in London. For the love of God, don’t fight me for once, and do my bidding!”

  Merry’s brilliant blue eyes looked up at her. They were so wide it was nearly Margaret’s undoing.

  Merry watched her grandmother leave, thoroughly bewildered by their dialogue and the strange light she had seen rise in the duchess’s eyes. None of her grandmother’s actions made sense any longer, though in truth they had never made complete sense before arriving at Merrick Hall. Grandmamma had brought them all here to put the appearance of approval on Merry’s marriage to Varian. Merry was certain that was the purpose of each carefully scripted element of their journey to London.

  Grandmamma had been thorough in her scheming in this and, much to her father’s displeasure, even thorough enough in her devotion to correct appearances to put Merry in the same bedchamber as her husband.

  Merry stared at the door. Not precisely the same bedchamber. Two adjoining suits connected by a door. Improvement, Merry thought, recalling the recent pleasures and happy moments she had spent with Varian at Deverell House.

  At last she heard Varian moving about his chamber. She went to his door, wondering if it were worth an effort to ask Varian to help her make reason of the goings on at Merrick Hall, and not completely resistant to the notion that it would be equally well if he remained as without disclosure as he did in many things and simply took her to bed. Being close to him all day, alone their last day of travel, had made her desire for him an ever-present thing.

  Daylight it may still be, but she wanted him, and thanks to her grandmother it would be an easy endeavor. But when Merry went to join Varian, she was greeted by a locked door, and so started the worst weeks of Merry Deverell’s life…

  ~~~

  When Merry stepped from the throne room at Carlton House the next day, every set of eyes in the room was watching and not making a pretense of doing otherwise. Her gaze avoided familiar faces. Beau Brummel. Lady Wythford. The Earl of Camden. Her father.
Her mother. The entire Merrick clan.

  Be obedient, her grandmother had warned. Be remorseful. Let his majesty know your appreciation for his assistance in the search to bring you home. Do not flash your anger. It will not serve you or your family well.

  At first, Merry had refused to comply with the Regent’s summons when her grandmother had delivered it. But her refusal to comply proved as futile as all of Merry’s battles of late. There had been no reasoning with anyone—not grandmamma, not her father, or Varian—they ignored her want and opinion to escape the humiliation of being called to task by a sovereign only loosely respected by her.

  Now standing bathed in society’s amusement and ridicule of her, it took every ounce of strength within her not to crumble before their watching eyes. Looking at no one but Varian, it was her heart’s will and not the will of her angry mind that made her rush across the antechamber to him first.

  She stopped, standing close to him, her eyes not lifting from their lock on his chest. “It was awful,” she whispered. “I don’t understand how you could all make me go through that. It was dreadful.”

  “For the love of God, hold your chin up,” Varian warned callously. “Can you not manage a single task from start to finish with dignity and poise?”

  Every nerve tip in Merry’s slight form suffered a brutal jolt and her eyes widened in dismay. Varian had hardly been of agreeable disposition in the carriage on the way here, but oh no, she had not expected his demeanor to be thus after the humiliation in the throne room.

  Anxiously studying his still and erect posture, the presentation of him was strange and yet one she had witnessed far too often aboard ship. There was nothing on the surface of Varian to be picked up by her eyes—handsome face, sardonic mouth, and elegant posture—but there was much to be felt in her keener senses and revived in her memory. A latent dangerousness. Body like a resting coil ready to spring. An air of supremacy and self-demanded isolation. A scornful, omniscient alertness mingling with the unsmiling mask of boredom on his face.