by Diane Gaston
He sat at the table. ‘Indeed he did, my friend.’
Madeleine spooned some porridge into a bowl and poured him some tea.
Devlin glanced at the bowl with dismay. ‘Today you must replenish our larder, Bart. Bacon and boiled eggs for breakfast tomorrow.’
‘Bacon, bacon, bacon…’ sang Linette, a white moustache of milk on her lip.
‘And wages for you both,’ Devlin continued.
Sophie, whose eyes had remained downcast when he entered the room, looked up with awe.
Bart turned red. ‘Now, I was not asking about my wages, but there is a matter I wish to discuss.’
‘What is it?’
Sophie slipped out of her chair and retreated to a stool in the corner.
Bart fidgeted with his spoon and for once avoided glancing toward Sophie. ‘I…er…um…’
‘Out with it, man,’ Devlin insisted.
‘I wish to arrange for the banns to be read.’ He gripped the spoon. ‘For Miss Sophie and myself.’
Except for Linette’s incessant song about bacon, the room went quiet as the significance of the words penetrated.
Devlin glanced at Madeleine, who had frozen, looking pale.
‘Well,’ gulped Devlin. ‘I see.’
Poor Bart and Sophie stared at them warily and Sophie looked about to cry.
‘Why, it’s wonderful news!’ Madeleine jumped out of her seat and rushed over to hug Sophie. ‘We were taken by surprise by it, were we not, Devlin?’
‘Yes, surprised,’ he agreed. He followed Madeleine’s example, clapping Bart on the back. ‘God help our Sophie, marrying this crusty fellow.’ They all laughed except Sophie, who rarely expressed that much emotion. She did manage to smile.
Devlin reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of coins. He counted out a generous amount. ‘Here you are, with extra for a betrothal gift.’
‘No, it must be three times what you owe,’ Bart protested, pushing the stack of coins away. ‘You must save the money, Dev. We mustn’t go short again.’
‘Nonsense.’ Devlin pushed the stack of coins back and sat in his chair. ‘Now that I intend to assiduously follow my brother’s wishes, he will continue to fund me.’
Linette, attracted by the coins, climbed on Devlin’s lap, now singing nonsense words. She peeked inside the pouch. Devlin let her pour the coins on the table.
‘See? We are flush in the pockets again.’ Devlin gestured to the pile of coins.
‘Fush,’ Linette said, intently concentrating on stacking the coins as Devlin had done.
Madeleine watched Devlin finger Linette’s soft curls, the expression on his face soft and tender. She stared as he gingerly kissed Linette on the top of her head.
‘If it is agreeable to you, we should be about the business.’ Bart had spoken. Perhaps he had spoken before, but she had not heard and, apparently, neither had Devlin.
‘By all means,’ said Devlin. He pushed a few more coins to Bart. ‘Here. This will pay to fill our cupboards and settle our accounts. Will you see to it?’
Bart laughed and, as tenderly as Devlin behaved with Linette, reached out his hand to Sophie and assisted her from the stool.
‘I want to go, too!’ Linette cried when she saw Bart and Sophie leaving.
‘No, Lady Lin,’ Devlin crooned to her, holding her on his lap as she tried to propel herself out of it. ‘Stay with me a bit. Would you like a walk in the park while your mother cleans up?’
‘I want to ride your horse.’ Linette turned to face him, and she played with his neckcloth and gave him her most appealing expression.
‘The horses cannot come today,’ he said. ‘But we might see some in the park.’
Madeleine felt a chill run down her back. She did not wish to believe he might be conspiring with his brother, but the park would be an excellent place to hand over Linette.
She took a deep breath, deciding to trust him. ‘You will have a lovely time, Linette.’
Chapter Fourteen
Devlin stood at the entrance of Almack’s with Serena on his arm. He had never attended the assembly room, too occupied with Spanish battlefields or, when in town, with pursuits of a baser nature. The room itself was unexpectedly plain, but the pale-coloured dresses of the ingénues gave it the appearance of a formal flower garden in full bloom. In his youth he might have relished the prospect of gathering a bouquet, but, on this night, one suitable flower would be sufficient.
Dozens of female eyes fixed upon him, the older ones coldly calculating, probably tallying what they’d heard his fortune to be. Younger eyes might be assessing other attributes as well, but would likewise not be insensible of his monetary worth.
Devlin thought he heard the pounding of cavalry hooves, but his mind played tricks on him. The sound was merely the buzz of so many voices over the music. Perhaps the analogy to an impending battle was more apt than a flower garden. He certainly felt like the target of a frontal assault.
Truth was, he entered this room with as much intent as the flowers before him. He only hoped it was possible to find a biddable female who would welcome marriage to a man whose heart was engaged elsewhere.
Madeleine.
She had offered to play valet for him, but he had undressed her as quickly as she tried to dress him. He could still feel the heat of her body next to his, still feel the raw rush of pleasure as he entered her—
‘Devlin?’ Serena shook his arm.
Serena had been speaking. He forced himself to attend to her.
‘We must greet the Patronesses first of all.’ Serena led him into the room, seeming to know in just what direction to go. Had Serena met Ned in these rooms? Perhaps Ned had scanned the flowers with as much detachment as Devlin, since his blossom had been previously selected for him.
Serena led him to where the Patronesses held court. Three in attendance this evening, all looking more ordinary than he had expected. He would not have picked them from the crowd, except perhaps for their vigilant eyes.
‘Dear Serena,’ one said as they approached. The woman extended her hands to Serena and seemed genuinely glad to see her.
‘Maria, how glad I am you are here,’ Serena responded in kind. She nodded to the two other ladies who were busy scrutinising Devlin.
He hoped his neckcloth had remained in place and that they would not notice the mended place on his long-tailed coat. He had insisted Madeleine repair the damage she had done, although she begged to have Sophie do it. Devlin wanted to assure Madeleine that her sewing was equal to the task. She had laboured hard to learn the stitches, after all.
Serena urged him a step forward. ‘Lady Sefton, Lady Cowper, Mrs Drummond-Burrell, allow me to present to you Lord Devlin Steele, who is Heronvale’s youngest brother.’
Devlin bowed to the ladies and managed to push a little charm into his smile. ‘It is an honour, ladies.’
‘We have not seen you here before, Lord Devlin,’ Mrs Drummond-Burrell said, her eyebrow raised suspiciously.
‘I have not previously had the pleasure.’ Devlin met her gaze and tried to sound sincere.
Serena spoke quickly. ‘Devlin—Lord Devlin—was with Wellington. He is recently recovered enough to come to town.’
Serena had drilled him in the proper topics of conversation, which were pitifully few. He hoped oblique references to war wounds were included as acceptable. Not that he wished to speak with these ladies of such matters.
‘Indeed. I believe I recall the story,’ Lady Cowper said. ‘Heronvale fetched you from Brussels. Is that correct?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I am indebted to my brother.’ Talk of the battle was thus avoided by mention of the rescue.
Lady Sefton took his arm. ‘I am certain Lord Devlin did not come here to discuss such unpleasantness. He came to meet our young ladies, is that not so, sir?’
‘I am found out.’ He smiled.
Mrs Drummond-Burrell tilted her chin in the direction of an exquisite blonde creature surrounded by a group of fawning gent
lemen. ‘Amanda Reynolds is the current Diamond, I believe. She is not within your touch, however.’ The Patroness sniffed. ‘Your brother might have tempted her, but not an untitled younger son.’
‘You spare me from wasting my time. I am grateful to you.’ He bowed.
The Diamond would not have tempted him in any event. The fire within such a lady was as much an illusion as the sparkle of a gem. Devlin preferred the burning passion of a dark-haired woman with fine blue eyes.
But he must not think of Madeleine while here. If he did, he would never find a woman needing marriage and not much else.
‘How about Lady Allenton’s daughter?’ Lady Cowper suggested, glancing pointedly at a plump, rather frightened-looking girl.
‘Hmmph!’ snorted Mrs Drummond-Burrell. ‘She lacks wit, sense and beauty. Her fortune is impressive, but that is the end of it, and Lord Devlin has no need of her funds.’
‘Come, my lord.’ Lady Sefton, still holding his arm, pulled him away. ‘We shall introduce you to many young ladies before the night is over. I suspect they will be eager to add you to their tally of partners.’
So Devlin met many agreeable young ladies, danced many pleasant dances, and gradually felt more and more depressed. Some of the ingénues, particularly the youngest ones, were insecure and full of anxieties, others blatantly forward, as if already composing an engagement announcement. None were Madeleine, however, and all suffered in the comparison. He longed to be at Madeleine’s side, even if merely seated in the parlour watching her struggle with her sewing. He longed to bounce Linette on his lap and hear her delighted squeals.
That morning he’d held Linette up next him at the mirror, their heads together. He saw identical shapes of the brow, identical dimples. For his child and her mother he would perform his duty.
He begged leave of the forgettable creature who had partnered him in the last country dance and joined Serena, seated with Lady Sefton among the matrons.
Serena regarded him worriedly.
Lady Sefton smiled. ‘You are doing very well, Lord Devlin. I believe you have made an impression on our young ladies.’
‘They are quite lovely.’
She laughed. ‘Charming, sir! You shall have your pick, I am sure.’
He frowned. ‘This is my first evening among society, ma’am. I mean only to enjoy myself.’
Serena avoided his eyes. He supposed she knew he was lying. Or perhaps she continued to disapprove of his decision to marry.
‘Would you ladies like some refreshment?’ He may as well be useful.
‘An excellent idea.’ Lady Sefton nodded.
Devlin walked to the room where the refreshments were served. The ladies had requested lemonade.
‘Steele! Upon my word, it is you.’
Devlin turned to see who spoke to him. A slim man in an impossibly high collar and tiers of intricate neckcloth grinned at him.
‘Duprey.’
The young man smirked. ‘Steele, I have not seen you since you were sent down from Oxford, I declare. Been up to no good, I expect.’
Robert Duprey had been a particular stickler at school, always eager to turn in a pupil who deviated from the rules.
‘I’ve been in the army, Duprey.’
‘Indeed? Well, I suppose that makes sense. Keeps you out of trouble, eh?’ He laughed the same squeaky laugh he’d had in school.
‘You have the right of it.’ Devlin picked up the two glasses of lemonade.
‘I say, have you tried the orgeat? Dreadful stuff.’ Duprey took a sip.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Devlin said, stepping around him.
Duprey followed him into the ballroom. ‘I say, who is that creature seated with Lady Sefton? She is perfection.’
‘My brother’s wife.’ Devlin strode away. He served the ladies their lemonade and idly surveyed the room.
Duprey sauntered over to converse with a young lady dressed in a pale yellow gown. Devlin watched her as she spoke to his old schoolmate. She seemed familiar to him, the way she moved, the expression on her face. She had brown hair, facial features of no distinction, a passable figure. There was no reason he should recall an acquaintance with her.
Devlin walked back to Duprey and stood at his side.
‘I did not mean to leave you so abruptly, Duprey,’ he lied. ‘I thought you meant to follow.’
Duprey gave a snorting laugh. ‘I say, I would have appreciated a presentation to that exquisite angel; that is, before I knew who she was.’
The young lady attended this conversation composedly, pale blue eyes resting on each speaker.
Devlin favoured her with a smile, and received one in return. ‘Perhaps you would present me…?’
Duprey clapped the heel of his hand on his forehead. ‘Oh, indeed.’ The man waved toward the young lady. ‘My sister, Miss Emily Duprey. Or I should say, Miss Duprey. Our other sister finally legshackled some viscount a year or so ago. Piles of blunt. Emily, Lord Devlin Steele.’
‘Miss Duprey.’ He bowed to her.
‘Lord Devlin,’ she murmured through downcast lashes.
Miss Duprey was at least in her twentieth year, Devlin guessed. Perhaps if she had seen one or two unsuccessful Seasons, she might welcome an offer such as his with pragmatism.
‘Do you enjoy yourself this evening, Miss Duprey?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes, indeed,’ she replied. ‘Almack’s is always agreeable, don’t you think?’
‘I have not had the pleasure of attending before this night.’ He smiled at her, sure now he’d not met her before.
Her brother piped up, ‘Steele was at Oxford with me, Em. That is, until he was sent down and joined the army.’
Leave it to Duprey to place him in a negative light. The lady’s countenance remained complacent, however, so hopefully his less-than-pristine past would not disfavour him in her eyes. Devlin secured the next waltz with Miss Duprey and took his leave of her.
When he presented himself to Miss Duprey for the dance, her mother took far more interest in him than the daughter had, but the dance was pleasant enough. They made predictable conversation. Devlin knew Duprey stood to inherit a barony, not a lofty title. He knew little else about the family. If they had married one daughter well enough, there might not be a need to seek a title for the other.
The rest of the night dragged on. Devlin was surprised to see the Diamond, Miss Reynolds, eyeing him curiously. Perhaps she had not yet heard he was a younger son. Everyone else seemed to know his situation and fortune, accurate to within a pound. Devlin ran into a couple of acquaintances, including one fellow officer he had known slightly when in Spain. He supposed the few officers left alive would be, like he, searching for a wife. There was little else for a former soldier to do.
When Serena had finally indicated that they might leave without disgrace, Devlin was grateful. As they waited for their carriage, Devlin found himself standing next to the Diamond. Serena, acquainted with the aunt who chaperoned Miss Reynolds, made the introductions.
‘You did not seek a dance with me, Lord Devlin,’ the Diamond said, while her aunt and Serena chatted together.
‘I am afraid I was warned that the competition would be too stiff,’ he replied.
She laughed and grinned conspiratorially. ‘A dance with any gentleman serves to cause worry to those truly in the running.’
Her carriage arrived and he bid her goodnight.
When he and Serena finally were seated in her carriage, Devlin breathed a sigh of relief.
Serena glanced at him warily. She hesitated before speaking. ‘I hope the evening was to your liking.’
He gave a sardonic smile. ‘It was up to my expectations.’
‘You did well,’ she faltered. ‘You danced many dances.’
‘I did indeed.’ He crossed his arms over his chest and retreated into his own thoughts of the evening, thoughts he would not dare speak aloud to Serena. How boring the evening had been. And how he hated himself for performing his expected role, when he woul
d have rather been with Madeleine.
Serena glanced at Devlin, sitting silent and sullen next to her in the carriage. She had detested this evening, having agreed to accompany her husband’s brother only because her husband wished it. She could not help but think of the beautiful young woman Devlin had brought to their house and how Devlin had gazed at that beauty throughout the evening. Miss England seemed perfectly suitable to Serena. She was polite and well mannered and obviously educated. Surely those things would make her suitable? What did it matter if she had come from trade or something equally as shameful?
Serena wished she could discuss the matter with her husband, but she dared not. He had been in such a temper about his brother, she might aggravate the situation if she interfered. Besides, she never interfered with her husband’s affairs. She never even knew what they were.
Ned would not understand if she talked with him of her conviction that Devlin loved this mere girl whom he had kept secret for so long. Ned should make Devlin marry the girl. Surely it would not be too scandalous for the family for a younger son to marry a mistress who had already borne him a child? Why did Ned not consider it Devlin’s duty to marry Miss England?
She feared she knew the answer to that question. Ned still wished to adopt the child. Of course that was the reason. He still hoped to convince Miss England to give him her little daughter, because his wife could not bear a child of his own.
Tears welled up in Serena’s eyes. Sniffing the tears away, she fussed in her reticule to find her handkerchief.
Devlin turned, looking concerned. ‘What is wrong, sister?’
‘Nothing,’ she mumbled.
‘Fustian,’ he said. ‘Tell me what is upsetting you.’
He put his arm around her and leaned her against his shoulder. The comfort almost opened the floodgates, but Serena refused to give in to the impulse to weep.
‘I…’ She searched for something to say, something other than the real reason for her tears. ‘I…I cannot like this search of yours for a wife. Your heart is engaged elsewhere, I am convinced. It…it seems dishonourable.’