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

by Sally Britton

  Though he wanted no thanks for his role in bringing her together with her siblings, he hoped she enjoyed her day, hoped it had lifted her spirits after the meeting with her father had dimmed the light in her eyes. He’d spent the better part of the previous night planning it for her, then rose early to put the scheme into action.

  Rebecca appeared at the top of the steps, and his heart thudded against his chest as though it wished to drag him toward her. She saw him as she laid her hand on the rail, and her body stilled for an instant.

  She didn’t wear the smile he had anticipated.

  “Christian,” she greeted him when she was halfway down the staircase, where she had stood the first time he laid eyes on her. “Good afternoon.”

  Brows drawing together, Christian studied her approaching figure carefully. Nothing about her expression indicated any upset or ill feeling. Yet her eyes had dimmed, her lips lay in a flat line, and her tone was cautious.

  “Rebecca.” He held his hand out, ungloved, and she took it in her own, pausing on the last step. Their eyes were nearly level with her on the step, and had she been in a better mood, he might’ve stepped forward to steal a kiss.

  He ached to taste her lips again.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked, her voice hushed in the empty hall.

  Christian, still puzzling over her subdued nature, reassured her. “Not at all. But I thought we could use the time before dinner to search out Hestia.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “Of course. Let me think. There are Greek statues in the greenhouse, but they are all quite small. The larger statues are in the gardens. Do we know what she looks like?”

  At least she hadn’t released his hand. He used this connection to tug her forward and down the hall, to a door that would take them into the gardens. “She is usually depicted as wearing a veil. Sometimes sitting on a low throne, sometimes standing by a column with fire. Or she holds a dish of flame.”

  Rebecca nodded absently, her expression full of faraway thoughts.

  Trying not to worry or give way to disappointment that she hadn’t enjoyed the surprise he prepared for her, Christian turned his attention to the gardens. Had he misunderstood something about her relationship with her other family members? Had the day been miserable for her instead of refreshing and joyous as he’d hoped?

  Biting the insides of his cheeks, Christian kept searching the greenery for the statue of a Greek goddess. Of course, he’d guessed that the riddle given by the earl could apply to Hestia without any real proof that was what the earl meant.

  “How was your afternoon?” his betrothed asked.

  Christian slowed his steps and glanced down at her. Rebecca continued to stare into the distance, and she indicated no real interest in the answer to her question.

  “It was fair enough,” Christian answered, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Ajax and I went riding rather than shooting. We took a tour of the countryside.” He had actually spent a great deal of the time thinking about her. About what he wanted, and what she offered with her determination of loving him. He’d spent hours trying to clear his head enough to form a plan, to make up his mind as to how best to undertake his marriage, but all his thoughts had stayed full of her laughter, her smile, and their single kiss.

  He’d realized, sitting in the middle of a meadow with Ajax asleep in the grass beside him, that making Rebecca happy wasn’t enough. Protecting her from her father wasn’t enough.

  He’d sent her on her way, trying to give her what she most wanted, and then spent the entire day missing her.

  Several times, Christian had nearly given up his lone wandering to go to her. He’d liked her family, had even felt at ease among them. But she needed time with her sisters, with people who cared about her, without him hovering at her side like a dark shadow.

  “Did you enjoy your time with your family?” he asked, stopping to peer up at a Greek statue of a woman holding a vessel of some kind over her shoulder. It didn’t look like the correct goddess, so they continued on.

  “I did, very much. Thank you for arranging it.” She spoke formally and created a polite distance between them with her tone, when all he wanted to do was slip his hand through hers and make his confession to her, tell her all that was going on in the war between his heart and his head. But her change in manner confused his already turbulent thoughts.

  Christian stopped when they came to a place where their brick path divided into three sections. One path would take them down the hill and to the lake, another further back into the hedgerows, and the third would weave its way through the more formal gardens. “Which way, do you think?” he asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

  After a pause, Rebecca pointed to the formal gardens. “I doubt a goddess of hearth and home would be found further away from the house. We should search in the roses.”

  “Roses?” He reluctantly released her hand when she went forward ahead of him.

  “Lady Annesbury, the earl’s mother, loves roses. And Virginia said that her mother-in-law is responsible for the design of the gardens.” She barely turned to speak the words over her shoulder.

  Following behind, studying her carefully, Christian wondered if he’d offended his betrothed. She had always, without exception, sought him out first. Spoken first. Guided the conversation.

  “Which are your favorite flowers?” he asked, a step behind her.

  “Hollyhocks,” she answered without pause.

  Christian tried to remember which those were. “Are they the tall ones, with flowers coming off one shoot? Pink?”

  Her steps slowed and she looked at him askance. “Or white, or red, or yellow. But yes. They’re tall. When I was a girl, sometimes I would get a clipping from my mother. She told me they were fairy wands.” Her cheeks pinked and her deep brown eyes grew thoughtful. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I want to know more about you,” he answered, the words honest, his heart reaching out to her while he kept his hands firmly at his sides.

  “Oh. Really?” She raised her eyebrows at him and appeared puzzled. “You haven’t asked very many questions before.” Then her cheeks flushed darker and she whirled to continued down the brick path, her steps faster this time.

  He hurried to keep up with her, wondering how absurd they must look, walking at such a pace through such a beautiful garden. Hopefully, there weren’t many guests spying at their windows. Most would be preparing for dinner at this hour.

  Rebecca rounded a particularly large and well-trimmed rosebush, and when he came around it he nearly ran into her. She stood still, her head tilted to one side, examining a statue in the middle of a fountain.

  “I think we found Hestia,” she said, pointing.

  The fountain was perhaps ten feet in diameter, with three tiers each pouring water into one another before the final dropped into the main body of water. At the top of the tiers, a stone woman reclined on a low seat, a loose veil covering the back of her head, and in her lap she held a basin of artfully carved fire.

  The basin was at least nine feet above the ground. Christian narrowed his eyes at it, then looked around the rest of the garden, searching for any place the clue might be hidden. Rebecca must have had the same idea, as she was walking around the fountain, her eyes sweeping from the pool of water to the roses surrounding them. Christian went around the other side and when their paths met she shook her head.

  “It’s going to be in the basin,” she said, pointing. “How will we reach it?”

  Christian sighed and looked into the water. “If I take off my shoes and stockings, I don’t think I will get anything wet.” He sat down on the rim of the water feature and began to do just that.

  Rebecca’s eyebrows shot up, her cheeks turned pink, and she raised her eyes to the fountain. “I don’t think you will be able to reach it. And you are too large to climb it.”

  “It isn’t that high.” He spun around, lifting his legs over the edge, and stood. The water lapped again
st his legs at the sudden disturbance to its surface, and barely met the edge of his trousers. Christian shuffled through it, shuddering once from the cold, and looked up at the statue—it was out of reach.

  He knew it now, up close, but he put his hand up anyway, standing on his toes. His fingertips brushed the rim of Hestia’s bowl of fire, but that was all. He stepped back and considered the water, shaking his head. The tiers were too delicate to risk standing on them to climb up.

  “Any ideas?” he asked, fisting his hands on his hips.

  “Jump?” she asked.

  He looked again and shook his head. “If I catch the basin, it’s carved delicately enough it could snap.”

  She hesitated, biting her bottom lip.

  “You have an idea. I can tell.” He tried to smile at her, tried to tease, but she didn’t appear amused in the slightest. Her gaze was fixed on the statue’s basin.

  “Can you lift me that high?” Rebecca asked.

  He felt heat creep up his neck. “What?”

  Her face had changed color to a rosy hue, nearly matching the red and pink flowers surrounding them. “I was thinking of when you put me into the gig before. You—you’re very strong.” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “It’s a foolish idea. We—we probably should just find a ladder or something.”

  There was no safe place to lean a ladder, Christian knew. He studied Rebecca, then the fountain, and began to shuffle through the water back to her side. He started unbuttoning his coat.

  The riddle had mentioned mettle. Perhaps it had meant a long hook, or rod, to reach into the basin. But Rebecca’s idea had merit and would be faster than searching out something to blindly prod the basin with.

  “I am going to ask you to stand on the fountain wall,” Christian said, keeping his voice even and his tone sensible. “Then will sit against my shoulder and I’ll lift you. I cannot hold you directly overhead, but this will work, I think. I will walk you to the fountain and you can peer inside the bowl.”

  Her eyes darted around the enclosed garden and then up to the house. A convenient tree blocked where they stood from any windows, and they had seen no one else outside on their walk. The risk of discovery was minimal, and truly, what did it matter? Her reputation was safe with him. Christian would marry Rebecca tomorrow, if he could.

  “What are you grinning about?” she asked, slightly accusatory. “This isn’t very amusing, Christian.”

  He cleared his throat and tried for a sober expression. “Not at all. But it is the simplest solution.” Her eyes dropped to the water. “Rebecca,” he said, and she raised her gaze immediately to his, her brows drawn together. “I won’t let you fall,” he promised.

  Taking in a deep breath, Rebecca nodded. He laid his jacket on the ground next to the fountain, then held her hand to assist her onto the little ledge. He sat on the stone, and she hesitantly lowered herself onto his shoulder.

  “Put your right hand on my other shoulder and raise the left out for balance,” he instructed, then came carefully to his feet. Rebecca wobbled for a moment, but he held still and they found their equilibrium. Christian shuffled through the water to the fountain.

  Rebecca’s slim hand held tight to his shoulder and she spoke not a word, but he could feel how strained her body remained.

  It was the most improper thing he had done since coming to England as a youth. He had never stepped a toe out of line, never broken a single of his grandfather’s rules, and kept within the bounds society had set. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. Not when it came to Rebecca.

  “There is something in the bowl,” Rebecca said when he was still a step away. When he stopped, she gripped his shoulder tighter with her right hand while the left reached forward. “I have it,” she cried out.

  Christian didn’t hold back his grin this time. “Wonderful. Hold on a moment longer, until you’re on dry ground again.” He retraced his careful steps, his arms wrapped around her slim legs, and in a few moments he was sitting again and she stepped lightly to the ledge, then jumped down to the stone walk.

  “What is the treasure?” Christian asked, putting his feet back on dry ground. He reached for his coat, watching her with pleasure.

  Rebecca held a dripping wet object to him, and it flashed gold in the sunlight. It was a simple gold bangle, dotted with red and white stones.

  “It’s lovely,” he said, impressed that the prize was something of actual value. “And it will suit you.”

  Rebecca hesitated, then examined the lovely piece of jewelry. “I suppose it would better suit a woman than a man.” She slipped it on her wrist and held her arm out for his inspection. “What do you think?” Her smile had returned, as well as her levity, and Christian relaxed.

  “Perfect. You must wear it to dinner tonight, to show we’ve won the prize.”

  She laughed. “It took us over a week to discover it. I am afraid we are very poor treasure hunters.” He couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

  He turned his attention back to his stockings and shoes, restoring himself quickly to order, only a little dampness about his person could give away their adventure. Appropriately attired once more, Christian stood and took her hand.

  “Congratulations, Miss Devon, on your victory.” He bent and dropped a gentle kiss upon her knuckles. Christian was rewarded when he felt a shiver go through her before she gently pulled her hand away.

  “Thank you, my lord, but it is our victory.”

  Standing there, looking down into her triumphant expression, the pull Christian felt in his heart nearly overcame him. He ached to take her up in his arms and seal their triumph, small though it was, with a kiss. Stepping closer, Christian’s gaze moved from her laughing brown eyes to her pink lips, and he saw the moment she took in a quick breath. That brought him back to himself, but it was too late.

  Rebecca took a step backward, her hand pulled from his for the second time that day. “Thank you, Christian. I had better prepare for dinner. I will see you shortly.” The words rushed from her, and then she was gone, her lavender hem disappearing behind a rosebush before he collected his thoughts.

  It’s time. I must speak to her, tell her how I feel. Christian closed his eyes, reining in his emotions. When we have time alone. When I can express myself clearly, without attempting to press an unwanted kiss upon her. That was why she had fled, wasn’t it? To escape the overly intimate gesture.

  But if a kiss offends her, how much more would an unwanted declaration of feeling? She may have given up on me.

  Love was a complicated emotion. Already it had set his life on a confusing course. It was not too late to correct it, to pretend he’d never had his revelation, to put up a stronger barrier around his heart. They hadn’t even known each other a fortnight. This emotion was new, it wasn’t well-rooted in his heart.

  Telling himself he could still escape with his heart intact made the offending organ ache and crack. There was no help for it. He needed to tell Rebecca. He needed to take her up in his arms and tell her everything. Soon.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The fuss made over Rebecca and Christian’s find had nearly driven Rebecca out of her contemplative state. Everyone wanted to know how they had deciphered the riddle, what it had meant. The earl, however, had sat quietly looking between her and Christian while the party waited for the butler to inform them dinner was upon the table.

  When she met Lucas’s eye at one point, he’d raised his blond eyebrows high and a slow grin spread across his face. Having been the man to hide the bangle, he must’ve known how difficult it would be to reach. Did he guess that Christian and Rebecca had done something rather strange to obtain the right height?

  Withdrawing from the evening early had been her only recourse, truly. When the ladies rose from the dinner table and made their way to the parlor, Rebecca went directly to Aunt Jacqueline and Virginia. The mother and daughter stood discussing the evening’s entertainment, a game of charades.

  “Aunt, cousin,” Rebecca sa
id, gaining their attention.

  “What is it, Rebecca?” Virginia asked with solicitude, while Aunt Jacqueline narrowed her eyes.

  “I am afraid I am still not feeling well.” After all, Aunt Jacqueline believed Rebecca had spent the day reclining in Virginia’s private rooms. “And I wish to be recovered for the ball tomorrow. Might I be excused?”

  Virginia, instrumental in Rebecca’s escape, immediately looked suspicious. But she wouldn’t say anything. Not in front of her mother. Aunt Jacqueline was another matter entirely.

  “I have never known you to have such a weak constitution. It must be all this country air. You were never ill in London. If you are wise, you will keep house in the city as often as possible.” Aunt Jacqueline drew herself up importantly, then raised her hand to Rebecca’s cheek. “You are quite flushed.” Lying generally did that to Rebecca, but Aunt still hadn’t found that out. “Yes. Retire at once. Tell that maid of yours to see to it you drink warm buttermilk.”

  Rebecca barely repressed a shudder of revulsion and curtsied before making her exit. In the quiet of her room, Rebecca placed the bracelet on her dressing table beside her mother’s books.

  The memory of Christian’s arms wrapped around her legs, lifting her into the air, came back to her in a rush. Her cheeks went hot at the memory and she closed her eyes, trying not to think on it, but she was met with the image of his face after he kissed her hand.

  He’d wanted to fully kiss her in the very next moment, she knew, as his eyes flickered to her lips. The very idea of a kiss sent her heart racing, but she hadn’t allowed it. She couldn’t. Not until she knew, once and for all, if there was any chance at all he might come to love her.

  Because if not, it might be better for them both if she went to Austria after all.