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

by Sally Britton

  Besides, the hurt in his expression had been real. He may have voiced his pain with frustration, but the look in his eyes was familiar to her. It was the same emotion she had felt, though his was in greater measure, when he had offered comfort in the music room.

  Almost, she thought, he would answer her and speak of his mother, his past.

  Then, his expression changed. The lines of his jaw hardened, his dark eyes cooled, and he began to row again in more controlled, precise movements.

  “I think it would be best if we discussed something more relevant to our present. Our marriage.”

  The change of topic unbalanced her, and the way he spoke each word distinctly, sharply, gave her warning. Rebecca drew herself up and gave one brief nod. “Very well. That will do for now.”

  He made a scoffing sound and glanced briefly over his shoulder to check their direction. “You are quite a determined creature, aren’t you? For someone who expressed her lack of ability to act the part of a novel’s heroine, you have their decidedly dramatic characteristics.”

  Rebecca breathed in sharply. “If you are attempting to dismiss my feelings by reducing them to dramatics—”

  He cut her off with a cool chuckle. “Not at all. Merely making an observation. In future, after we are wed, I expect you will redirect your energies.”

  “Redirect them how? You think, after we marry, I will give up trying to know you? Trying to understand and care for you?” Rebecca’s hands clutched the sides of the boat, but her scattered thoughts remained unsettled.

  “I think you will come to understand how unimportant such attempts at building affection are as we build our lives around other matters. I have estates to manage, I will enter Parliament, and there are certain things expected of people of our station.” He met her eyes, lifting his eyebrows almost mockingly. “That is what we should speak of, Rebecca.” He spoke her name with smug superiority.

  A chill slipped down her spine, despite the sun bathing the lake in its warmth.

  “Those things matter,” she admitted, leaning forward, almost pleading. “But what goes on between us, our feelings, our eventual family, matters more. Doesn’t it?” Family. He must care about that. With the way he spoke of his parents, she knew he loved them. She ought to blush at her own implication of their future children, but then he looked away.

  He spoke, almost disinterested. “Our situation in society, in the government, is of the utmost importance.”

  It was nearly the same thing she’d heard from her father, all her life. Position. Wealth. Power. These are the things that matter.

  “Not to me,” she whispered, as much to the words in her head as to Christian.

  “What?” he asked, fully facing her again.

  “Those things don’t matter to me. Not the way you matter,” she said, her voice raising with her indignation. “Those things are cold. They can be lost in an instant.”

  “So can people,” he snapped, the coolness disappearing from his expression momentarily. “This marriage between us has nothing to do with your feelings or mine and everything to do with our mutual advantages.”

  Rebecca gripped the boat harder, watching a muscle tick in his jaw as he clenched it. Where had the man from the music room gone? Where was the Christian who read to her in the garden?

  “You will be titled, wealthy, and exert influence where you choose. I will leave you to your books, your friends, whatever it is you wish to occupy your time with and you will be a proper wife to one of my standing.”

  “That is what you expect from me?” she asked softly. “All that you want? And what are the advantages for you, Christian? A pliable wife?”

  He actually laughed. The sound, dry and without humor, made her flinch.

  “I don’t hope for that much. My advantage, perhaps the only one, is that I have a wife who clearly understands this arrangement. I asked for this match. I asked for a wife who only cared for my title. It doesn’t matter that it’s you. It wouldn’t matter if it was another.”

  He continued, glaring at her now, “You agreed to this marriage, under these circumstances. How could you think I would want something more?”

  Something inside Rebecca cracked, her eyes burned, and she opened her mouth to shout, I never agreed to anything! But she couldn’t. He might think nothing of wounding her, but she had seen just enough of him that she began to understand. There were more scars on his heart than upon his body. She would not create more.

  Could she even hope to repair the damage that had been done to him? What did she know about love, anyway? She read about it in books based on someone’s imagination. She caught glimpses of it when she visited Lucas and Virginia, or Thomas and Christine, but nowhere else.

  For several long moments, the only sound to be heard was the slap of the water against the boat, the quiet buzz of insects and the far away birdsong. Rebecca closed her eyes, a headache beginning to throb at her temples.

  “You have thoroughly put me in my place, my lord,” she said, squeezing her eyelids tighter, winning the battle against tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not now, in front of him. “And you have made your thoughts on the matter of our future very clear.” She opened her eyes and, for the barest moment, saw regret in his expression before it hardened again.

  “Good,” he said. They were nearing the boathouse. It seemed he’d finished with her company as well.

  She had to make her point. She could not let his word be the final one on the matter. “But you are mistaken,” she said loudly, squaring her shoulders, “if you think I will be content with an arrangement devoid of the kind of joy I know love to bring. I have not given up on you, Christian.”

  When his gaze met hers, she saw the surprise there, saw him open his mouth, but she talked faster and louder.

  “You may think that is what you want, a dull existence, lacking in emotion or true feeling—but that is not for me. I have not changed my mind. I will not. And you cannot tell me what to feel. Dictate to me however else you wish—that is all my life has been for a very long time, and I am rather used to it.”

  He was forced to give attention to the boat as it slid back into the boathouse, to the dock, but she could tell his thoughts were working on a response.

  “Miss Devon,” he said, a foreboding calmness in his tone.

  Rebecca hurried to stand, the boat rocking as she did, cutting off whatever Christian wished to say as he tried to steady the craft. She had to move, had to get away before he said something truly horrid. Before she did.

  But there was no way out of the boat that wouldn’t make her appear indecorous. Climbing out on her own would amount to crawling onto the dock. With her only thought on escape, Rebecca stepped forward, and Christian braced himself, crouching slightly to keep the boat balanced.

  “Thank you for the boat ride,” she said, then put her hand to his shoulder to keep her own stability before attempting to step out of the boat and up onto the dock.

  The boat slipped sideways, the hollow feeling that accompanied a fall filled her chest. In her haste to get away, she had compromised their stability and would send them both into the water—

  A strong hand pressed against the small of her back, propelling her up and out of the boat. She stumbled onto the dock and whirled around, catching Christian’s panicked look as he lunged from the far side of the boat, which had tipped horribly, to the other. She gasped and raised a hand, willing the boat to steady.

  Somehow, he righted the craft, both hands in the air and shifting the weight of his body. For several long seconds, they both stood still, her hand raised toward him and his widened eyes on her.

  Laughter drifted into the boathouse from outside the door, breaking the odd spell of stillness. Christian’s eyes fell away from hers as he bent down in the boat, retrieving his jacket. Her lungs protested and Rebecca realized she’d been holding her breath.

  He’d no sooner slipped on his jacket than the baron’s sons and Lady Felicity entered, talking excitedly.

 
“Oh, you aren’t through already?” the young woman said, oblivious to the tension in the air. “We thought we’d join you on the lake.”

  Rebecca forced a lightness to her voice she did not feel. “I am afraid I’ve had too much sun this afternoon. But do take the boat out. It’s absolutely lovely.” She smiled brightly at everyone, trying not to make eye contact, then skirted her way around the little group and out the door. She didn’t wait for Christian to follow.

  She lifted her skirts as much as she dared and fled uphill.

  Love was not coming as easily as she’d hoped.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The dinner hour had arrived and Rebecca had not. Christian stood in the parlor with the other guests, all of whom were discussing the card party which would take place after the evening meal. Where could she be? Why hadn’t she appeared yet?

  After all their conversation on the boat, and her abrupt departure, he’d gone over their words again and again.

  Despite his attempt to remain neutral, to discourage her attempts at drawing him out, the woman remained dedicated to her original goal. He’d looked for another opportunity to speak to her, but she’d kept to her room the rest of the day.

  Her avoidance of him and the subject at hand meant he had to dwell upon their argument continuously.

  In their last seconds together, when she had nearly capsized their boat, he’d acted out of instinct to keep her from falling in. And she’d looked at him with such surprise. He didn’t blame her. The way he had spoken to her really made him sound like a man who would’ve allowed her to drench herself.

  He wasn’t that sort of person at all.

  Arguing with her, he was certain, would be the only way to clear the confusion that had entered his brain.

  With no other alternative to finding answers until Rebecca arrived, Christian searched out the countess. She spoke with her mother in a corner of the room, their voices low. The younger, flaxen-haired woman was all smiles, though he thought he detected some weariness about her eyes. The older woman looked as displeased by life as every other time Christian had observed her. After their initial introduction, he’d made an effort to avoid her.

  Absurdly, Lady Vinespar reminded him of his grandfather.

  He approached the countesses, bowing when he came near. “My ladies. Good evening to you both.”

  They murmured their greetings, the mother coldly, the daughter with a gentle smile. How could two such different people be part of the same family? How had one raised the other?

  “I must ask after Miss Devon,” he said, keeping his tone polite and disinterested. “Is she well? I haven’t seen her since the picnic.”

  Lady Vinespar answered, disapproval dripping from each word. “She was fatigued and took a nap. I am afraid she overslept and will be late to dinner. I hope you are not offended by her breech in manners.”

  Even had he cared about such things, Christian doubted her last sentence would’ve done more than irritate him. “Not at all,” he finally said. “I am glad she is well.”

  “As am I,” Lady Annesbury said hastily, casting a sideways glance at her mother. “Rebecca is a delight. It would pain me if she missed the entertainment this evening. Her sister, my cousin Mrs. Gilbert, will be joining us with her husband. You’ve met Mr. Gilbert.”

  “I have. He was most welcoming.” Christian tried to relax. Rebecca would come for dinner. She’d only been tired. After all, she’d sat in the sun for hours reading before the picnic. And the day had been rather warm.

  I really shouldn’t be this concerned about her. He raised a hand to run it through his hair, a habit his valet and grandfather abhorred, but the gesture was interrupted when the doors to the parlor were opened by the footmen in the hall.

  Rebecca entered, her hair twisted up in coiled braids, the errant curl from that morning nowhere to be seen, and her cheeks and nose were pink from the sun. Christian watched her eyes skim across the room, a strange sort of anticipation building, waiting for the moment her gaze would connect with his.

  It came with a sensation of falling, and a strange weightlessness entered in his chest when she walked toward him.

  “Oh, Mother,” Lady Annesbury half-groaned, startling him enough that he took his eyes from Rebecca. The woman at his elbow looked as though she’d experienced some sort of pain. “Why do you insist on putting her in such horrid colors?”

  The older woman drew herself up and spoke sharply. “That dress is perfectly fashionable and appropriate.”

  Rebecca’s dress? He turned back to watch her approach. She was nearly halfway across the room, but she stopped to speak to Lady Felicity. Her eyes darted to his as he watched, however, and her lips lifted in the slightest of smiles. His lips twitched in answer, but his eyes dropped to take in the gown she wore, which he honestly hadn’t taken pains to notice. It was a yellow so vivid and bright he was reminded of lemons. The sleeves were puffed and scalloped, the hem ruffled, and deep purple embroidery covered the edges of the collar.

  “Mother, she looks like a canary,” Lady Annesbury protested in a whisper.

  “Her dress yesterday was too dull and this one is too bright. Make up your mind, Virginia.”

  Rebecca finished her exchange with Lady Felicity and took the last steps to his side, her upturned face wearing a smile that made even the dress she wore pale in comparison. His insides performed rather dangerous acrobatics he tried hard to ignore.

  How can she smile at me like this after our argument?

  “Good evening, my lord,” she said, her voice musical and lovely.

  Nothing about her appeared out of place now, though he thought her freckles stood out a trifle more. The surprising relief of knowing she was not upset with him made him breathe easier. Moments ago, he’d wanted to rekindle their debate, but now—now he was just happy to see that Rebecca was well.

  “Good evening, Miss Devon.” He half-bowed. “Did you rest well?”

  “Tolerably. Thank you.”

  The butler entered, announcing dinner. Christian offered his escort to Rebecca. The seating arrangements were different than previous meals; he was seated across from her. Once he saw Rebecca comfortably in her chair, Christian went to his with a light step. They couldn’t converse with any ease or privacy, but at least—

  He stopped his thoughts, realizing how ridiculous they were. He was hardly an enamored puppy.

  Christian ought to be put out with her. Repulsed by her insistence they become more than indifferent acquaintances. Instead, he’d thought of her all afternoon. Looked forward to seeing her, even if it had only been to resume their battle of words.

  It was ludicrous behavior. His grandfather would be appalled.

  He met Rebecca’s eyes across the table and her soft smile reappeared.

  Perhaps he ought to stop thinking about what his grandfather’s reaction would be. After all, it wasn’t his grandfather she was marrying. She would be Christian’s bride.

  Warmth spread through his chest at that thought, startling him. He turned his attention to his meal, fighting against the desire to watch her. His responses to his dinner partners’ conversation were terse and short. The number of times his feelings betrayed his carefully planned approach to his marital arrangement concerned him.

  When he’d thought Rebecca Devon dangerous after their first conversation in the music room, he’d been right. The woman was a threat to him. If he wished to safeguard his heart, to avoid the devastation that had ruined his parents, marrying her would never work.

  After dinner, the guests adjourned together and stepped into the sitting room, which had been rearranged with card tables and chairs, the more comfortable couches pushed to the edges of the room. It was evident the card party guests had begun to arrive.

  Lord Annesbury appeared beside Christian and clapped a hand to his arm. “Ah, more family for you to meet.” He nodded toward a far corner of the room where Rebecca’s bright yellow dress drew Christian’s eye. Though he would admit the color wasn�
�t flattering, it proved as useful as a signal flag in a crowd.

  Following behind the earl, Christian took note of the people standing with Rebecca. Mr. Gilbert he recognized, of course. The woman at his side had to be his wife, given the resemblance of hair and features to Rebecca, though she was shorter. Lady Annesbury stood with them, laughing and speaking freely.

  “Ladies, Gilbert.” The earl gestured to Christian. “Lord Easton, may I present Mrs. Thomas Gilbert to you? Mrs. Gilbert, Lord Easton.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed, though she curtsied properly to his bow. “My lord,” she said, her lips pressing together over the title.

  Though used to cool receptions, to receive one from Mrs. Gilbert when her sister, husband, and cousin had been welcoming, surprised him. “Mrs. Gilbert. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Miss Devon has spoken of you frequently.”

  “My sister is often on my mind as well,” she said, each word sounding nearly forced. “I hope you know how much she means to us.”

  Christian half-bowed in acknowledgement of that remark. Something about the woman’s tone made him wary, like a growl coming just before a bite.

  Rebecca interrupted them, moving to Christian’s side and putting her hands on his arm. Warmth spread from that point of contact to the rest of his being.

  “Would you like to play a game of loo? I am sure we can convince Lady Felicity and her brother to join us. Christine? Would you and Thomas play?” She cast a hopeful smile to her sister.

  Mrs. Gilbert’s expression softened when she gave her attention to her sister. “That sounds delightful.”

  Is this how it is to be? We pretend nothing has passed between us? He watched Rebecca carefully, keeping his features composed. He could hardly confront her at present.

  In moments, Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert, Lord Sharpeton and his sister, and Christian and Rebecca were gathered at a table with cards and gaming counters. Mr. Gilbert elected to deal the cards; Christian sat between Rebecca and Mrs. Gilbert. The ladies at the table chatted as they played, tossing in chips on occasion, passing on others, and Christian soon realized that Rebecca and her sister were excellent players.