His grandfather took a step closer. “You betrayed me.”
“I was angry growing up. Your rejection after the fever was a betrayal.”
“Is there no end to it?”
“Yes.” Devon came forward. “We just stop judging each other. All I ever wanted was your acceptance. Your approval.”
The words rang in the air. Ben swung his head in the direction of his papa’s voice. He smiled, kicking his feet happily, but the two men were absorbed in their own drama.
Leah sensed that at last Lord Kirkeby understood, but it was still a struggle. Old habits die hard, and he was more stubborn than most.
Then, suddenly, he grabbed his chest in pain. “Dev—” he started before collapsing.
Devon caught him before he hit the floor. “Grandfather? No! Wait, don’t do this. Not now.”
Leah started for the bedroom to send the maid for Dr. Partridge, but Lord Kirkeby weakly called her back. “No. Don’t…get anyone.”
“We must,” Devon said.
Lord Kirkeby shook his head. “Give…a minute.”
“No,” Devon replied emphatically, lifting his grandfather in his arms. He held the man as if he weighed close to nothing, and the image of Devon gently carrying Lord Kirkeby in his arms burned into Leah’s brain.
She hurried to open the door leading to the hallway.
Wills had just come up the stairs to check on the packing. Devon ordered, “Send for Dr. Partridge. Have him come here immediately.” He carried his grandfather to his room, where he carefully laid him on the bed.
Leah turned Ben over to the maid with instructions for her to find Fiona. She then followed her husband.
Lord Kirkeby was deathly pale. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed tightly together. Devon knelt by the bed, covering his grandfather’s hand with both of his own. “Don’t leave us now,” he whispered. “We still have to finish that argument.”
That comment inspired a small smile on his grandfather’s face.
Venetia appeared in the doorway. “What did you do to him?” she demanded before running in and throwing herself dramatically across the bed. Even Rex appeared. He stood at the edge of the bed, staring. Leah wished she knew what he was thinking. Did he care about the man’s health? Or was he damning him because he might pass away before disinheriting Devon?
Dr. Partridge arrived within fifteen minutes. “He collapsed,” Devon explained.
The doctor nodded. “It was to be expected. He’s been suffering pains off and on, but he didn’t want me to say anything. He weakened his heart when he went into a decline last month. I had feared the ball would be too much for him.”
“It’s Huxhold’s fault,” Venetia declared. “He was with Huxhold when it happened.”
“It could be a number of things,” Dr. Partridge said with good common sense. “Lord Huxhold’s presence was no more a factor than your own would have been, Lady Vainhope.”
Venetia was dissatisfied with that answer. She wanted Devon to be guilty. In a fit of outrage, she marched from the room.
Rex leaned against the bedpost. He waited until Dr. Partridge went downstairs to mix some powders. “Well, it looks as if you are going to be a marquess, coz. You win again.”
Devon didn’t answer him. Leah understood. What could he say? Rex would have twisted his words to suit his purpose either way.
Dr. Partridge returned, and the bedside vigil of prayers and comfort began. Eventually, Rex wandered off, bored by the sickroom.
Leah sat in a chair next to Devon, who kept guard over his grandfather even after Dr. Partridge had gone off to sleep in a guest room. A yawn escaped before she could stifle it.
It brought his attention to her. “You don’t have to sit with us,” he told her.
“I want to be here.”
“I know,” he said, rubbing her fingers with his thumb, “but think about the baby. Go on to bed. I will be there when I can.”
She hesitated, and then he said the words that made up her mind. “I need to be alone with him, Leah. I need time.”
She nodded, yawning a second time and left. In the bedroom, their trunks were all neatly packed and stacked against a wall, a symbol of the efficiency of the Marshall household.
Leah was so tired that she pulled the pins from her hair, climbed out of her dress, and slept in her undergarments.
Devon prayed. His grandfather couldn’t die. Not when they’d been about to finally reach an understanding.
He placed his hand over his grandfather’s heart. Over a month ago, he’d felt Ben’s heart start beating. Would he feel his grandfather’s stop?
At half past two, when all was quiet, his grandfather opened his eyes. He released his breath. It rattled in his throat, and Devon feared the very worst.
Slowly, his grandfather rolled his head to face him. “Where were we in our discussion, Huxhold?” he asked. His voice was feathery soft, but he was completely lucid.
Devon reached for his hand. “You gave us a fright.”
“Yes, but I’m not dead yet,” came the labored answer.
For a second, Devon couldn’t speak. Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
The older man’s smile was in his eyes. “No, I’m sorry.” He paused, considering the words before saying heavily, “That was easier than I imagined.”
“It was easier than I imagined, too.”
His grandfather stared up at the canopy over the bed. “Sit with me. I don’t want to die alone.”
His words put a chill in Devon. “Dr. Partridge says you will fully recover,” he lied. “You just need rest.”
“No. This is different.” He drew a breath. Again there was the rattling sound. He searched blindly for Devon’s arm until he found it. “I dreamed.” He paused, his gaze dreamy. “I saw Robin.”
“Father?”
He nodded. “He was with that pretty young wife of his. What was her name?”
“Delia.”
“Yes. Delia. Silly name. I never could remember it.” His gaze slid toward Devon. “I was joking.”
Devon shook his head. “You will never change.”
“Oh, I have.” He rubbed his lips together.
“Here, let me give you a drink.” Devon didn’t wait for an answer but tilted a glass of watered wine to his grandfather’s lips. He drank deeply.
For a time, they were silent. Devon had almost begun to think his grandfather had fallen back to sleep when he spoke.
“Robin is proud of you.”
“In your dream?”
“No. He’s here.”
Devon feared his grandfather was hallucinating. He wondered if he should wake Dr. Partridge, but then his grandfather fixed him with a steady gaze. “He wanted me to tell you that, Devon. That sweet wife is proud too.”
“They are both here?”
“Yes. Along with Arrie. She’s never far from me, Devon. Never far. Don’t let Leah go far from you.”
Tears stung Devon’s eyes. He struggled with them.
His grandfather patted his hand. “I am proud of you too.”
“I should have come sooner. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.”
“You can’t help it. You’re a Marshall.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, and then he tensed, a shudder running through his body. He spoke with more urgency now. “Take care…family. All of them. All.” He closed his eyes.
One moment, his grandfather was in his body, and in the next, his spirit left him. It transpired in the blink of an eye.
Devon looked around the room, wondering if they were all still here. Was his grandfather with them?
He sat quietly. Waiting. His grandfather’s presence had loomed large over his life. What would he do without him?
Then, from down the hall, Devon heard Ben cry. It must be time for his feeding. Or did he know of his great-grandfather’s death?
Devon bent his head and wept.
The marquess of Kirkeby lay in state for four days. The brisk spring day of the funeral boasted rar
e April sunshine, drawing a huge crowd to pay their respects.
The service was long. Devon and Leah, the new marquess of Kirkeby and his marchioness, were the perfect hosts. The Carrolltons and the Marshalls stood together. Even Julian was present—and sober. Many noticed that Lady Vainhope appeared pinched and worn out in her black bombazine, but that was to be expected. After all, everyone knew how devoted she was to her father.
For Devon, the most difficult part of the funeral was when he was called forward to throw the first handful of dirt upon the casket. The dirt hitting the lacquered coffin made a hollow sound.
His mind flashed to his boyhood and the ceremony for his parents. He’d been afraid then of being left alone.
Now, he heard his grandfather’s voice assuring him his parents were proud. He knew his grandfather watched.
Venetia stepped up next, but broke down completely before she could perform the ceremony. Rex stepped up for his turn, and then the priest commended their grandfather’s soul to his Maker.
It was time to leave the rest to the gravediggers.
The guests began leaving. Many would return to Montclef for the wake. While they ate and drank, the family would gather in the library to hear the will read, although Mr. Brewster had assured everyone there would be no surprises. Devon was the heir.
Leah had already gone to the coach. Devon lingered to press a coin in the gravediggers’ hands and to spend one last moment saying good-bye to his grandfather.
He was not surprised, though, when Rex approached him.
“You are going to get it all, you know,” Rex said.
Devon shrugged.
“That’s what irritates me about you,” his cousin snapped. “You never appreciated it.”
“Never appreciated what, Rex? What exactly is it you want?”
“Besides the title and the money?”
“You’ll have that someday.”
“I will insist it is stated in writing that Ben cannot inherit,” he responded stiffly.
Devon frowned. “I’m more than happy to do that. I know you won’t believe this, Rex, but my goal was never to cheat you out of what you think you deserve.”
Rex shook his head. “Oh, being a marquess will be nice, but I have a title, I have money. All I ever wanted was Montclef. Now it is yours. Mother and I will both be moving.”
“You want Montclef?” Devon asked with disbelief.
“There is no finer house in all England!”
Devon was dumbfounded. He looked to the coach where Leah stood, waiting. Leah, his life and his mate.
“So all you’ve ever really wanted was Montclef?” he repeated to Rex.
“Is that so surprising?” his cousin answered.
“You can have it.”
“What?” Rex said in disbelief.
“You can have Montclef.”
Rex’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Why would you give it to me?”
Devon searched his own motives and then said, “Because we are cousins. We are family. It will make Venetia happy and give you what you want. That is enough. I will tell Brewster to arrange it this afternoon.”
“But where will you live?”
Devon smiled. “Oh, Leah and I will manage. Don’t worry about us.” He started walking toward his coach and his wife. Now it was Rex who hurried to catch up.
“Will you include a maintenance allowance?”
“That is negotiable,” Devon responded, laughing, and the two of them argued good-naturedly in the coach all the way back to Montclef…but in the end, Devon thought he’d made a very good deal.
AFTERWORD
1817
Leah and Devon built a lovely villa in the country—but not too far from London to be a nuisance. It had every modern convenience.
Devon delighted in learning about new mechanics and better construction. He’d taken such an interest that he also financed a number of housing schemes that turned a pretty penny.
In an amazingly short amount of time, he lost his reputation as a rake. In fact, he was often referred to as a stunning example of a devoted husband, which Devon laughingly said demonstrated just exactly how fickle people were.
But he was devoted. Leah believed the love between them grew stronger every day—as did their passion for each other.
She knew for a fact there were many good reasons for marrying a rake!
Ben adored his father. The two were inseparable. Devon carried a laughing, chattering Ben on his shoulders when he visited the wharves. The two become such a familiar sight that the silhouetted image of a man carrying a child on his shoulders soon became the sign for the company of Marshall and Son.
Leah blossomed with marriage. The former debutante who had so jealously struggled for acceptance was replaced by a compassionate woman at peace with the world. She surprised everyone when she started a charity for foundlings. She funded it with the money she had asked of Devon. Originally she had wanted that money in case she and her son had been forced back into the world alone. Now, she knew the bonds between herself, Devon, and Ben were unbreakable.
Even her parents were eventually accepted back into society. Julian surprised everyone when he decided to stay in the country. At first, Leah worried it was his way of evading her and Devon, but when his betrothal was announced to a squire’s daughter, she heaved a sigh of relief.
Rex and Venetia were not happy.
In spite of receiving Montclef and a reasonable maintenance allowance from the Kirkeby estate, Rex and his mother didn’t hesitate to tell everyone that Ben was not Huxhold’s natural son. Few cared. What concern was it of theirs—especially since the marchioness was such a kind and considerate creature? Ben would not inherit; the world would go on. Soon people of consequence and distinction grew tired of Vainhope’s carping and began avoiding his company.
It was the third day of September when Leah went in search of her husband. She found him in his study. The book-lined room was his special haven. Ben played with a ball. He’d roll up on the desk, right on top of Devon’s papers, where his father would have no choice but to throw it, and Ben would happily chase it.
As Leah entered the room, Devon looked up. He’d taken off his jacket and tossed it over a chair. His valet would not be pleased, but Devon didn’t care. He’d already caused four to leave his employ in an artistic huff. What was one more?
“Hello,” he greeted her, his smile still having the power to make her heart beat faster.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Hello,” Ben echoed, tossing the ball in her direction. She rolled it across the India carpet before standing by the edge of her husband’s desk.
Devon scratched his head, lost in thought. “These figures are incredible,” he said. “The percentages are all in our favor.” He looked up suddenly. “I may be buying my fourth ship.”
“Good. We must maintain Madame Nola’s goodwill at all costs,” she teased.
He smiled absently and returned to his column of figures. He loved adding and subtracting, scribbling out percentages, and considering new ways of making money. Sometimes, Ben would sit on his knee with his own pen and paper and pretend to do the same.
She remembered the day on the wharves when Devon had boasted to her of the business empire he would build. It was now a reality. Furthermore, his prediction of it being a new age had also been correct. His business acumen was now envied among their peers, who often solicited his advice.
Trailing her hand along the smooth mahogany of the desk, she worked around to where he was sitting. Her movements disturbed his papers. He didn’t even blink but patiently put them back in order and kept working.
She decided she needed to try something else to capture his attention. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began kneading the muscles of his neck the way he liked it.
Now she had his attention. Devon leaned back in the chair, a smile crossing his face.
“You work too hard,” she chided softly.
“Not always. But right
now, Rusky wants to invest in a tin mine. The markets are in a devil of a state. I’m wondering how we can do it and make good money.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said. She ran her thumb up and down the back of his neck.
“That feels good.”
“Ummm,” she answered.
Devon turned. “Something is not right here.”
She stopped the massage. “What do you mean?” she asked, innocence itself.
“The expression on your face.” He studied her a moment. “You look like a cat that has been in the cream.”
Leah laughed. “I have.”
“Oh?” He sat forward, his voice dropping. “Any cream in particular?” Ben rolled the ball up on the desk. Devon caught it before it fell off the other side and tossed it for him. The toddler charged after it, his body almost getting ahead of his feet.
Leah sat on the edge of the desk. “I have a secret.”
“One that includes me?”
She nodded.
He ran his hand up and down the top of her thighs. “These are my favorite secrets,” he told her with a sleepy leer.
She caught his hands. “I’ll wager one week of backscrubbing every day that you can’t imagine what my secret is.”
He grinned, intrigued. “Does it have anything to do with Ben?”
“Maybe a little” She reconsidered. “Actually, quite a bit.”
“So it is about Ben and me?”
“Especially you.”
“And it is good news?”
“Oh, very good news.” She practically sang the words, adding, “Unless you are Rex or Venetia.”
He mouthed her last words. “What could it be that Rex and Venetia wouldn’t like?” He laughed, lifting his hands heavenward. “What wouldn’t it be? They are turning into absolute fustians.”
She smiled her agreement before offering, “Would you like a hint?”
Relentless, Ben walked up at that moment and threw the ball. Devon caught it with one hand and tossed it. “We do this all day,” he admitted dryly. “And yes, I want a hint.”
Leah placed his hand against her abdomen. “Do you feel anything?”
“Should I?”
A Scandalous Marriage Page 25