The Devil Takes a Bride

by Julia London

  At Tomlinson Street, the boy who took Jeffrey’s horse said he didn’t know Miss Louisa Peters. But he was aware of a Mrs. Peters and pointed to a small townhome.

  Jeffrey had an uncomfortable feeling about Mrs. Peters and sincerely hoped his intuition was wrong. He walked up to the red painted door and rapped loudly, four times. Through an open window he could hear the sound of a baby crying and tensed.

  A young woman opened the door with a baby on her hip. The baby looked to be several months old, had round, flushed cheeks and looked so much like John that Jeffrey was momentarily taken aback.

  “Yes?” she asked, looking up at him, her gaze taking in his clothing.

  “I beg your pardon, I am looking for Miss Louisa Peters.”

  The blood drained from the young woman’s face. She put a protective arm around her child. She suddenly tried to close the door, but Jeffrey quickly stopped her with a boot in the door. “Who are you? What do you want?” she demanded.

  What Jeffrey wanted was for his life to be different. He wanted to raise children to a better life than what his father had shown him. He wanted to be free of the peculiarities that gripped him. He did not want to be a man that women like this feared.

  He forced himself to smile. “You know who I am, Miss Peters. And what I want is to hold my nephew.”

  She blinked. She held her baby closer, her fear obvious. “No—”

  “Louisa...let him hold the baby.”

  John appeared behind her. He was in his shirtsleeves, his neck cloth missing, as if he’d been inside the small town house for a while. He looked as anxious as Miss Peters, and put his hand on her shoulder. “I won’t allow any harm to come to him. Neither will my brother.”

  The young woman reluctantly handed Jeffrey the child.

  Jeffrey took the baby in his arms and felt something warm rush through him. The little fellow reached for his neck cloth and made a sound of delight, and Jeffrey smiled.

  “What is his name?”

  “Thomas,” John said. “Thomas Donovan. Come in, Jeffrey. We’ve drawn enough attention.”

  The house was small, and lacking in furniture. But what few pieces they had were of quality craftsmanship. In the parlor was a pair of wooden balls and a wooden toy soldier.

  Jeffrey smiled down at the boy and ran his hand over his head. The baby reached for Jeffrey’s nose. Jeffrey stood still and let him put his hands on his nose, his fingers in his mouth, all while Thomas’s mother hovered nervously about.

  Jeffrey at last handed the child to her and said, “Your son is beautiful.”

  “Thank you, milord,” she said, and pressed the baby’s head to her cheek. She picked up a rag, twisted tightly and bound on either end, and handed it to Thomas. He began to gnaw on the rag.

  “You’ve been keeping a very big secret,” Jeffrey said to his brother. “I assumed the child had only recently been born.”

  John didn’t speak. He shifted to stand between Jeffrey and his mistress and her child. “Why have you come?” John asked. “What do you want?”

  “An excellent question.” Jeffrey sighed, and swept his hat off his head. “I came in search of you. When you didn’t come yesterday, I was quite angry. I meant to have a word.”

  “You’ve said all that you need to say,” John said tightly. “I suspect I know what you will do. But you can’t threaten me, Jeffrey. There is nothing you can do that will change my mind or my heart. I have a son and I will not abandon him. I have a wife and neither will I abandon her. God knows I’ve not been husband enough to her as it is.”

  Jeffrey was stunned. He looked at the young woman. She was fair, with pale blond hair and big brown eyes. An image of her with her head tossed back in the throes of ecstasy, her slender neck exposed, flit through his mind, but he looked at the child and forced it down. “Married,” he muttered. It was not what he’d hoped for John. But then again, Grace was not what he’d hoped for himself.

  John shrugged. “I’m a scoundrel, it’s true. But I could not bring my son into the world outside the bounds of marriage. And...and I love Louisa. It’s as simple as that.”

  It really was very simple when one boiled it down wasn’t it? A remarkable revelation to someone who’d spent his entire life avoiding the slightest hint of impropriety.

  “I beg your pardon, Louisa, I have been remiss. This is my brother, the Earl of Merryton.”

  Her eyes were wide as saucers as she managed a curtsy.

  Jeffrey nodded. He put his hand behind his back and held it tightly against the need for some order, a prescribed path. He thought of their father. He could still see him as clear as if he were standing before him, the disapproval in his eyes, the absolute censure of what John had done. Jeffrey wished John had had a care with himself, and with Louisa especially—he would recover from this sort of scandal, but she never would. John knew that, and he’d done what he ought to have done. He’d stood up, taken responsibility, and for that Jeffrey was proud of him. For once in his bloody life, when it mattered most, his brother had taken some responsibility.

  Jeffrey sighed, seated his hat on his head. “I should like a pint,” he said wearily. “Perhaps two.”

  John eyed him warily. “There is a tavern at the end of the street.”

  “Will you come?” Jeffrey asked.

  John exchanged a look with his wife that Jeffrey wished he could wave away. They had nothing to fear from him.

  * * *

  THE TAVERN WAS crowded, but the proprietor recognized someone of Quality, and showed the brothers to a private room. Neither of them spoke at first, preferring to nurse their ales and their own private thoughts.

  At last Jeffrey pushed his tankard aside, planted his elbows on the table, and gave John a stern look. “Why did you not tell me?”

  John snorted. “Tell you? To hear your disgust? To be lectured at how I have ruined the family name? Is it not obvious why, Jeffrey? I hardly care what you say of me, but I will not hear such slander said against my son.”

  Jeffrey deserved that, he supposed.

  “I know this is a match you will never approve of,” he said, and then laughed bitterly. “Who would? She has no dowry, her father is a tailor...” He shook his head. “But she has made me happy. And my need to be a father to that boy—a good father—far outweighed my concern over losing my fortune.” He rubbed his face. “It is a concern, but I have a bit of property I might sell.”

  “Surely you didn’t think you could keep this secret from me. From Sylvia.”

  “I don’t know—we’ve become quite good at keeping secrets from one another, haven’t we?” He drank more ale then fixed his gaze on Jeffrey. “I know your concern is the Merryton estate and the scandal that will follow. But I’ve thought of that. My intent is to live quietly, out of the society’s eye. Perhaps in a small hamlet, as you yourself suggested—”

  “No,” Jeffrey said, shaking his head. He wasn’t entirely certain what was to be done, but he knew that the child he’d seen should not be tucked away to live in shame. “You should live as a Donovan, proud of your son and your wife. She’s lovely.”

  “As a Donovan. What the bloody hell does that mean? Living with constant censure? With your constant fear of it?”

  Was that what John thought of Jeffrey? That he feared censure? “What I mean is that, in this, you should live exactly the opposite of the way we were brought up. Openly. Proudly.”

  John blinked. A wry smile appeared on his lips. “Kind words. But I don’t trust you, Jeffrey. You are a man who has insisted that honor and propriety and the family name are far more important to him than even a wife.”

  “I have, haven’t I?” Jeffrey said absently. He felt the discord rising in him and tapped his knee. Protecting the family name had been ingrained into him since the time he could walk and talk. It was the thing that perhaps had driven him to madness, the constant need for perfection, the inability to absorb imperfections. That had all shifted a bit when he laid eyes on Thomas. “But you have a son,
John.”

  “And you have gained a wife with a mad mother.”

  “Yes,” Jeffrey said tightly.

  John looked at his ale. “I beg your pardon. That was uncalled for. I’m sorry, Jeffrey. More than anything I regret what has happened to you and to Grace. It was my fault—”

  “Don’t,” Jeffrey said. “I might have put off marriage all my life had I not been forced into it.” He drank, washing down the bitter truth in that. “She suits me,” he said simply, but it was more than that. It was far more than that. Jeffrey was finally beginning to understand just how deep and broad it truly was.

  “She never cared for me,” John said. “I hope you know that.”

  The image of John and Grace popped up, uninvited.

  “There was a time, before Louisa, that I thought Grace Cabot was one of the most comely women in London. God knows I tried to ingratiate myself to her, but she wanted nothing to do with me,” John said with a shrug. “But when she came to Bath, she’d had an abrupt change of heart and was far too determined to lure me to her. She’d never wanted for suitors. When I learned of her mother’s illness, I understood that she realized she had to marry before it was too late, before the world knew that her mother had gone mad and she’d lost her best prospects.”

  Jeffrey studied the scarred table, thinking of the irony. On the surface, what Grace did was reprehensible. But he also understood that she was concerned for her family. Right or wrong, she’d done what she thought she should do for them.

  “Yes, well, it’s said and done.”

  “I’m happy that she suits you,” John said.

  She more than suited him. He had come to rely on her in a very short time. He had thought that he would manage his forced marriage from a distance, but Grace had had another plan.

  Jeffrey drained his ale. “Speaking of Grace, I should return to her now.” He stood up, put some coins on the table. “We’ve both turned a corner in our lives, have we not? For better or worse, as it were. We should not be enemies.”

  “No,” John said. He came to his feet, offered his hand. Jeffrey took it. There was much more to say and to think through, but for now, he felt relieved. “Take care of my nephew.”

  John smiled. “Thank you for...for understanding, Jeffrey. I hadn’t thought...”

  “You hadn’t thought me capable.” Jeffrey said. “Nor did I.” He smiled and went out.

  There was quite a lot before him to weather—once news spread about John’s child and marriage, there would be no end to the speculation. There would be those who would shun them, but for once in his bloody life, Jeffrey didn’t feel the uncertainty rising up in him. He scarcely counted to his horse’s trot.

  He thought of Grace, and of how much she had shown him in the short time they’d been together. He thought of her mother, and how her madness had been embraced by her family. He thought of the ridiculous, reckless thing she’d done in Bath—but at least it made some sense to him. Grace had been trying to protect someone dear to her from society and scandal, just as Jeffrey had tried to protect his brother from society and scandal. He had to admire at least her strength and willingness to sacrifice for the sake of her family. And he certainly had to admire that in less-than-ideal circumstances, in spite of his own madness, Grace had tried to be a good wife to him.

  Things had changed in the complicated mess of feelings and compulsions in him. Truly changed—he could feel it in his marrow, in the lessening of the grip of his depravity. For the first time in his life, what he was feeling was love. Soft, asymmetrical, messy, imperfect love.

  * * *

  IT WAS MERCY who heard the kittens, but Grace who gathered them up and put them in a box, bringing them into the parlor of the Merryton townhome.

  Cox looked as if he might faint away, but Grace and her sisters put the box on the floor and gathered around the abandoned kittens.

  “What will Merryton say?” Honor asked as she allowed a black kitten with one white paw to nuzzle her neck.

  “He won’t say much of anything,” Grace said. “But he will not like it.” She winked at Honor.

  “He’s very quiet, isn’t he?” Mercy asked, holding a gray-striped kitten. “Is Blackwood Hall very big?”

  “Enormous,” Grace assured her. “And quite old.”

  Mercy blinked. “Have you heard any strange noises? Footsteps or the sound of someone crying?”

  Grace laughed. “I’ve heard nothing but the wind whistling in the eaves.”

  “I’d wager it’s haunted,” Mercy said gravely. “Most old houses are.”

  “Mercy, for heaven’s sake,” Prudence complained. She had picked up the gold tabby, who had made a little nest in her lap and was watching the other kittens. “What I want to know is what happened that night in Bath.” She leaned forward and peered closely at Grace. “You didn’t do anything very terrible, did you?”

  Honor laughed. “You sound positively enthralled, Prudence. I think you rather hope she did.”

  “Well, of course I do,” Prudence said. “There’s no diversion in proper etiquette, is there?”

  “There is not,” Grace agreed. “All right, I’ll tell you.” She stroked the gray cat with the green eyes and told her sisters everything that had happened that night in Bath...leaving out the more salacious details, naturally, as Mercy and Prudence were still too young to hear them.

  She was in the midst of telling them about Molly Madigan and her very big cat when her husband returned. He walked into the parlor and seemed to take a step back, his gave riveting on the kittens bouncing around the four young women on the floor.

  “Oh,” Grace said, and quickly came to her feet. “We weren’t expecting you so soon.”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes still on the kittens.

  “You’re right, Grace. He didn’t say a word about them,” Mercy said, peering up at him.

  “Mercy, don’t speak,” Honor muttered. She stood, too.

  “We beg your pardon,” Grace said. “But the kittens were abandoned and we couldn’t bear to leave them.”

  “You couldn’t bear to leave them,” Honor said.

  Grace gave her sister a withering look. “All right, I couldn’t bear to leave them. But Honor has agreed to take two. Mercy and Prudence each one, and so I’ll have only one—”

  “I don’t care about the kittens,” Jeffrey said, surprising her, and clasped his hands behind his back. He bowed his head to her sisters. “Have as many as you like.” He looked at Grace. “Might I have a word?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, and handed her kitten to Mercy. “Don’t pet them too hard. They’re still quite young.”

  She put her hand against her abdomen to quell her nerves and followed Jeffrey out.

  He led her into his study and quietly closed the door. “Did you...did you find him?” she asked, vexed by how wobbly she sounded.

  “I did.”

  Grace sighed and closed her eyes, assuming the worst. He had sent the woman away, had made John accept the commission. As disappointed as she was with John, she ached for that child. “Have you no feeling?” she asked softly. “People make mistakes.”

  He clenched his jaw and studied the floor a moment. Grace was certain he was counting behind his back, tapping away, his thoughts centered on the need to keep the Merryton name pristine, unsullied, pure. Which meant the truth would end in heartache and secrets, everyone living in the shadows along with him.

  “You must understand—”

  “You needn’t say it,” she said, cutting him off. “I understand. Part of me understands all too well. It’s why I was in the tea shop that night, trying to maintain appearances and connections. But to what end?” she asked, more of herself than him.

  “If you will allow me to finish,” he said. “You must understand, more than anyone, how difficult it is for me to accept what John has done. Because I am mad, because I am lost without order and symmetry. Without them, the world descends into chaos and debauchery. You understand this.”
>
  “I’m trying to,” she said helplessly.

  “Then you must know how...” His voice broke, and his hand curled at his side. “You must know what it means when I tell you that you have changed me. Your love, your acceptance, has changed me. When I look at you, the fears I carry inside me begin to subside. I can see the possibilities—I can’t grasp them all, not yet, but I can see them—and I need you, Grace. I need you desperately.”

  He had stunned her. Grace could only stare at him as those words wrapped around her heart.

  Jeffrey clenched his jaw, tapped his hand against his leg eight times. “I have seen my nephew. I saw John in him. I saw all the possibilities stretching before him, and I want him to grasp them all. I want him to know he is loved. I won’t press John into the naval commission. I won’t press him other than to bring Thomas around.”

  Grace gasped. “You didn’t send them away?”

  He shook his head. “I left him to do what he must do.”

  It might seem like very little to anyone else, but Grace understood how hard that must have been for Jeffrey to do, fighting against himself every step of the way.

  “Oh, my,” she said, and couldn’t help but touch his face. Jeffrey closed his eyes, turned his face into her palm and kissed it. “How hard that must have been. I’m so...relieved. And so proud of you, Jeffrey.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t know that I will manage to keep from obsessing about it, questioning it all again, but I...I feel a bit proud of myself.”

  She smiled at him.

  “I love you,” he said, his arms going around her. “I will never be easy, I will never be free of my illness. But I love you, Grace, and I promise to love you as you are.”

  She couldn’t have asked for anything more meaningful than that. With a cry of relief, she threw her arms around his neck. “I’ve never been so charmed in all my life, my lord.” She kissed him. His hands began to move on her, but the voices of her sisters in the foyer brought their heads up.

  “Mercy, I told you to keep a close eye!” they could hear Prudence say. “We’ll never find it.”

  “Oh, no,” Grace said. “I should go and head off whatever disaster is brewing.” She kissed him once more. It was strange, she thought, how the light in his eyes had changed. It was if the shutters had finally opened.