He hazarded a compliment to Mrs. Gilbert. “Excellent trick,” he said after she won the pot. “Is it luck or skill?”
She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye, her expression giving little of her thoughts away. “Something of both, I would imagine. Although I would much rather play spillikins.”
He couldn’t tell if she was jesting. “I cannot say I have played that one with any skill. Perhaps we should try it sometime.”
Mrs. Gilbert’s lips pressed together for a moment before she spoke again, her voice low. “Do you mean to actually associate with the family after your marriage, then? It seems to me you had no intention of having anything to do with us before the Calverts sent you an invitation.” She tilted her chin upward. “At Rebecca’s instruction.”
He hadn’t known the invitation had been Rebecca’s idea. It was his turn to play again, and he passed without much thinking about it. When the round was played out, Lord Sharpeton declared himself finished.
“I think I am too.” Mrs. Gilbert pushed away from the table, but when everyone declared their intention to try another game, she was talked into staying by her younger sister.
Whist was discussed and decided upon, but Christian asked not to be dealt in. Lord Sharpeton and Lady Felicity formed a partnership, and Gilbert—after taking one look at his frowning wife—asked Rebecca to join him in the game.
This left Christian and Mrs. Gilbert to watch, their chairs a little removed from the table.
Christian leaned to the side of his chair, trying not to appear too interested in the conversation at hand. “Mrs. Gilbert, I’m not certain why you think I would shun your family.”
“And what of our other sister, Julia?” Mrs. Gilbert asked, her tone lacking all genuine warmth. “And what if our connections prove unimportant to your business or politics? What then? You are a very private man, Lord Easton. No one knows anything about you, so I cannot guess at what you will and will not do. Especially in regard to my sister.”
He frowned and sat back in his chair. “I’m not a monster, Mrs. Gilbert,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t intentionally harm your sister’s relationship with her family.”
He’d hardly looked for hostility from this quarter.
“The rumors that have reached us are not reassuring on that matter.” She didn’t even look at him as she spoke. “And given the very nature of your arrangement with our father, I cannot put my trust in your word.”
Christian, his mind spinning, tried to understand what she was saying. “What do you mean? If your father trusts me, what could be amiss in my character?”
She made a sound that was half scoff, half laugh, and finally turned to appraise him. Her brown eyes, so like Rebecca’s in color and shape, pierced him with accusation. “Absolutely everything. Monster you may not be, but going about this arrangement the way you have indicates there is something terribly wrong with you. And it angers me I can do nothing about it.” She snapped open a fan and stood, finally drawing the attention of the players at the table.
“Excuse me. I am in need of fresh air.” She turned and left the table.
Gilbert had frozen, midway to laying a card on the table. He looked to Rebecca, then to Christian. “Excuse me. I will have to forfeit this hand.” He put his cards down on the table and stood to go after his wife, who had fled the room entirely.
Rebecca sighed, watching her brother-in-law go. “Oh well. Thank you for the game,” she said to the brother and sister pair. “Christian, would you like some cake?”
This family is absolutely impossible to understand. One sister accused him, the other offered him cake. The one he’d argued with smiled as if they were the best of friends, the one he’d never met treated him like an immediate enemy.
He escorted Rebecca to the table on the far side of the room, where refreshments had been laid out for the party. Once they were at the table, their backs to everything else, Rebecca stepped closer beside him.
“What happened? Christine seemed upset when she left.”
He considered how to explain and decided on being blunt. “She holds me in dislike due to our situation.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, dear. I apologize. I have noticed that my sister has been out of sorts of late. I am sure it is nothing for you to concern yourself over.”
Christian considered her for a moment, taking in the worried look in her eyes. “But you are concerned, are you not?”
She sighed, her shoulders falling slightly. “My sisters are both very protective of me. I have always been the one who needed to be looked after. You are not a man they know or understand, so there is some wariness there.”
“She said the nature of the agreement between me and your father upset her.” Christian focused on the table in front of them instead of on her, almost reluctant to speak. “I must admit, I’ve never met the man. My grandfather handled all the arrangements.”
“He did?” Rebecca sounded surprised. “Isn’t that unusual?”
“He promised he would adhere to my wishes.” Christian’s grandfather controlled every aspect of his life, and it had not seemed like a terrible idea to give over this facet as well. What did he care of courtship? It was best if he didn’t have the choice, best if his opinion was left out of it entirely. His grandfather knew what would and would not be accepted by the ton, and he’d chosen Rebecca.
Really, coming to this house party to quell the wagging tongues in London hadn’t been a good idea. It left Christian no choice but to get to know his prospective bride and her family. He shouldn’t even be in her company longer than necessary. He ought to be at a table with the lords, discussing politics, forming connections. He was only supposed to appear like he’d come for Rebecca.
And he needed some distance between them. Quickly. For the sake of his own clarity.
“If you will excuse me, Miss Devon.” He bowed and stepped away, determined to put himself back on course. It had been unexpected, to feel the pull between them, to find himself actually wishing to know her better. Perhaps it was dangerous, too.
“Of course,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed.
He was letting his emotions rule him. And that would not do.
Christian avoided Rebecca for the rest of the evening. He caught a glimpse of her from time to time and noted when Mrs. Gilbert came back into the room to hover at Rebecca’s elbow. But he stayed away from them both.
It was time to write a different sort of letter to his grandfather, and he intended to see it done that very night.
Rebecca Devon was the very sort of young woman a man could fall deeply in love with. As that was the last thing Christian wanted, perhaps it would be best to explore other options. For both their sakes.
Chapter Fourteen
Miss Devon’s character and conduct is not what either of us expected. While I will not cast any disparaging remarks against her, I must ask you to determine if there is a way to change our arrangement with the family. An alliance with the Devons will hardly benefit the Ivyford name or our position in society. I will continue at the Annesbury house party while I await your suggestion on how to proceed.
Christian had spent more time writing and rewriting the letter to his grandfather than he had sleeping. It was difficult to word his request in such a way that made it clear he had no wish to damage Rebecca’s reputation, but found the match between them unsuitable. And he couldn’t exactly tell his grandfather he could no longer agree to the marriage because Rebecca Devon confused him.
He slept late the next day and awoke with renewed determination to send the letter. It was for the best, for both of them. Perhaps they could quiet the rumors in London, find a way to imply there had never been any engagement, only rumors. Rebecca had the support of the Earl of Annesbury. And these things happened all the time, didn’t they?
Rebecca could go away for a time. Perhaps he would too. The gossip would die down, and they could move on with their lives.
Except Christian knew that while the
ton was fickle, it had a collective memory stretching back decades.
Between the Earl of Ivyford and the Earl of Annesbury, and Rebecca’s wealthy father, we can find a way out of this.
He posted the letter, telling himself it was for the best. It would grant him piece of mind and protect his heart. It would give her the opportunity to try to find another, a man who would enjoy her attention and affections.
Rebecca had a very kind heart and a determined nature. She would not be wounded by his decision. Not for long.
Christian gritted his teeth, determined to see his decision through. As testimony of such, he made it a point to avoid Rebecca by taking dinner in his room that evening.
Chapter Fifteen
Although her cousin had advised her to leave Christian to himself for a time, Rebecca decided a full day of his neglect was more than enough. After the card party, Christian had done his best to avoid her the next day and taken himself to the village by the end of it. While she might understand him being upset at her sister’s inordinate rudeness, Rebecca couldn’t allow him to withdraw any further from her.
At first, she’d thought she must be imagining things, as she didn’t expect to see him at breakfast. He rose early and exercised his dog. But she’d gone searching for him, saw him at a distance, but when she called and waved he didn’t turn. Then she came upon him in a hallway, but he immediately turned on his heel and went in the opposite direction. When he did not show himself for dinner, but excused himself to the party through a messenger, claiming he had business in the village.
What sort of business could a man of his rank, from a different county, possibly have in their little hamlet?
She’d had success, or at least the beginnings of success, in drawing him out the day of the picnic. Up until the moment she tried to talk to him of more personal matters in the boathouse.
It’s best not to dwell on that unfortunate lack of achievement.
The second morning after the card party also began without sight of him. Rebecca had joined the other young people for lawn games, with the children present too. She’d tried to enjoy herself, bowling with Phillip and Edward. Both boys had grown remarkably over the past year and she’d taken the time to admire their skill with all the importance young children needed on such matters.
Yet again and again, her eyes searched for Christian’s imposing form.
When clouds started to gather in the distance, and luncheon was called, she’d very nearly determined to go knocking on Christian’s door. It was an unseemly idea, of course, but how much longer could he hide from her?
She’d gone to her room to freshen up, allowing Hettie to help her out of her rumpled dress and into another, more comfortable gown. This one was a blue so light it was nearly white, and one of the few she actually liked. After the last button had been done up, Hettie began to fuss over Rebecca’s hair.
That was when Rebecca looked out her window and spotted a familiar tall, dark form stalking away from the house. Without waiting for Hettie to finish pulling and twisting her hair back into order, Rebecca snatched her bonnet and ran from the room, her maid calling after her.
He will not avoid me this time.
Running through the house, Rebecca hoped to catch Christian before he made it too far. He’d been moving quickly, and his legs were longer than hers. Where could he be going? His dog wasn’t with him. He walked away from the stables. What was the man up to?
She burst out the door and continued hurrying, slamming her bonnet on top of her head and ignoring the trailing ribbons.
When Hettie tells Aunt about my departure, I will certainly catch some trouble. Though the thought caused her to nearly tumble, she didn’t stop. She only glanced over her shoulder, wondering if the maid was watching her run after a man. Propriety be hanged. She fixed her course forward again. This is my future at stake.
At last she saw him, walking at the edge of the lake.
Christian, dressed in blacks and grays, matched the clouds moving swiftly above them. Stepping out of doors in the threatening weather didn’t speak favorably of his frame of mind.
“Christian,” she shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. He took several more steps before looking over his shoulder, stopping altogether when he spied her.
Lifting her skirts as much as she dared, Rebecca doubled her efforts to reach him. He watched, his face a mask of displeasure.
“Where,” she asked between pants, slowing as she drew near, “have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
His regard was hardly warm. In fact, he rather reminded her of the first night of their acquaintance. Cool and aloof, he looked from her back up to the house.
“You shouldn’t be out here. It might rain.” Saying nothing more, he took up his walk again.
Took up his angry stride, more like, she corrected herself. But she didn’t hesitate in joining him, keeping at his side. “Are you impervious to rain? If I shouldn’t be out, neither should you.”
“I need to think.” Though his words were abrupt, they were not dismissive.
“And jogging along the lake helps in that endeavor?” He wasn’t jogging, but she practically was. “How interesting. I think best sitting in quiet, before a roaring fire, in a comfortable chair.”
He cut her an incredulous glance. “I am thinking, Rebecca. Not inviting conversation.”
Cheering at his use of her Christian name, for the first time since the boating incident, Rebecca tried not to grin.
“Very well. I will be silent.” She made a show of pressing her lips together tightly but did not withdraw. A good general pressed an advantage, and she counted his lack of complete dismissal an advantage.
His pace didn’t slow, but she kept up, grateful she wore half-stays instead of the full, busked stays Hettie had tried to press upon her. Freedom of movement had been important for the games, but it was more essential now. Her half boots were equally helpful. Slippers would’ve never held up to their pace or the soft ground they traversed.
They made it halfway around the lake before the first raindrop fell. Then there was another, and another, and tiny ripples began to grow and multiply on the lake’s surface.
Christian halted at last and glared up at the sky. He muttered a string of words in Italian, which nearly made her smile. Obviously that language slipped from him in moments of distraction, or high feeling. She wondered which this was.
“You shouldn’t have followed me,” he said, meeting her eyes. Instead of the cold look from before, she saw distress in them.
Rebecca shrugged, breathing heavily after the unusual exercise. “It is only rain.”
A crack of thunder sounded loudly overhead, followed closely by a bolt of lightning flashing in the distance. Rebecca ducked down and covered her ears. A ridiculous, childish response, but her heart had jolted and now raced faster than it had during her run.
Christian looked about them, but there was nothing other than pastureland. He muttered curses, which were pretty unmistakable given that they were in both English and Italian.
“I should’ve made you go back,” he growled over the sound of the rain, and the wind which began to pick up. He turned back the way they’d come. “The boathouse. It’s closer than the main house—” Another rumble of thunder interrupted him.
“There’s something closer,” she nearly shouted, pointing at the trees. Rebecca lifted up her skirts much higher than was proper, preparing to run again.
Christian followed her as she made a direct path for the trees. Heedless of puddles and the long grasses, Rebecca’s destination was all she worried about. The sky flashed again, but the thunder was further away. Hopefully it would be a brief storm. The turbulent ones usually were.
“The trees aren’t going to help,” he shouted, rain pelting his words, making them faint.
“It’s not the trees,” she shouted back, but didn’t bother explaining further. They came under the branches of the chestnuts nearest the lake, the rain heavy enough that
it easily penetrated the canopy of leaves.
Rebecca went to one tree in particular, her hands reaching for the rungs of a ladder secured to the trunk itself. She didn’t worry about Christian standing beneath her, but trusted he would be enough of a gentleman to look away as she ascended. The hatch to the boys’ tree fort was closed, but it was an easy matter to reach up and push it open. She climbed inside, pulling her legs up after her.
A moment later, Christian’s head appeared through the opening in the floor and he looked about the shadowed room. “I wondered what this was,” he said, pulling himself all the way in.
Rebecca pressed herself into the wall, until Christian shut the hatch and sat upon it. The turret of the wooden castle had been built with children in mind, not a man of his size. Even with the hatch closed and her against the side, his shoulder brushed hers and he had to keep his knees bent.
“Lucas had it built after he married Virginia,” she said, wrapping her arms about herself. No longer running for safety, she felt the effects of wearing a sopping wet gown. A drop of water fell from the brim of her bonnet, splashing against her cheek.
Christian’s eyes continued to study the construction of the turret, his attention taken up in his admiration. “They are fortunate boys. I would’ve loved something like this—” His words broke off and he narrowed his eyes, peering at the lip in the wood beneath the sloped planks that made up the castle’s point.
With some difficulty, given his confined movements, Christian leveraged himself upward and reached onto the lip. “Ah ha,” he breathed out, allowing himself to fall backward onto his seat. He turned to her, holding a rolled-up piece of paper in his hands. Laughter danced in his eyes, a triumphant grin brightened his expression.
Miss Devon's Choice: A Sweet Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 5) Page 14