Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the tree and watched as she loped across the field, laughing as she went, lifting her arm, releasing the kite, allowing the wind to snag it and carry it toward the clouds.
Georgina loved the unmistakable instant when the wind accepted a kite into its keeping and sent it soaring. Slowing to a walk, she turned back and watched the kite dip and twist. It was such a simple thing, standing here, holding the string, while the kite moved very little after it reached its height, but she loved it all the same.
She lowered her gaze from the sky to the land, to Devon, standing beneath the boughs alone. She’d been so entranced helping the children make the kites, showing them by example as she worked on hers, that she hadn’t considered he was being left out. He hadn’t offered to make his own but had simply observed them through the evening.
She’d been surprised he’d stayed with them the entire time. They’d made such a mess in the day nursery with their paste and newspaper and the old paint she’d located in a shed.
She’d planned this picnic to include all the family, had been thrilled when Devon had agreed to accompany them. But although he was here, she didn’t feel as though he felt he truly belonged. Just as she did not feel that she belonged in the bedchamber next to his.
Waving her hand, she called out to him, “Come here!”
She saw his hesitation before he shoved himself away from the tree and strode toward her. Long strides, even and confident. For all the worries he carried on his shoulders, he seemed more at ease here in the country, more real, than he had in London, where he was constantly under the scrutiny of his peers.
As he neared, she extended the ball of twine toward him. “Did you want to fly it?”
He studied her as though he hadn’t quite grasped her meaning, and then some emotion—gladness, she thought—quickly flickered across his face.
“What say we do it together?” he suggested.
“All right.”
He walked behind her and put his arms around her, closing his hands snugly over hers. She wished neither of them had been wearing gloves—or shoes, for that matter. He pressed his chest to her back, and she could feel the buttons on his vest and the watch chain that dangled outside the pocket.
Even for an event as relaxed as a picnic, he dressed in his finery. Yet she was beginning to see through the elegant facade to the man beneath it. She was much more comfortable with this man who worked in the fields than she’d ever been with the gentleman in London. Yet they were one and the same.
“Do you know what I’d like to do?” she asked.
Devon could think of any number of answers as he stood with her in his arms. She fitted perfectly. He’d only have to lower his head a bit, and he’d have access to the enticing spot behind her ear, a place he knew from experience was incredibly sensitive.
Her fragrance teased his nostrils, and he remembered how the scent had grown stronger when heated with passion.
He’d been a damnable fool to exile himself from her bed, and to announce his intent had been even more ill considered.
She jiggled her hands. “I want to let the kite fly higher.”
Ah, he’d forgotten she’d asked him a question, hadn’t realized he was grasping her hands so tightly that she was unable to release more of the twine. He loosened his hold. “My apologies. I didn’t realize I was holding it quite so securely.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her smile bright enough to put the sun to shame. “I don’t blame you. I’m always afraid I’ll lose it. What do you think would happen if we let go?”
“I should think it would crash to the ground.”
She twisted her head so she was again looking at the kite, the vast expanse of sky.
“I think it would fly forever.”
Devon was vaguely aware of the scratching of his quill pen over parchment as he made notations in his ledger, notations that were blotted out here and there as he continually lost his train of thought and stared ahead as though he was a man with no goals in life. He’d stare until the ink dripped from his pen onto his paper, creating a mess that it would shame him to ever show anyone.
But there was no hope for it. He could not keep his mind on his task.
They’d returned from their picnic late in the afternoon. The children had gone to their nursery, his wife to her sitting room. And he’d come here searching for answers that had no questions.
Leaning back in his chair, he brushed his fingers over the quill again and again. It looked rather mutilated after being used as part of his daughter’s Indian headdress. He should replace it, but he liked the memory it invoked.
The memory of his daughter—and the memory of his current wife.
At twenty-six, she’d sworn she’d never kiss anyone but him. He had no doubt on their wedding night that she’d been a virgin.
So if this Jake fellow meant so blasted much to her, why hadn’t he kissed her—or more to the point, married her?
Was it because—as she’d hinted about his kind—he’d returned from the war defeated? Did he now, for some unknown reason, feel victorious? Had he come to claim what should have been his all along?
The thoughts tormented him as they swirled around him, boxing him in, blocking off the light until only darkness surrounded him. And with darkness came despair.
A discreet knock on his door intruded on his steep decline into melancholy. The door opened, and Winston stepped into the room.
“Have you a moment, milord?”
Setting the pen to paper, Devon tried to make it appear as though he was occupied with important matters and not lost in unsettling thoughts. “Yes, of course.”
Winston’s visage was more grim than usual as he came to stand at attention before the desk.
“Milord.” He cleared his throat.
“Milord, as you instructed, I was on the brink of preparing a bedchamber for our guest in anticipation of his arrival. I thought it prudent to ask Lady Huntingdon which chamber she thought the guest might prefer. She informed me, however, there was no need to prepare one for Mr. Jake. She expected he would sleep with her.”
Devon heard a resounding snap and realized he’d broken the pen in two. “Surely you misunderstood.”
“Yes, milord, I thought so as well, but when I questioned her on the matter, she insisted that he was accustomed to sleeping in her bed.”
Devon’s heart was thundering against his chest, while his voice was trapped behind the hardened knot in his throat.
“Milord, I am well aware Americans are ill-mannered heathens with few morals, so I fear I am not fully understanding the situation. I thought perhaps you might clarify it for me.”
“Certainly.” He stood with such force that the chair screeched across the floor. “Mr. Jake will stay in the bedchamber located at the farthest corner of the west wing.” Where he’d have no trouble keeping a watchful eye on the chap.
“Very good, milord.” Winston bowed slightly before turning to make his exit.
“Winston?”
The butler stopped and faced him. “Yes, milord?”
Devon knew Winston would never repeat any of this conversation. A good butler was a discreet butler. “I appreciate you informing me of this situation. Your action in no way reflects disloyalty to Lady Huntingdon.”
“Thank you, milord. I sometimes find it difficult to communicate with Americans, and I’m quite certain I am to blame for any misunderstanding that has occurred.”
“I’ll explain to Lady Huntingdon that we have plenty of bedchambers and no need exists for any doubling up.”
“Very good, milord.”
Ah, yes, indeed, he planned to explain a good many things to Lady Huntingdon.
“This Jake fellow…”
Startled by the unexpected voice, Georgina jerked her attention from the story in which she’d been lost and looked toward the doorway of her sitting room. Devon lounged against the frame. Yet even in his carefree pose, he did not give off
the aura of one relaxed.
Quite the opposite in fact. The harsh lines in his face, the intensity of his gaze led her to believe he was a man on the verge of snapping in two.
“What about him?”
He shoved himself away from the doorjamb and took a step toward the fainting couch, where she lay with pillows at her back providing comfort as she read.
“He will not be joining you in your bed.”
“Of course he will. He’s used to sleeping with me.”
He narrowed his eyes into dark and dangerous slits. “You were untouched when we wed, I’d swear it, and you claimed to have never been kissed. So how is it that this Jake fellow sleeps in your bed but leaves your innocence intact?”
Merciful heavens! He completely misunderstood her relationship with Jake, and yet she could not prevent herself from taking advantage and teasing him a bit. She slowly, carefully set the book aside.
“I assume it’s because he prefers bitches.”
He looked as though she’d just doused him with a bucket of cold water. “Pardon?”
She fought back the urge to laugh at his bewildered expression and simply shrugged. “He’s attracted to bitches.”
Something close to sympathy filled his eyes as he stated firmly. “But you love him.”
“Yes.”
He knelt on the floor beside her and cupped her cheek with tenderness. “How could he prefer a termagant to you?”
Her chest tightened with the gentleness in his voice, as though he sought to comfort her for a rejection he thought she’d experienced. She’d wanted to have a little fun with him, and instead she was coming dangerously close to making a fool of him. She shook her head. “Devon—”
“He’s here! He’s here!” Noel’s voice echoed down the hallway.
Devon was unprepared for the jealousy that slammed into him as Gina hopped out of the chair, gladness reflected in her face.
Noel burst into the room with Millicent in his wake.
“I spied Lord Ravenleigh’s coach from my window!” he yelled before darting back out, Millicent quickly following.
Gina turned to him. “Devon, about Jake—”
“You’d best go greet him.”
“Yes, I need to make sure the children don’t startle him with their eagerness into attacking.”
Before he could question her about what the deuce she was on about, she’d hurried out of the room. As lord of the manor, he knew his duty was to follow and welcome the fellow. And if the fellow thought he was going to have the liberty of placing a hand on his children, he was going to learn right quickly that he did not—with the assistance of Devon’s knuckles, if necessary.
Once outside, he made his way to the bottom of the steps, a short distance away from Gina. She’d joined the children, who were waiting impatiently, hopping from foot to foot, in the drive.
He did not wish to interfere with their excitement. Still, it troubled him somewhat to witness it.
The coach rolled to a stop. He could see Lauren through the window. The footman hurried forward and opened the door.
A blur of black leaped from the carriage with a resounding bark. Gina fell to her knees, and this mass of ungainly legs and frantically waving tail proceeded to lick her face while she ran her hands over its ugly head.
He looked back toward the carriage. Lauren had alighted. The footman had closed the door. So where the deuce was this Jake fellow?
“Oh, Jake!” Millicent cried as she giggled.
Devon snapped his gaze to his daughter, who was petting the beast.
“Isn’t Jake splendid, Father?” Noel asked, his face beaming with delight.
With dawning realization, Devon stared at the creature in their midst. No wonder he preferred bitches. He was a damned dog!
He couldn’t prevent the laughter that erupted without warning from deep within, from someplace where he’d been hoarding joy. It burst through to claim its freedom with such force that he had to sit on the steps, his sides aching, as he laughed with an abandon he’d never before experienced.
Gina twisted around, her eyes wide. His children stared at him open-mouthed.
“Bitches indeed,” he said, gasping for breath.
Still on her knees, she worked her way to him. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. When I realized what you thought—”
“You little witch, you taunted me.”
Smiling, she nodded. “It was too good a prank to resist.”
“You beguile me, Gina, by God, but you do.”
“You beguile Huntingdon,” Lauren said.
Sitting on a bench, watching the children toss sticks for Jake to retrieve—one of his tricks—Georgina furrowed her brow. “He was only caught up in the moment. He believed—and I didn’t confess otherwise—that Jake was a man who slept with me.”
He’d laughed, actually laughed when he’d learned that Jake was a dog and not a man. She hadn’t meant for the little deception to take place, but no harm had come of it.
And she’d heard his laughter. Had he laughed like that with his first wife? Had she been able to bring such joy to his days?
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s fallen in love with you.”
She shook her head. “He’s never declared his affections.” But then she’d told him not to, had never considered the possibility he could love her.
“Well, I need to be off,” Lauren said as she rose.
Gina followed suit. “You could stay the night. We have lots of room here.”
“No, I want to return to Ravenleigh. It always takes me a while to settle in once we return from London. We returned later than usual this year because Mother was hoping I would settle on someone.”
Gina wound her arm around Lauren’s as they strolled toward the waiting carriage. “Is there someone who’s taken your fancy?”
“No one I can’t live without.”
“It might be better to look for someone you can live with.”
“When we left Texas, when I left Tom, I thought I would die. It hurt so badly. I realize ours was a youthful love. I seriously doubt it would have stood the test of time. But I wouldn’t mind feeling the same sort of excitement that came over me every time I laid eyes on him. I was always simply so glad to see him. I just don’t feel as though I could settle for less.”
And yet Devon had. Once he’d known a great love. With Georgina he’d forfeited love in exchange for wealth. Now he had neither.
And the realization hit her that she had settled as well.
Devon had loved a woman whom Georgina was convinced did not deserve him. As far as she was concerned, Margaret had been spoiled. When Devon had needed her the most, she’d turned away from him. And yet he continued to worship her. Her portrait hung in his bedroom where he could look at it each night before he went to sleep.
Georgina had tried to make their marriage into a partnership. Yet it remained about as cold as any business arrangement.
She couldn’t deny that she enjoyed being with Devon. She treasured the smallest of shared moments. But it suddenly dawned on her that she was settling for crumbs while Margaret had benefited from the sumptuous feast of his love.
Devon was right. Perhaps it hadn’t been wise to take a taste of dessert first. In London, he’d given her a glimpse of what their life together might have been. He’d been warm, caring, and considerate.
She’d altered her expectations because of her father’s failings. How unfair to her and unfair to Devon.
In the past few weeks, she’d come to realize that she had a great deal to offer a husband: her unwavering support, her constant belief in him, and her undying love.
Because God help her she did love him.
And perhaps that was the reason that his not loving her had begun to hurt so much.
Strange how once she’d been willing to accept him without his love. But having witnessed all he’d given to another, she could no longer ask her own heart to do without. She deserved the kind of love that Devon and Margar
et had shared, the kind of love that Lauren was willing to wait for.
Leaving the children would be almost unbearable, but surely they would recover quickly, especially after Devon found someone else to love. Children were resilient. Noel and Millicent deserved to grow up in a house filled with warmth. She wanted them to experience what she and Devon could not give them.
She would soon be twenty-seven, and she’d never put her own needs, desires, and wants ahead of anyone else’s.
It was long past time that she did.
She would remain with Devon until she’d given him what her father had promised—a financial leg up.
Then she would set them both free.
Chapter 22
T he bonfires burned into the night, illuminating the harvested fields and the many people who had worked to ensure the yield was good.
With Gina’s hand on his arm, Devon strolled among the throng of merrymakers. Millicent clung to Gina’s other hand while Noel walked beside Devon. His son continually reached out to pat Jake as he lumbered along. Gina had assured Devon that the dog would enjoy the outing. Jake seemed as eager to please as his mistress was.
Gina wore the enticing blue dress she’d worn the day he took her boating on the Thames. This evening she appeared more lovely than she had then.
More lovely.
In London he’d never expected that he would associate that particular sentiment with his wife. But she was lovely, lovely beyond measure, her face alight with joy as the men of the village and those of the fields stopped to doff their hats whenever they passed.
She knew them all by name and asked after their health, their happiness, and their families. Her absolute joy was mesmerizing. He could have watched her all night and not grown tired of seeing the emotions passing over her features.
She was without a doubt at home here. No seeking out fronds behind which to hide. She identified with these people, because she’d come from the land. She respected them more than she did those of the aristocracy.
And in so doing, she respected him.
So he found it easier to respect himself. Perhaps his own labors in the fields were not something of which he should feel ashamed. Perhaps the calluses on his hands were not signs of defeat as much as they were badges of victory.
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