by Sahara Kelly
He began to struggle to his feet. “And now, my friends, I do have to return to Whitehall. There are urgent matters needing my attention.”
“Papa, where are you staying in London? You are welcome here. You know that.”
Her father smiled at Dev in embarrassment. “Forgive my daughter. It’s not like her to invite someone to a house not her own.”
“It will be hers soon enough, sir. And her invitation comes from myself as well.”
“Then I thank you both. But I do have lodgings very close to places I must be. I will be well tended, so do not concern yourselves on that point. I will certainly accept dinner invitations, should any be forthcoming…” He put his arm around Léonie’s shoulder as he stood. “And I must get back to full health, since I believe I will be giving you away to this young man shortly. I’d prefer to do so on both feet.”
“It will be soon, sir. As soon as we can manage it. Nothing ostentatious, just good friends sharing the joy of the day.” Dev shot a look at Léonie, seeing a touch of color rise in her cheeks.
“This pleases me.” Colonel Girard nodded in approval.
“Oh.” Dev snapped his fingers. “Before you go, Colonel, there is one thing we’d like you to see.”
“Very well.”
“I had it brought to my study, since I doubt you’d enjoy climbing the stairs to my chambers yet.” Dev led the way, taking his time so that the Colonel could keep pace. He used his cane effectively, but he had some time yet before his full mobility would return.
Opening the door to his study, Dev stood aside and let Léonie lead her father into the room.
There, propped up on his desk, was the portrait.
“Mon Dieu,” faltered Girard. “Mon Dieu…”
He staggered and let his daughter help him to the chair in front of the desk.
“It is uncanny, isn’t it?” Bertrande came up behind them and put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Set me back a bit when I first saw it.”
“How…when…” Girard turned to Dev. “Where did you get this?”
“It was part of a family bequest. A distant relative passed away and there were the usual dispositions of bits and pieces as the estate was sold off. The Deverell lot contained a few ugly bits of pottery, some rather old lace that did not impress my housekeeper—and this.”
“Magnifique, ma belle. Magnifique.” Shocked into his native tongue, the Colonel stared, nearly speechless at what he saw in front of him.
“Do you know who she is, Papa?” Léonie inquired. “She is wearing clothes from quite a few years ago…”
The old man gave a single nod. “Oui. I think I know who she is. Anuschka Feordorovnya Petrova.”
“A Petrova.” Léonie darted a glance at Dev. “An ancestor of Mama. That explains the likeness.”
“Anuschka Petrova was one of the great beauties of her day. I never met her, but when you were born several of the older ladies in St. Petersburg remarked on a likeness, my dear. She was your mother’s aunt. A Petrova through and through. Beautiful, yes, but also gentle, kind and with a mind that outshone half the Russian court.”
“Very much like you, love.” Dev came to Léonie’s side and gave her a quick hug.
“What happened to her?” Léonie inquired.
“Not the happiest of stories, daughter. She was courted by many, but made her own choice. A man who was unworthy of the treasure that fell into his hands. He got her with child, then deserted her, running away one wintry night with her maid.”
“Oh no…” Léonie looked horrified.
“Fate delivered the ultimate punishment. Their sleigh overturned and threw them into the Neva river. They went through the ice and drowned.”
“How terrible. And how tragic for poor Anuschka.” Bertie’s eyes were moist. “To be so betrayed by one’s love, and then suffer the loss on top of it…”
“Indeed, Lady Bertrande. It was too much for Anuschka. She lost her child, and within the week she had passed away as well. Such a sad ending for a woman who could have been destined for great things.”
Dev looked at his ‘obsession’ with new eyes. “I wondered what she was saying to me.”
The others looked at him curiously.
“She has a very expressive countenance. Every time I looked at her I saw something a little different. I was never able to say exactly what, but I felt she was trying to convey something. Or speak to me somehow…” He paused, feeling rather self-conscious.
Léonie left her father and came to his side. “How surprised you must have been when you saw me.”
“Darling, you have no idea.”
Bertie chuckled. “You know what I think? I think our Anuschka here landed in Dev’s hands on purpose. She was telling him that when it came to choosing the love of his life, he needed to get it right.”
“He needed to pick me, so she was here to get you used to the idea.” Léonie stared at her likeness, then turned to Dev. “And you did.”
“I rather think we picked each other, love, but the outcome is the same.” He reached for her hand. “We’ll put her story right. This Petrova is going to have a very happy ending.”
And she did.
Epilogue
Dev found the next few weeks to be a whirlwind of non-stop activity.
He honored his promises, and managed to corner the Earl of March, telling him as much of the tale as he could. Also informing him that his invitation to the wedding was on the way. Two birds with one stone, which pleased him no end.
He repeated that triumph with Harry Scott, as he showed off the matching puzzle ring and enjoyed Harry’s envious jibes. Another invitation accepted.
At last he ran down Ian McPherson. “Damn it, you’re a hard man to find.” Since they were on a London street, Ian fell into step with Dev and they both turned into a convenient inn. “I definitely owe you a mug of ale. And a story I think you’ll enjoy.”
By now, Dev had perfected his recitation to the point where he kept Ian on tenterhooks until the very end. But even with a Bow Street Runner, there were things he kept to himself. The arrival of a new exhibit at the British Museum would never be connected with the Deverells.
“I’m glad it all ended well, Dev.” Ian picked up his mug. “It could have gone badly, you know, for both of you.”
“Oh, I know.” Dev agreed. “We were very lucky. So lucky I’m going to marry her, just in case. She won’t get into a spot like that again if I have anything to say about it.”
Ian grinned and toasted Dev with his ale. “There you are then. All’s well as the bard said.”
“Indeed. Will you come to the wedding?”
Ian’s face fell. “I wish I could say yes, I really do. But there’s a case come up. A bit of a tough one. Got ma brains in a bit of a twist. But it needs sorting, an’ I reckon I’m the man to do it.”
“Well, if you can shake free, we’d love to have you there. If not, our door is always open to friends.” Dev held out his hand. “And should you need a couple of men to cover your back at any time—well, you only have to send a message.”
Ian grinned. “I’m thinkin’ those wives might have a word or two to say about that.”
“Nonsense.” Dev shook his head. “We just won’t tell ‘em.”
To which sentiment he clung until he realized that it was his wedding day and he was now possessed of something called a “wife”. And that she was the most important person in his world. Ever.
He would certainly tell her anything and everything. How could he not?
“Get over here, you misbegotten jackanapes.”
The verbose insult was followed by a giant hug from the smiling blond Viking who had just approached Dev.
“Charles, you dog. Finally finished honeymooning around?”
“Never. But we’ll be doing it at home now. Where’s the poor girl you’ve ruined with marriage? And why didn’t you wait until I got back to have adventures, damn your eyes? I take one honeymoon in my entire life and you have to go
and get into all kinds of excitement while I’m gone. I swear I should skewer you with my trusty sword.”
“You don’t have a trusty sword.” Lucius strolled up to his two friends and slapped them both on the back.
“Ouch.” Dev managed to buckle slightly. “Lucius, you have to stop working the land. You’re going to get muscles like a bloody farmer if you’re not careful.”
“Going to need ‘em to cart the children around.” Lucius looked smug.
“Oh ho.” Charles peered at him. “I see that look of impending fatherhood again.”
“You dog, Lucius. Can’t keep your hands or anything else off Julia, can you.” Dev shook his head. “Poor girl.”
“Well now that you’re one of us married men, Dev, we shall expect you to keep up the good work.” Lucius raised his glass to toast the bridegroom. “And I expect Charles is working hard at the same thing. Day and night.” He grinned at Charles. “Am I right?”
“Well, I don’t like to brag…”
“Then don’t. Look over there. The dark haired beauty. That’s my Léonie.”
Charles, caught mid sip, choked. And once again suffered a sharp blow to the back from the ever-helpful Lucius.
Finally catching his breath, Charles stared at Léonie then at Dev. “Well I’ll be damned. It’s your obsession, isn’t it? The painting. Why didn’t somebody tell me you could design your own wife…?”
“Don’t be a clump. You’d have designed Hannah anyway. Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
Dev dragged Charles away to present his friend to his wife, leaving Lucius standing with a smile on his face by the punch bowl.
“Hallo.” A cheerful face smiled up at him. “Having fun?”
“Mostly.” He smiled down at her. “If you’re looking for your husband, he’s just gone over to meet the bride.”
“Oh good,” said Hannah. “I think he was a little miffed that he didn’t get to share in this particular adventure.”
“I’m sure you made up for it, Miss Mischief.” He flicked her nose.
“That’s Lady Mischief, if you please. And yes. I did my humble best.” She gurgled a laugh, a rich and happy sound inviting smiles. This time was no exception as Lucius found himself grinning at the sprite with the cheeky sense of humor.
“It’s good to see so many people enjoying themselves. And a wonderful idea to hold the ceremony here at Gordonstone. I love this house. And you’re working wonders on the older bits.”
Lucius sighed. “The entire house is made up of older bits, if you want the truth, but we progress. At least we don’t have to worry about it falling down on us anymore.”
“Progress indeed,” she agreed.
It was late summer and a few leaves were already turning to their autumn hues as the garden party celebrating the marriage of Delaney and Léonie Deverell continued unabated at Gordonstone Hollows.
Colonel Girard was seated with Lady Bertrande, Mary and Eileen, and all four were laughing over glasses of wine. No doubt the father of the bride was complimenting them on his daughter’s appearance on her special day. Since her gown was made by the two seamstresses, and Aunt Bertie had done her hair, there were happy smiles all around.
As so often happens, three women ended up sitting together…the bride and the wives of her husband’s best friends.
“So I hear Amelia is in trouble again.” Julia looked smug. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer bitch. Er…sorry.”
“Well from what I’ve heard, I’m in total agreement. That woman seems to enjoy devouring men like ripe apples and then spitting out the pips.” Hannah ignored the peal of laughter from the other two. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Léonie nodded. “She’s a harpy, no doubt about it. But I think it’s because she’s unhappy. Now that it’s come out that she’s almost penniless…her name will be dropped from so many guest lists, she’ll probably have to start knitting just to occupy her time.”
“I hear her brother or someone paid her debts, but she’s had to give up all her finery. The jewelry went to pay her bills.”
“All except that ruby pendant that was stolen. You know, at the end of the Gallunder’s ball?” Julia looked at the other two. “You didn’t hear?”
Two heads shook in the negative.
“Amelia was strolling outside, she said. Probably an assignation, but she didn’t say that. Anyway, someone came up behind and tore that necklace from her throat. Left a mark, I heard.”
“Ouch.” Hannah’s hand went to her own throat. “An appropriate judgement on women who wear jewelry worth a king’s ransom.”
Léonie looked at her. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I only need one piece of jewelry. This one.” She held up her left hand and her engagement and wedding rings caught the light.
“I agree, of course. But please Hannah, don’t tell our husbands. It does give them pleasure to buy nice bits and bobs now and again. We wouldn’t want to discourage that practice now, would we?”
Julia fluttered her eyelashes while the other two laughed.
“But back to Amelia…there is one interesting tidbit.” She leaned forward and the other two did the same.
“There’s a rumor going around that she’s requested help from a Bow Street Runner.”
“Really?” Hannah’s eyes widened. “They’re very helpful people. Trust me. I know.”
“You might even know the one she’s been seen talking to. He’s Scottish, bit of a beard…red haired and bloody good looking, I’m told?”
“Good grief.” Léonie stared. “You don’t mean Ian McPherson?”
“The very same…”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
And later that night, when the bride and groom were finally alone, Dev said pretty much the same thing. “Really? Amelia asked for help from McPherson?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Damn. She won’t get anywhere trying to use her womanly wiles on him. And I’ll tell you something else, too. I think that man has a few secrets of his own.” Dev grinned as he blew out the last candle and slid naked beneath the covers next to his equally naked wife.
“Goodness. Secrets and womanly wiles. Interesting.”
“Mm hmm.” Dev positioned her where he wanted her and began his favorite occupation—stroking his wife’s nude body.
“Do I have womanly wiles, Dev?”
“Millions of ‘em,” he answered absently, reaching for a nipple and making her jump as he flicked it. “See? There’s one right there.”
“Ah.”
She surrendered, reciprocating his touches with caresses of her own, showing him with her body how much she loved him.
And when at last they parted, limp and sated, she smiled into the darkness, secure in the knowledge that Dev still had his ‘obsession’.
But it was no longer a portrait—it was her.
THE END
So Dev and Léonie have entered the realm of wedded bliss, and we will leave them to explore it. But perhaps there’s something romantically infectious going around— if so, it will be most entertaining to see who catches it next…
In case the names Julia, Lucius, Charles and Hannah are unfamiliar to you, here’s a quick look at a little of their stories, beginning with Julia…
JULIA AND THE DEVIL – Available at Amazon.com (read for free with Kindle Unlimited)
Excerpt:
Julia Willoughby walked to the window of the salon for the fourth time. She wasn’t nervous. No, certainly not nervous. Apprehensive, she’d allow herself. It wasn’t every day that one entertained a notorious rake and his offer of marriage.
And if she’d had her way, she wouldn’t be doing it today, either.
Staring through the glass, she cursed her uncle, society, Napoleon and the world in general. In her mind, the oaths were violent and pithy, and would have shocked every single one of her acquaintances who assumed her to be the polite widow she had portrayed so conscientiously.
In
the five years since Edward had been killed at Albuera, during the Peninsula Wars, Julia had behaved decorously, quietly, and as befitted a grieving young wife deprived of her husband too soon by the evil powers of darkness, as represented by England’s foulest enemy.
She had mourned him, but they had both been quite young and as the years passed his memory became softer in her mind. They had loved, wed and parted. It had been a magical time for the two of them, but to be honest, Julia admitted that there wasn’t much about the marriage bed she missed.
She had maintained her decorum, always aware that a widow’s behavior must be above reproach. Especially a rich young widow who lived just outside the limits of the Ton.
She allowed a small grin to escape. She’d managed to pull the wool over a large number of eyes. But now, the wool was thinning, and her life was changing.
She sighed and turned away from the window, pacing the length of the room once more as she struggled with her thoughts. Marriage, insisted her uncle, was the only choice.
But did it have to be to a dissolute aristocrat who was far too close to penniless and was marrying beneath himself to save his fortunes? No matter that the man was rumored to be as handsome as the devil he’d been called—something she doubted. No matter that his title went back to the year dot, and his pride probably farther than that.
She was aware that she was a huge come-down for the Gordon lineage. He must be desperate indeed.
Running her hands along the back of the elegant sofa, she wondered just how desperate he was and how best she could use that desperation to her own advantage. Squelching down her nerves, she focused on what she wanted to accomplish and how to use Sir Lucius Gordon’s offer of marriage to achieve her goals.
Those goals were relatively simple. She intended to continue managing her financial empire and keep doing the supportive work she performed alongside some less-privileged members of London’s “other” side.
Neither would be acceptable to most of society. Certainly neither were public knowledge. And both were as important to her as breathing. Which she found she was quite unable to do when a tap sounded on the closed door.