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

by Sally Britton

  Virginia chuckled. “Come along, children. Down to the gardens we go.”

  One of the marquess’s daughters had a butterfly net she swung as she walked and all the children chattered happily.

  “Do you intend to take charge of this lot all on your own, Virginia?” Rebecca asked.

  “At least for an hour or so. Their sweet nurses are taking a few precious minutes to themselves.”

  “We are driving them to distraction,” the girl holding the butterfly net said brightly.

  Rebecca met Virginia’s eyes with amusement.

  They burst out the side doors to the gardens and the children scattered about immediately. The two girls went butterfly hunting among the flowers, darting between the Greek-influenced sculptures standing about in every-other flowerbed. Phillip and the marquess’s son went for a small shed where Rebecca knew there were cricket supplies. Edward gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Will you be all right with Mother and Emma?” he asked, a proud smile on his face. He was becoming quite the well-mannered gentleman at six years old.

  “Indeed, I shall. Thank you, Edward.” Releasing his hand, she watched him scamper after the older boys.

  “Sweet of him to make certain I will not bore you,” Virginia said, laughter in her voice. “Come. We can keep an eye on everyone from this bench.” She took a seat and Rebecca joined her, then looked out over the gardens. The whole house was surrounded by beautiful trees, shrubbery, flowers, and footpaths. It was breathtaking, truly.

  Would her home with Christian have been this lovely? The Devon gardens at Whitewood Estate were not as extensive, but the woods had always been her favorite place to hide away, when the weather was warm.

  Did Austrian schools for young women have pretty gardens?

  “Why have you sought me out this morning, Rebecca?” Virginia asked, turning Rebecca from her thoughts.

  “Oh. This.” She looked down at the paper she still held in her hands. “Father has invited Lord Easton and I to tea.”

  Virginia raised her eyebrows and adjusted a squirming Emma on her lap. “I suppose it is to be expected. It would seem strange if he did not invite the two of you to Whitewood for some event or another. Is it for today?”

  “Yes.” Rebecca traced the crease of the paper with a finger, keeping her eyes lowered to her lap and the infernal purple ribbons adorning her gown’s multi-tiered ruffles. “What do you think of this gown?” she asked abruptly, changing the subject.

  Virginia chuckled. “Rebecca, very shortly after my wedding I went directly to a seamstress and ordered trunks and trunks of clothing. Then I gave all my old clothing away to a second-hand shop. The fashions my mother forced upon me ten years ago were not any more flattering than what she puts upon you now.” Virginia shuddered, not at all dramatically. “I understand you have already visited Mrs. Chandler. How did our village ever manage to attract such a talented woman?”

  “She is rather wonderful, isn’t she?” Rebecca sighed, thinking of the dress she’d commissioned and would never see. Perhaps, if she was adorned in something that complimented her rather than make her ridiculous, she may have captured Christian’s interest and secured his favor. “She used to make all of my mother’s gowns, and I know Christine will only wear riding habits Mrs. Chandler has created.”

  Virginia chuckled. “Our Christine is very particular about certain things.” She turned her eyes to the children as she spoke. “Thank you for telling me of your appointment with your father. I will not wait tea for you.” Virginia reached down to remove a stone from her daughter’s hand that had nearly made it all the way to the baby’s little mouth. “Have you told Lord Easton yet?”

  “No.” Rebecca slumped against the back of the bench. “I will have to look for him after the hunt.”

  “He didn’t go today.”

  Rebecca’s hold on the invitation tightened and her chin jerked up. “Really? He’s still about the house?”

  Virginia’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Indeed. I think he is in the library. He told Lucas to go on without him today. Perhaps you ought to inform him of the invitation now?”

  “Oh.” Rebecca glanced away, turning to watch one of the girls with the butterfly net tiptoe through the flowerbeds while her sister attempted to mimic the poses of the garden’s statue of Hera. “If he remained back, he must have good reason. I would not wish to interrupt him.”

  “You’ve been following him about for days and he hasn’t seemed to tire of your company,” Virginia said, her tone light. “I must admit, I was terribly worried for this arrangement at first. But watching you both, I find I am more and more certain your marriage will be a happy one.”

  It was tempting to tell Virginia everything at that moment. To have someone to confide in would lift a tremendous weight from her shoulders. It seemed unnecessary to worry her cousin who was convinced Rebecca’s match remained a good one.

  And if Virginia told Lucas that Lord Easton meant to reject Rebecca as a bride, she had no doubt the earl would at least eject Christian from the house. Lucas was fond of her, and loyal to a fault. He wouldn’t take kindly to a man leaving her reputation in tatters.

  If only she could find a way to secure Christian’s hand, if not his affection.

  But did she want to spend her life married to a man who could so easily reject her? Her heart twisted painfully at the very idea.

  Yesterday, in the music room, she and Christian had both spoken unkindly. Not even attended dinner. If she went to him in the library, would the hostility remain between them? How did she bridge the divide she’d caused?

  Staying away from him was the coward’s way out, though. The best way to handle the matter would be to seek him out and determine if she could repair the damage she’d caused. Her hold told her there may yet be a chance at happiness, and her logical mind forced her to acknowledge that marriage to him would be preferable to being exiled to Austria.

  “Perhaps you are right,” Rebecca said, hoping she hadn’t paused too long. “I had better go find him. Enjoy your time in the garden.” Rebecca stood and dusted off her skirts, then took herself back inside.

  If Christian hadn’t gone hunting, it rather surprised her he remained indoors. His time spent outside, with Ajax, obviously invigorated him. Her steps slowed when she was nearly to the library as she wondered if she ought to knock. It was a public room, of course, but what if he wished for privacy? To intrude upon him when he did not want her company—

  Enough, Rebecca. Stop being a ninny. You went after him that day you both were caught in the rain, and that turned out well.

  Actually, when she thought back on it, the only thing she’d accomplished that day was to put them both in a highly improper situation that would scandalize every matron in London. Especially should he end their engagement.

  But he was kind, even though he said he didn’t want my company.

  Foisting herself on him again might well try his patience, though.

  What choice do I have? I know Father will demand a report on my progress. I may as well at least try.

  Before she talked herself out of it, Rebecca put her hand to the door knob and pushed. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges so readily that what force she’d put into opening it sent the whole thing banging into the wall behind it. Rebecca squeaked and covered her mouth, mortified, when she saw Christian leaping to his feet from a chair beside the window.

  He stood as though ready to confront an attacker, and her cheeks completely flooded with heat.

  “Good morning?” The words were more a humble question than an actual greeting.

  His dark eyes stared across the room, incredulously for a moment. “Rebecca.” His posture relaxed, he curled one hand into a fist and rapped at his thigh, looking from her to the door. “Is anything wrong?”

  Rebecca shook her head, her mind hanging on the way he’d said her name. It was with the same gentle inflection he’d used the last several days. No Miss Devon. No stiff formality. Instead, the
R in her name was nearly a purr once again.

  “No.” Then she remembered the paper in her hand. “Not really.” She thrust it out in front of her and took two steps into the room. “My father has invited us to tea. Today.”

  “Oh.” Christian laid down the book she hadn’t noticed him holding, then crossed the room to her. He tucked the hand that had been fisted into his jacket, as though putting something away.

  She held the paper out for him to take, her eyes meeting his with what she hoped was a contrite expression. “Perhaps while we’re at Whitewood Estate I can give you a tour.”

  Christian took the paper and looked over its contents, his eyebrows drawing together as he read. “I would like that.” He paused a moment, looking from the paper to her and back again. “Does your father always write in such a formal manner?”

  “Yes. When he writes at all. Most of the time, he delivers his instruction through my aunt.” She raised a hand to her forehead. “I suppose I need to tell her of this, too. She will likely insist that Hettie accompany us today.”

  “Instructions?” Christian asked, not seeming to have heard what she said regarding the maid. He took a step closer and returned the paper to her.

  Rebecca took it, trying to ignore the tingling sensation shooting up her arm when their fingertips brushed against each other. It distracted her enough that she didn’t think her answer through properly. “Oh, yes. He gives a fair number of them. Aunt relates his lists and then writes back a report of how I have performed.” She tilted her head back to see a deep crease in his forehead still. “They want to make certain I am a proper English miss. My father and aunt are not fond of each other, but in my behavior they are agreed on nearly all points.”

  Christian nodded, his expression unchanging.

  After a long moment of silence, Rebecca dared to speak again, with purposeful lightness of tone. “What were you reading? It must be excessively diverting for you to forgo shooting this morning.” If she pretended nothing was wrong, he may go along with it.

  They had been doing so well before her father came. Before she learned of Christian’s dislike for her.

  “Hm?” He raised his eyebrows, as though coming out of his own thoughts surprised him. “Oh. Sir Walter Scott.” Christian gestured for her to precede him to where he’d laid the book.

  Startled, Rebecca nearly jumped across the room.

  It worked? He didn’t seem as comfortable as he had been with her before, but neither was he trying to get away from her as fast as his feet would carry him.

  He followed her, gesturing to the chair he’d occupied when she burst into the room. “It isn’t Waverly, but The Lady of the Lake. I didn’t intend to read, but when I spied it on the earl’s shelves I thought I ought to give it a chance. Have you heard of it? Please, sit.”

  Rebecca sat, utterly flummoxed, watching him take up the book again. She barely remembered she needed to answer his question. “I read it when it was published, several years ago. Julia made it a present to me.”

  “Hm. What do you think of Ellen? She’s not a heroine of Pride and Prejudice’s ilk, but I find her interesting.”

  Slowly, Rebecca relaxed. Books she understood. She could speak about the problems in a fictional world, the foibles of make-believe people, comfortably in even the worst of circumstances.

  Before long, Rebecca nearly forgot their arguments. Christian discussed the book at length with her, and handed it to her when she forgot an aspect of the poem he wished to examine in more detail. She stayed in his chair, and he brought another nearer, to share the book between them, his deep voice reading the passages aloud while her heart fluttered and spun.

  He doesn’t love me, she reminded herself. Not yet. He may not even wish to marry me.

  Though those thoughts stung, her heart was soothed while listening to the warmth in his voice as he read to her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Over the length of the quiet drive, Christian felt Rebecca grow more and more tense at his side. They sat close together, as her maid was also on the seat, which made it easy for him to discern the stiffening of Rebecca’s shoulders. She clutched her reticule tightly, her gloved fingers digging into its bright green fabric. The little purse matched the color of the walking gown she’d put on for the occasion.

  Knowing that her gowns were not in the style or colors she would choose for herself, Christian had started noticing them more. Had he been a different sort of man, he might’ve teased her about them. Today, she looked rather like a green stalk of vegetable, especially given the excessive green silk flowers decorating her straw hat.

  Upon helping her into the gig, he’d given her hand a gentle squeeze. “You look lovely, Rebecca.” Seeing a little color return to her otherwise pale face had heartened him. He still had an effect on her.

  It was also immensely satisfying to know that he had a box in his possession of a gown that Rebecca had chosen for herself. He hadn’t looked at it, of course. Looking at her clothing in such a way would feel too intimate. But he planned to make certain she had the gown soon. The parcel had been delivered by a Gilbert servant with a note from Mrs. Gilbert, expressing her gratitude for his intervention.

  “Here is the lane,” Rebecca said, nodding toward a turn-in flanked by white pillars, stylized to look like the trunks of trees. He guided the horse between them.

  His eyes swept across the view before him. There were no tall, elegant trees standing sentinel here. The house stood in full view, upon a hill, with a green lawn rolling out before it. The house faced southward, with tall white columns stretching from the ground floor up past the first floor and to a second, where Christian noted much smaller windows in evidence. The house was wide-set, of brick construction, with stone lions on either side of the large front door.

  “My grandfather built the house,” Rebecca said as they approached, her voice trembling slightly. “His father was a seaman and a merchant. Father likes to pretend it wasn’t the money of a tradesman that built all of this.” She snapped her mouth shut quickly, paling still more.

  The maid cleared her throat in a noisy, and obviously unnecessary, manner.

  When Christian pulled the horse to a stop, he leaned forward. “Excuse me. Miss—Hettie, is it?”

  The young woman’s face turned red. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. Hettie. Before we go inside, I would like to remind you that you are Miss Devon’s maid. Miss Devon is to be my viscountess. Please behave according to your station.” He raised his eyebrows at her, giving full weight to his words and his doubt that she could manage such an auspicious position.

  She blanched and nodded hastily. “Of course, my lord.” Then she let herself down on the opposite side of their gig.

  He glanced down at Rebecca and froze. She stared at him, her lips parted and her eyebrows arching nearly to the brim of her hat. She closed her mouth and, to his great shock, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Your viscountess?” she squeaked.

  He checked to be sure Hettie was out of ear shot, then bent toward Rebecca, nudging her shoulder with his. “What else would you be called, as my wife?”

  Her shoulders dropped and she leaned away, looking at him askance. “After the way we’ve argued these last days, I was certain you no longer wished to—” She broke off and busied herself brushing at her skirts.

  Guilt smote him. He shouldn’t have left their reconciliation for so long. But he’d wanted to be sure before he spoke to her again. The feelings she inspired in him, the hope she stirred in his breast, made him want to be a better man.

  His grandfather still hadn’t written. And would it be so terrible to be husband to such a beautiful, kind-hearted woman?

  Christian stepped down and raised his hand to assist Rebecca. She took it, and gifted him a shy smile, still a touch uncertain. His heart pounded at double the usual tempo when she smiled at him like that.

  “We will discuss matters between us soon, Rebecca. For now, we shouldn’t keep your fathe
r waiting.”

  Her eyes went to the door of her father’s house, her tiny smile vanishing. He watched her square her shoulders as she took his arm.

  “It cannot be that terrible,” he said softly as they stepped forward.

  “Oh, it can,” she said from the side of her mouth as the door opened.

  The butler bowed them inside. Christian took off his gloves and hat, handing them to the waiting servant, and took in his surroundings with some interest. This was the house that had shaped Rebecca, after all, even if she dreaded seeing the man who owned it.

  The hall was not as grand as some he had been inside, but it reached upward a story, all the way down, with banisters lining the opening on the floor above. The floors were well-polished wood instead of stone and mostly covered in fine Oriental rugs. The walls were covered in patterned fabric, in shades of blue and silver. The decor was expensive, but tasteful enough.

  The whole of the house made it clear the Devon’s were a family of wealth.

  He gave Rebecca his arm again as they were led upstairs, the staircase floating, making the entry feel far more open, and then down another well-carpeted hall. The butler leading them opened an ornately carved door and stepped inside to announce them.

  “Lord Easton and Miss Devon, sir.”

  After Christian bowed, he realized they were in a study instead of a room more suited to taking tea. And Mr. Devon was behind his desk.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Refreshment and my son will be here in a moment.” He stepped around the desk and gestured to the other side of the room, where a large leather couch and two high-backed chairs waited for them. “Please, sit.”

  Christian steered Rebecca to the couch, opting to sit next to her. The woman’s face had paled and she pressed her lips together so tightly they had turned white, too. Was she afraid of her father? She’d become a shadow of her usual vivacious personality.

  “Rebecca,” her father said, causing her arm to tighten against Christian’s. “I trust you are in good health? As is my sister?” Christian had seen lizards look warmer and more inviting than the man before him appeared.