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

by Susan Ward

  He started to walk off from her. She said, a touch more anxiously and loudly than she wanted, “Varian, where are you going?”

  The look he gave her made her shiver. “Do not show me your impertinence, girl, by thinking you may ask me anything. Go stand with your family. I’ve had enough of your temerity for a single day.”

  The rising flashes of emotion in Merry’s doe-eyes nearly crushed him. Varian walked off, and it was a fierce fight within him to continue each step and not go back to comfort Merry. This was all necessary, he reminded himself, on the steps awaiting his carriage to reach him in this long line of carriages before Carlton House. It was only the first of many cuts he must to deliver to her. He must find a way to remain as hardened as he had somehow managed on ship. Protecting her required his strength and the obedience of his heart. It was only the first rebuke delivered he would deliver to her during their time in London, and it already felt a crushing weight, impossible to manage.

  Varian did not continue with his day as planned. He went back to Merrick Hall and remained in the quiet of his room. He ate dinner alone in his chambers, visions of Merry haunting his thoughts. He hoped she was managing the long schedule of strategically selected visits and calls Margaret had taken Merry on after Carlton House. He prayed someday she would forgive him his conduct at Carlton House. He knew, regardless of its necessity, he would never fully forgive himself for what his love was putting Merry through.

  A door slammed from Merry’s bedroom, rousing him from his thoughts, and Varian knew that at last Merry was safely back at Merrick Hall. He heard the latch rattle on their adjoining door. He could feel her fury through the wood. When it did not open, something was thrown to make a loud noise against the door.

  Varian sat as he was, making no move toward her and it was agony. Staring at the barrier necessity forced between them, he thought, If I let you in, Little One. I will not have the strength to continue what I must. If I see the pain in your eyes and am close enough that I may touch you I will not manage well this thing I must do to protect you. I could not live if I failed you, Merry. Forgive me...

  ~~~

  The season had ended with the summer months. It was autumn. The upper ranks of society had long since fled the city for Bathe or elsewhere. But the flower of the ton returned in full force to London without haste for the Dowager Duchess of Dorset’s ball to celebrate the much talked about marriage of her granddaughter. Unfashionable time of year or not, the invitation was a coveted thing.

  There was much talk swirling on the streets and in drawing rooms about the Deverells. Everyone wanted to get a peek at the girl. And it had been over a decade since the ton had seen hide nor hair of Windmere. A dreadful state of affairs, from top to bottom, in all ways. A thing even the most reluctant gossip relished. The Merrick’s at war with each other. Old scandal reborn and surrounding Windmere. The Dowager Duchess trying to put on a proud face. It was too rich to be ignored and the dowager duchess’s party grew greater in attendance because of it.

  On this night, her seventh day in London, Merry sat in her bedroom, curled in the window sill watching a long row of carriages arriving at Merrick Hall, trying to contain her hurt and make reason of Varian. She didn’t know how she would manage the grueling hours of this ball she was being forced to attend in celebration of a marriage which was far from a thing to celebrate of late.

  Varian’s conduct in all moments was a bewildering and harsh thing. He cut her frequently, cruelly, whenever they were together in society, in a way she had not thought possible of him. In his worse moments, he had never been so severely unkind, and it was stranger still he treated her this way when he had insisted they participate in this farce concocted by her grandmother.

  In all moments, Varian pushed her away from him and toward her father and family. In all moments, he let to the surface of his flesh and manner his disdain for her. In all moments, he worked too well finishing the wall he had built between them the night they had married. In all moments she suffered, loved him and hated him in equal measure. Varian in London was a prospect she had never imagined and had not been prepared to manage well. If he could not love her, could he have not at least managed a way to be less cruel in his disposition of her?

  Whatever faint optimism she had over her future with Varian, whatever hope she held from his insistence they journey to London for her grandmother’s celebration, the meager promise that things might in time be well she had left Deverell House with; it was gone from her with the ruthless thoroughness of his heartless acts. Their marriage was nothing more than a farce, a fiction on paper. He had made it abundantly clear what she was to him the night they wed, but a part of her, foolish for sure, had not been willing to fully accept it. But Varian made certain she knew by his every act and cut that he felt no care for her, and she would never doubt again that those heartless words he had spoken in his cabin were his true opinion of her.

  Merry stared at her gown for her grandmother’s party, laying on the bed awaiting her. She should already be downstairs with her family, in the reception line to greet their guests. But somehow she couldn’t rally the will to dress and join them yet. This night would be more dreadful than the past seven days combined would be. Her father’s containment of his temper slipped a little more each day, and his fury was simply now a dreadful thing. Varian’s behavior only worsened each day, less kind and recognizable to her, so totally claimed was he by the aloof, unfeeling guise he had conjured since their arrival in London. Harsh. Unreachable. Un-giving of kindness and equally un-giving of his attention.

  She had no want to join the party below. She had no want of Varian’s next injury to her. She did not doubt that hurt awaited her in the Merrick ballroom. Hurt was her constant gift from her husband these days.

  Brushing at her tears and wishing she were not in possession of them, Merry turned her head to look as her bedchamber door was opened. Her grandmother came into the room.

  Merry looked away from her. So they had sent grandmamma to deal with her and do their bidding this night. It did not surprise Merry. It was part of the feelings of betrayal claiming her wounded senses that her grandmother offered no comfort and only harsh demand for Merry’s compliance of her wishes.

  Margaret pointed with her cane at Merry’s gown, resting beside the famous Deverell sapphires. “Throw it back in their faces, girl. But never do it with words.” Her grandmother sank down on the bed. “You’ve learned to fight like a woman. Did that devil of a husband of yours teach you that?”

  Merry did not respond to the bait of her grandmother’s taunt, and shifted her gaze to fix on her dress. She had changed her mind about the gown her mother had ordered made for her, permitting herself this one act of defiance, though not understanding why she had selected the gown Varian had asked her to wear the night at the theater in Richmond.

  Black. Elegant. Sophisticated. Shocking. Inappropriate for tonight’s celebration, and one that would surely infuriate her father. She hadn’t a notion what Varian would think when he saw her in it. She hadn’t a notion what she wanted his thoughts to be.

  Merry met her grandmother’s stare in an even study. She watched as Margaret Merrick’s thin, pale fingers lightly touched the black gown lying on the bed. “Where the devil did you get this? Your father will not approve at all.”

  Merry shrugged. “The gown was a gift from Varian long ago. I don’t know where he got it.”

  “Probably French,” Margaret murmured thoughtfully. “Get dressed, girl. You’ve hidden in here long enough. The house is full of guests all eager to see you. Your father is a thundercloud that you did not join the family in the reception line.” She stood then, and crossed the room to cup her granddaughter’s cheek. “Take time to take notice of all that happened this week. Take time to be willing to take notice of the manner of man your husband is.”

  Merry’s laughter was harsh and ringing. “Cruel. Unfeeling and without heart. Trust me grandmother, I knew that well before coming to London.”

/>   The angry thumb of her grandmother’s cane against the floor took Merry by surprise and made her jump. “You are not as clever as I thought you were if you cannot see beyond the surface of things. Learn to trust your own heart. It is the only true guidance any woman will ever have on this earth. It would serve you the better to learn that.”

  Margaret called for the maids, giving strict orders to see her grace promptly dressed, and left the room after that.

  An hour later, Merry joined the ball. It was in full swing, and her late arrival only added to the speculation and gossip rushing through the room. When the footman announced her entry to the ballroom, it felt as if every set of eyes turned to her in a unified, single motion. Whatever the looks of the guests or their too poorly concealed thoughts, she did not take notice of any of them. She could only see Varian.

  He stood across the room, Camden at his side, a strangely isolated figure in the packed ballroom. His eyes touched her, their great dark depth devoid of inner reflection. He did not move toward her, but stood there staring at her. Nothing changed on his face, but she knew he recognized her gown.

  Once she reached him, it was harder to speak than she anticipated it would be. She said, “Good evening, Your Grace. I trust you are enjoying the party.”

  Her words were selected deliberately with care. They were being listened to. The words, and she did not doubt they would pass few words tonight given his demeanor, would be much recalled on the morrow in the drawing rooms of society from here to Jersey.

  “Tedious and dull,” was Varian’s short response. He looked away from her and his repelling gaze fixed on the room.

  Ripe with fresh humiliation, Merry fought to keep a flush from her cheeks. “Perhaps we should dance. A dance might lessen the tediousness of standing in a room being stared at.” When he did not answer, she added on a fierce whispered, “It is expected, Varian. I would not have made the suggestion otherwise. Do not humiliate me further by disregarding this.”

  Varian’s jaw tightened. Merry didn’t know how to think of that. It was not a familiar expression or habit of Varian’s.

  “I don’t dance. Dance with Lord Saxton,” he said, surprising her yet again. “He should prove better than I at keeping you well entertained in this trite assembly.”

  Her wounded gaze shifted in the direction of Varian’s stare, and Merry saw Mr. Seton—Lord Saxton, she amended in her rapidly disorganized mind and emotions—standing a close distance to them. Almost as if summoned, Mr. Seton joined them, making a polite bow and offering his arm to Merry.

  Wishing she could slap it away, Merry accept the arm Mr. Seton held out to her and let him escort her to the middle of the ballroom. As she moved in his arms, there was no feeling left within her. Everything held a sense of strange un-realness. His body moving in expert precision with hers. The pillars and statues and grand strangers surrounding them. The silvery essence of perfectly tuned violins flooding the walls. The laughter. The chatter. Or even the burning feel of Varian’s eyes upon her as another man held her in his arms through her first dance at the celebration of their marriage. None of it held a sense of realness and only the sense of a nightmare she could not awaken from.

  Throughout the night, Mr. Seton remained her constant companion. Merry knew not what to make of that, but was grateful for his attention nonetheless. It made it easier to manage through the long hours of Varian’s distance and openly expressed disdain of her. It made it less cutting to bear the scrutiny fixed too unkindly upon her.

  When the hour of the night was such that she could rid herself of Mr. Seton, she shook off his presence and for some reason he let her. Varian had left the party hours ago. He had not even granted her the meager courtesy of a parting word or gesture.

  Running up the stairs, not caring if she were watched, she hurried toward her bedroom with a surge of fresh tears, thankful this night was at last done.

  Stepping into her bedchamber she froze. With no practical reason to, she had thought Varian had left Merrick Hall after his departure from the ballroom. She found the adjoining door of their chambers standing open for the first time since they had shared these rooms in London. Her senses prickled to his nearness and her whirling emotions began to whirl faster. A part of her wanted to run, bolt it closed, and let Varian go to the devil. An equally strong part of her wanted to understand why her life with this man was submerged in such a cruel and heartless state.

  Fighting back her tears, she stood staring at the open doorway. Oh no, she would not hide from him like a wounded child, cowering. He owed her some explanation and certainly better than his treatment of her of late. However he intended they manage this marriage of theirs, she would not continue as it was at present.

  Her legs without command sent her in furious running steps to his room. She found Varian sitting calmly in a chair, jacket and cravat off, shirt parted at top. No surprise or emotion rose to his eyes upon seeing her. He was waiting for her and waiting for this.

  Merry stared at him, trying to take firm command of her injured feelings, searching for words which would not reveal her as more of a fool than she had been for Varian.

  “You did not bring me here to London to claim me as your wife. You brought me here to publically scorn me and our marriage,” she sobbed.

  Varian sprang from his chair and crossed the room in three neat steps. He seized her face in his hands. His dark eyes were like raging flames. “I brought you here to make sure you would always be safe. So that no one ever would easily forget that you are Lucien Merrick’s daughter. The farce I forced on you this week before the watchful eyes of London is no different than the charade I played when we were aboard ship. I cannot let them see the true condition of my heart. I must be strong and wise to protect you in the coming days. There is much danger, Merry. Have you not taken notice of all that is happening in London, with the crimes I’ve brought to light, and the charges and accusations tearing apart our government? You accepted on ship my need to distance myself from you for your protection. It is no different now. This week has been no different. Let me protect you. Trust me in this.”

  Merry jerked her chin from his hold. “It is much different, sir. Because before we left your ship you made sure the night we married that I knew the true condition of your heart. I have learned my lesson well. I will never forget those words, for they are your true opinion of me and I have no want for this marriage. I am returning to Bramble Hill with my family and my only want is to never see your face again.”

  Merry turned away from him. She could not bear to look at Varian any longer, certain she knew what death felt like while forcing to remain among the living.

  She heard Varian’s voice from behind her. “Go home to Bramble Hill, Merry. But heed me well, this quarrel between us ends when I come for you. I will not let you squander the happiness of our lives just because you cannot accept things cannot always be the way you want them. That I cannot be always what you want me to be, and your stubborn heart will not let go of a handful of words that were untrue. My love for you will not permit me to allow you to harm you!”

  His words were still hanging heavily in the air when she ran from the room. For a long time Varian stood staring at the vacant space where Merry had stood. If he couldn’t see the end of this quickly he would push her from him forever.

  Justice was not moving quickly enough. It needed a nudge. It was time for Varian to unleash the full fury of his sea chest.

  ~~~

  A month passed. Each day for Merry it was more clearly a fact. Varian would not return to Bramble Hill. He had let her depart with her family, and a part of her, foolish she was sure, had never believed he would allow it. Her choice, and she recalled it was the promise she had demanded of him on Barataria in exchange for her return to his bed. Always her choice. She had made her choice, Varian had kept his promise to let her, but the bed she laid in was bitter and cold.

  Of all the words he’d spoken that last night in London, there was one phrase that would not gr
ant her peace. My love for you will not permit me to allow you to harm you. It haunted her each minute of the day. Haunted her when she had at last decided to give her father his way and consented to the annulment. Haunted her in sleep. And haunted her now on this quiet November afternoon as she sat on the cliffs, staring at the channel, and wondering if she would ever see Varian again.

  It was strange that the one time Varian spoke the word love addressed to her, it was in anger and in such a peculiar phrase. Did he love her? She didn’t know. He didn’t come for her as he’d warned he would. And the true condition of her heart, which she could not ignore, would not grant her a moment’s relief.

  She tugged her shawl snuggly around her tiny frame. It was harder each day to hide from the notice of her family the child she carried. It was harder each day to hide her pain.

  She felt fragile, dazed, and hollow inside. The world had lost color. She thought of the Caribbean, Varian’s Island, the brilliant hue in December, and wondered why he had taken her there.

  So many questions still unanswered. So much between them unresolved. Had it all been a lie on the Corinthian? Or was this the lie, this quiet living hell.

  The sound of horse hooves on the gravel drive made Merry turn. Emotions swirled again through her veins. She could not shut down her body’s response to seeing Varian in the drive. So Varian had come for her, as he warned he would. He was here. But Merry would not let all the things she was feeling take possession of her.

  Strangely, as she stared at Varian’s figure disappearing into the house, her grandmother’s words came to her, sharp and mocking in memory. Learn to trust your own heart. It is the only true guidance any woman will ever have on this earth. It would serve you the better to learn that.