Miss Devon's Choice: A Sweet Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 5)

by Sally Britton

  Gilbert spoke into the silence, his expression solemn. “My wife is concerned, Easton, so I am concerned. Julia practically raised Rebecca after their mother died. The sisters have always been close. The unspoken rule is that Julia cannot attend the wedding.” Gilbert shifted in his saddle. “Rebecca will not dare to invite her sister to visit, either. My wife has chosen to do so. If Julia and her husband accept the invitation, they will arrive next week.”

  “Out of respect for Mr. Devon’s wishes,” the earl said, each word dripping with disdain, “and their aunt’s attendance to the house party, Mrs. Hastings cannot be invited to my home during that time.”

  Christian let out a breath, thinking through the implications of their conversation. “What would you have me do?” he asked, turning his eyes to the trees and hills beyond them.

  Recollections of his family’s history did not make the conversation easier, though they did evoke a measure of sympathy.

  “Support Rebecca,” Gilbert said. “Or at least, do not hinder her in relation to her sister. It is important to her, to all of them, to maintain their bond.”

  “I would also appreciate your delicacy on the matter,” the earl added, authority in his voice. It could not be plainer that he was making the request and offering his favor in exchange.

  Politics entering family matters. That was England, through and through.

  “I understand,” Christian said, the enjoyment of the morning ride all but fled. “I have no wish to cause Miss Devon, or the other ladies, any pain. I look forward to meeting Mrs. Hastings.” He tried to speak lightly, but the words came out flatter than he intended.

  “Thank you,” Gilbert said, his expression relaxing into a relieved smile. “That is good of you, especially given the newness of your betrothal to Rebecca.”

  Christian said nothing. He nodded once, stiffly, and shifted his focus to Ajax. The dog had taken their pause as permission to sniff about. With a short whistle, Christian called the dog back. Ears perked up and tail wagging, Ajax bounded over the grass toward them.

  “That is an exceptionally well-trained dog.” The compliment came from the earl. “A Vizsla?”

  Gilbert chuckled before Christian could answer. “Careful, Easton. He’ll want to know the whole pedigree and whether you’ve ever considered breeding him.”

  The earl grinned, the expression broader and more honest than any Christian had seen from the man yet. “If I note a fine animal, it needn’t necessarily follow that I try to take its posterity for myself.”

  “Trouble indeed, Easton,” Gilbert said with a mock shudder. “He thinks your dog to be fine. Flee now, while you can.”

  The humor in their expressions, the easiness with which they spoke to one another, was evidence of friendship and kinship both. These men genuinely liked one another, and here in Christian’s presence they spoke almost as if to include him in their joviality.

  “Ajax has been successfully bred a few times,” he said, trying to maintain a tone more suitable to business. “He’s an excellent hunter.”

  “We may have to try him out while you’re here.” The earl gestured toward a stand of trees. “I have more birds than I know what to do with. Do you like hunting, Easton?”

  It wasn’t his favorite sport, but Christian acknowledged he enjoyed it, feeling capable enough that he would participate.

  “Excellent. We shall have to attend to that while you are here.” The earl brought his horse around, moving at a faster clip than warranted. “Why not have a race? From here to the pasture north of the stables. King Lud is well suited to a gallop if you are, Easton.”

  Flying through grassy meadows on the back of a fine horse? Christian nearly smiled as he answered. “I would enjoy trying us both.”

  “Neither of your horses is as fine as my beauty.” Gilbert bent to give his mare a pat along her well-muscled neck. “Ready?”

  They lined their horses up and Christian’s body tensed, his legs gripping his horse. King Lud danced beneath him, sensing the building excitement, perhaps even understanding what they meant to do.

  “Go!” The earl’s shout launched them forward, each man bent low over their animal, shouting and urging the magnificent horses to top speed. Down the hill and through the long grasses they went, hooves thudding against the ground.

  There was nothing but the horse and Christian, no sounds other than the animal’s hooves and breath, and Christian’s heartbeat in his ears. For several blissful minutes, he could forget about everything else and enjoy the rush of wind around him and the blur of the ground beneath. The earl fell behind, but Gilbert stayed in the lead, his small mare surprisingly agile and swift.

  When they came to the pasture, Gilbert went for the fence separating it from the stable yard, and Christian pursued until Gilbert pulled up, ending the race. Christian eased his mount’s pace. The earl joined them seconds later. Christian waited for posturing, gloating, or excuses, from the other men. Instead, they started laughing.

  “I must learn not to race you when you’re on one of your own horses,” the earl said, his grin stretching across his face.

  “My expertise is one of the reasons you agreed to patronize my stables.” Gilbert laughed and allowed his mare to prance beneath him, the two moving as one.

  “Well done, both of you,” the earl said, tipping his hat first to Gilbert and then to Christian.

  Christian allowed himself a smile. There was nothing like the feeling of riding at such speeds. The exercise cheered him more than anything had since he’d learned of his engagement to Miss Devon. The open enjoyment of the other two men, instead of posturing, was refreshing. He couldn’t doubt it was genuine.

  Ajax barked, bounding along behind them. His tongue lolled out as he panted, his lips parted in what could only be described as a smile. The exercise had been good for everyone, it seemed.

  They walked the horses around the fence, the earl and Gilbert talking again. This time Christian rode beside them, saying nothing but included in their banter when they’d shoot a knowing glance or smile his way. His defenses relaxed, though they didn’t entirely lower. They had nothing to gain by befriending him, yet they maintained their open conversation in his presence.

  He couldn’t recall ever meeting such amicable gentlemen before. How long would their behavior toward him remain such?

  Chapter Seven

  “You will give the viscount more of your time today,” Aunt Jacqueline stated the moment Rebecca sat down next to her. They were in Virginia’s morning room, waiting for the other female members of the party to join them. “Last evening it was indecent, the way you ignored him after your initial greeting.”

  He ignored me just as indecently. Rebecca outwardly maintained a contrite expression. “Yes, Aunt.”

  Virginia entered the room, her one-year-old daughter cradled against her shoulder. “Mother, would you like to hold Emma?” she asked, her voice ringing with its usual good cheer.

  “I would not,” Aunt Jacqueline said stiffly. One would think she’d been asked to hold a toad rather than her own granddaughter.

  “I would like to,” Rebecca said quickly, holding her hands out for the baby.

  Aunt Jacqueline sniffed. “Babies belong in nurseries. With their nurses.”

  With an amused smile, Virginia handed her burbling daughter to Rebecca. “Perhaps that is true for some babies, but I find I am much easier when mine accompany me. Besides, Emma is a little lady.” She sat on the couch next to Rebecca, within easy reaching distance, but folded her hands in her lap.

  Rebecca, though she had almost no experience with children of Emma’s age, was nevertheless fascinated by them. Babies struck her as rather beautiful and charming. Why were people forever hiding them away in nurseries?

  Emma didn’t mind being given to a stranger. She at once went to playing with the chain around Rebecca’s neck, her tiny fingers lifting and then releasing the gold links while her tiny face screwed up in concentration. Her fine curls were as light as her mot
her’s, but she had her father’s gray-tinted eyes.

  “When will she be old enough to walk?” Rebecca asked, watching the baby’s feet wriggle beneath the fabric of her gown.

  “Baby Emma has started pulling herself to her feet this week,” Virginia went on, a note of motherly pride in her voice. “That is a very big sign she’s ready.”

  The other ladies began to join them. The wives of the barons and marquess, and their daughters, came into the room in twos and threes. Some brought little sewing baskets, Lady Felicity brought a sheaf of music.

  “Oh, Miss Devon,” Lady Felicity said, flouncing across the room to take the chair nearest Rebecca. “I am looking forward to the amusements in these coming days. Which prospect are you anticipating the most?”

  Rebecca admired Emma’s soft golden curls as she considered her answer. Lady Felicity, while everything that was suitable, did not possess a personality that set perfectly well with her own. The marquess’s daughter embodied everything about the proper circle Rebecca constantly tried to achieve, only to be found wanting by both her aunt and father. Lady Felicity was polished, her manners impeccable, her diction perfect, and her expression such that one must think she was never ruffled.

  “I always like picnics,” Rebecca said, answering honestly. “I enjoy being out of doors on lovely days.”

  Lady Felicity giggled and reached forward to touch Rebecca on the arm. “I do love the fresh air as well, though perhaps not without my parasol. With my complexion, the freckles would stand out terribly.” Her gaze flicked to just below Rebecca’s eyes, where she knew a smattering of dots would’ve stood out terribly if not for the face powder her aunt insisted she use.

  “I think I am looking forward to the ball the most,” Lady Felicity added, her hand fluttering up to her chest. “I do so love a ball, and the Annesbury balls are spoken of everywhere.” Her expression turned shrewd. “It must be especially wonderful to share this ball with your intended.”

  Rebecca noted the coolness in Lady Felicity’s manner, taking in the other woman’s expression, the tilt of her head, the glint in her bewitching blue eyes. Rebecca was of an age with her cousin’s guest, but Lady Felicity had a London season behind her and all the experience of being raised in the heart of the ton. She was a calculating creature, had sensed a weakness, and had started to probe at it.

  A vulture in pink muslin, Rebecca thought to herself, smiling tightly.

  But what interest could Lady Felicity truly have in her, except to find some sort of gossip to share should the opportunity present itself?

  “Lord Easton will complete the event for me, to be certain.”

  The doors opened, and the earl entered, followed by Rebecca’s betrothed.

  Her stomach fell somewhat lower than it ought to be and heat crept up her neck.

  “My lady,” Lucas said, after bowing to the room with Lord Easton, Christian, shadowing him. “I have just come from a room full of gentlemen inquiring after the day’s events. I am afraid the married men have a wish to stay indoors and enjoy quiet pursuits until dinner, but the younger set have expressed an interest in sport or entertainment.”

  Rebecca tried to absorb herself in playing with Emma, who had grown tired of the game with fingers and attempted to pull herself to her feet on Rebecca’s lap. Despite the adorable child as a distraction, Rebecca’s gaze was drawn to the dark-haired viscount, who appeared to take in the room without taking notice of any of its occupants.

  How was she to fall in love with a man who had no interest in even looking at her?

  “And have you come to seek my opinion on said sport or to gain my approval in letting them loose upon the grounds?” Virginia asked, folding her hands primly in her lap, her smile both teasing and adoring.

  Virginia had such an easy way about her. She always expressed exactly what she wished, but never in such a way that one could call her rude. Rebecca longed to be so in control, to find a perfect balance of propriety and strength. Until Rebecca learned how to walk that delicate line, she must continue to bite her tongue.

  That’s neither here nor there. The matter at hand is how to make Christian Hundley realize our union could be a pleasant one. So long as he was nothing like her father.

  Her father had twisted and turned her mother’s heart, something that had taken Rebecca years to understand. As a child, Rebecca hadn’t recognized more than her mother’s reticence to speak in his presence, her lack of spirit when he was at home with them in the country. And when her father was away, her mother came alive.

  What if her fate were the same? What if she only found happiness when her husband remained far away? There was more than one marriage she’d observed, during her time in London, where couples seemed happiest when they were apart.

  Her heart nearly sank, but Rebecca pulled it and herself up from the couch. Virginia and Lucas looked to her, startled by her abrupt movement, but she smiled sweetly. With Emma tucked onto her hip, Rebecca walked toward a window, her path taking her directly in front of Christian.

  Let him ignore that. She cast the barest smile at him as she passed, one she hoped was enough of an invitation that he might approach her again. He hadn’t hesitated to do so the night before, after all. Perhaps in the light of day she would have better luck engaging him in conversation.

  “They actually thought up a likely diversion for themselves and the young ladies. A treasure hunt.” Lucas continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted by Rebecca’s movements. She listened with half an ear, directing her attention out the window, pointing out the clouds, trees, and flowers to Emma, who looked with wonder at the world outside her home.

  Virginia’s tone was colored by the warmth she felt for her husband. “I am afraid, as we are very discerning ladies, we would need more details before accepting such a challenge. Am I correct in that thought, Lady Felicity? Miss Dunhill?”

  Lady Felicity’s voice, ringing like a bell, answered with a saccharine tone. “Indeed, my lady. A game must have its rules, after all.”

  Rebecca barely refrained from scoffing. Who was Lady Felicity attempting to impress? Both men in the room were unavailable to her, yet she sounded every inch the coquette. Perhaps even vultures needed practice.

  “What do you think, Emma?” Rebecca asked the baby, nuzzling the silky curls atop her head.

  “I doubt she’s formed an opinion on much in the world yet,” a deep, low voice rumbled behind her.

  She started, her arms tightening around Emma as she did, which startled the baby, too. Big gray eyes looked up at hers, innocent fright filling them.

  Christian stood behind her, but she controlled her reaction enough that she did not so much whirl to face him as she did calmly turn in his direction. She patted the baby on the back, soothing Emma’s upset away easily.

  The man had a calmer composure today than he had when he arrived the night before. He was dressed in fine clothing, of course, and far less grumpy. She took hold of herself and met his eyes, then abruptly forgot about everything else. He stared at her as intently as before, but there was a subtle change. If Rebecca had to put a name to it, she’d call it curiosity.

  That is a step forward from indifference.

  “What were you asking her?” Christian said, bringing Rebecca out of her thoughts and back to the present. He reached out, his hand ungloved, and held his long index finger up for the baby’s inspection, his deep brown eyes focused on the child.

  Emma ducked her chin shyly, a sweet smile transforming her features from adorable to angelic.

  Surprised at the attention he gave a baby, when she was certain gentlemen were mostly bred to ignore any but their own offspring, Rebecca wondered how she ought to answer.

  Begin as you mean to go on. If you cannot be honest with the man you’re to marry, you are both doomed from the start.

  Had she read that somewhere? It sounded too wise to be from her own mind.

  “I was asking if she thought even vultures must practice their scavenging.” She he
ld her breath after she spoke, her own daring causing her cheeks to heat in a mortifying manner. He would think her mad. He wouldn’t have the faintest idea what she meant by her words. Why had she spoken her thought aloud, and without context, and to him of all people?

  His eyebrows drew together. “Have you met many vultures in your time, Miss Devon?”

  Rebecca held very still, regarding him seriously. “Indeed, I have. I am afraid they are in all corners of society, both here and in the wilds of the world.”

  “Hm.” It wasn’t a dismissive hum, but one of interest. Before he could say more, the earl clapped his hands, reminding Rebecca where they were, and that the room was occupied with several sets of eyes that could be watching them. Vultures, indeed.

  “Then it is done. The ladies will each select a partner and we will have a treasure hunt,” Lucas said, his usually reserved smile wide in anticipation of fun.

  “Yet again, my dear, you have proven that there is something of a pirate in you,” Virginia said, the fondness in her voice undisguised.

  Rebecca looked from her cousin to the man at her side, raising her eyebrows in question. He wasn’t paying attention to her, however, and had already begun to move away. Was that an end to their interaction? No more than a few words, words which meant nothing of importance?

  Nothing revealing had been said. No shocking declarations made. Indeed, if a heroine in one of her novels had experienced a tête-à-tête with such a dismal outcome, she would’ve snapped the cover shut on that book with nary a second thought.

  Lucas bowed to the room, and Christian did the same, a shadow to his host once more.

  Why had the man even bothered to accompany the earl if he had nothing of interest to say or do? What had his intention been?