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

by Sally Britton

  “Because I said I wanted to love you,” she said, clasping his hands in return. “I understand that. But I must know, Christian. Do you still not wish to marry me?”

  Christian stared at her, trying to understand. “You told me, not even a day after we’d met, you intended to fall in love with me.” His heart sunk. “What do you want, carina? You have been forced into this, you have had no say. Do you wish you end this?”

  Her cheeks, which were already pink, turned red. But she didn’t lower her eyes or step away. She tilted her chin further up and fixed him with a serious stare. “You must understand, Christian. I meant what I said. Because I want very much what my sisters have, what my cousin has. Haven’t you seen how happy they are?” she asked, a note of pleading in her words.

  She spoke rapidly, not giving him room to say a word, her tone urgent. “Thomas and Christine, they are so different, but their lives are balanced by their love. Nathaniel and Julia, they are devoted to each other, to little William. I have never seen such depth of feeling as I do between them. And Virginia, she looks at Lucas as if he is the best of men, and he at her as though no other woman in the world is half so wonderful.” Her voice trembled on the last words, and at last her eyes lowered, her shoulders dropped.

  His heart smote him, and he knew. Christian knew it was time to tell her the truth, to speak the words he had told himself he would never say. “Rebecca, il mio amore.” He carefully raised his hand to touch her just beneath her chin, tilting it up so her eyes would meet his. “I love you.”

  For a brief moment, her eyes widened and flashed with too many emotions to name. Relief, hope, and love among them, but then there was sadness, and that was the emotion that remained.

  “Oh, Christian.” Her lips trembled as they spoke his name and her eyes filled with tears. “That is kind of you to say. It truly is. But please, please don’t say that to me. Not unless you mean it. You cannot love me. You said you never would. You cannot have changed your mind in less than a fortnight. But you needn’t worry. I will marry you, and love you, and be a good wife—” Rebecca was speaking at a speed that didn’t allow for him to say a word. Unless—

  He placed his fingers over her lips, staring at her, sorting through her words. Slowly, Christian shook his head at her. “Rebecca. Carina. No. This isn’t—pietà. Pity. That is the English word. No.” He chuckled. “I have spent eleven years perfecting my English, but when I am with you, I forget the simplest things.” He moved his hand to cup her cheek, and she raised her hand to cover his. “I speak the truth. I promised you I always would.”

  The hope returned, as a mere glimmer in the depths of her dark eyes, but it was there. “You love me?”

  “With everything I am,” he whispered, willing her to feel the strength of his words. “La mia anima e il cuore sono tuoi.”

  Her smile appeared, a careful smile. “Should I ask Harry to translate that for me?”

  He chuckled. “My soul and my heart are yours, carina,” he said, bending slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, to step back. Instead of moving away, Rebecca lifted her lips to his, and her arms went around his neck. Their lips met, hers soft and gentle against his. Christian wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, raising a hand to cradle the back of her head, his fingers sinking into her silken hair.

  Christian’s heart soared, and breaking their kiss was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. “I will tell you every day for the rest of our lives,” he whispered, only a breath away from her lips. “I love you. And I wish to do this properly, Rebecca. Will you marry me? Not because someone said you must, but because you desire it.”

  Her hands slipped from his neck, resting against his chest instead. Despite his shirt and vest between them, he could feel the warmth of her touch above his heart.

  “What about your parents?” she asked. “What about what happened to them? What if something happens to me?”

  Christian covered the hand over his heart. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I have been thinking on them both, on my father especially, a great deal since our engagement began. Life is uncertain, this I know, but a very wise woman once told me that it would not be worth living without the joys and sorrows we experience. I would rather love you fully than spend my life trying to fight my heart.”

  “You are surrendering to me, so to speak.” The disbelief began to fade, her posture relaxed.

  “Entirely,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Forever. If you will have me. If you will not, I will do all in my power to help you find happiness another way.”

  She shook her head, then stood on her toes. She pressed her lips to his, tenderly reassuring him with her kiss before she spoke. “I cannot imagine myself as happy unless it is as your wife. I love you, Christian Hundley. My handsome, clever, wonderful man.”

  He chuckled and rested his head against hers, enfolding her in his arms. “Handsome? Love really is blind.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “My dearest Christian, love sees more than eyes alone can. I see you, and I love you. If I say you are handsome, then you are.” She kissed his cheek, and warmth spread from that spot throughout the rest of his body. It was a familiar feeling, but one he had not experienced since leaving his father. It was acceptance, affection, and love without condition. In Rebecca’s arms, peace spread through him, and he was home at last.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rebecca smoothed the red overlay of her gown, making certain it hung perfectly, allowing the cream and ivory embroidered skirt beneath to show. Looking in her mirror, she turned first one way and then the other, admiring Hettie’s skill with curling tongs and red ribbons. Tiny red rosebuds had been tucked into artful twists of her chestnut hair.

  “I think I’m ready,” Rebecca said, noting the color in her cheeks happily. What would Christian say when he saw her?

  A knock came at the door and Rebecca’s heart increased its tempo. She stood, unaccountably nervous. Hettie met her eyes and positively beamed at her before going to the door, opening it—and then squeaking, “My lady.”

  “Get out of the way, girl. Rebecca, I need to have a word with you at once—” Aunt Jacqueline swept into the room, wearing regal purple edged in black lace, and froze when she caught sight of Rebecca. “What are you wearing?” she asked, her voice deceptively low and calm.

  “A betrothal gift from my sister,” Rebecca answered, squaring her shoulders. “It’s exactly the sort of gown I’ve always wished to wear.”

  “It is scandalous. A girl of your age, wearing that color? And where did you have it made? By your little village seamstress?” Aunt Jacqueline scoffed. “Take it off at once. Hettie, get those ridiculous flowers out of her hair.”

  Hettie clutched her hands together before her, all color draining from her face. But she didn’t move. She didn’t answer Aunt Jacqueline. She looked instead to Rebecca for direction, and that gave Rebecca the courage to speak for both of them.

  “No, Aunt. Hettie worked very hard to create this masterpiece.” Rebecca smiled at her maid, who looked ready to be sick. “Thank you, Hettie. That will be all.”

  The young maid curtsied, her eyes large and round, and darted out of the room. The door did not shut all the way behind her, but Rebecca hadn’t time to worry about that.

  “How dare you,” Aunt Jacqueline said, coming closer. “Your insolence will not go unpunished, child.”

  “Child?” Rebecca scoffed, though inwardly she cringed. She’d tried to stand up to Aunt Jacqueline once, years ago, but the cold formality and the woman’s complete control over her life soon squashed Rebecca’s inclination toward argument. “I am to be married in two weeks. The banns have been read once already. I am not a child.”

  “Your father will hear of this.” Aunt Jacqueline glared down her nose at Rebecca. “Two weeks may not be long, but it is enough to be certain you understand the consequences of your actions.”

  “Consequences? What could you possibly hope to do to me, to threate
n me with, when I will be out of your power? Father has no title, no sway with anyone who will hold power over me. Lord Easton will be my husband and protector. It may also interest you to know that he has already made it very clear that I am no longer my father’s concern.”

  “That remains to be seen. Your father has expectations of this union, and Horace is still at home.” Aunt Jacqueline’s eyes narrowed and her thin mouth turned downward. “You must realize because of your actions there will be ramifications for your brother.”

  Rebecca shook her head, incredulous. “Because I wear a dress you do not approve of?”

  “Because you put this entire alliance in jeopardy by refusing to conform to society’s standards,” her aunt snapped, raising her voice. “We knew, after Julia and Christine’s marriages, that our plans of marrying you to the right man would be nearly impossible. It took months for your father to find someone with a title who would have you, and the only reason we found anyone was because the bridegroom was even less desirable than the bride.”

  Cold fury suffused her, Rebecca nearly took a step back. But retreating in the face of Aunt Jacqueline’s tirade would not accomplish anything. Not this time. “I don’t know what you mean. Christian is a viscount, and heir to a title and wealth. He is to have a seat in Parliament.”

  “He is a scarred, half-peasant from Italy,” her aunt snapped. “And no one would have him. His grandfather was overjoyed at the prospect of marrying him off to a nobody from Kettering.”

  The door swung open behind her aunt, slowly and quietly, revealing Christian standing beyond it. Candlelight from the hall danced across his face, but a righteous anger burned in his eyes.

  “I have been called worse things,” Christian said, his rich, low voice startling her aunt.

  Aunt Jacqueline paled beneath her face powder and appeared as though she might be physically ill. She closed her eyes tightly and turned, showing Rebecca her ramrod straight back.

  “My lord,” the woman said, “Forgive me.”

  “Not at all, my lady,” Christian said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. That energy Rebecca always felt around him, like the thrum of thunder in a summer sky, filled the room. “I have found that there are very few members of the English nobility who are gracious or well-mannered. It is a distinct failing of English schools, I must suppose, to turn out tyrants instead of gracious lords and ladies. Thankfully, my Rebecca has avoided that undesirable fate.”

  He really has such a way with words, Rebecca thought, not even bothering to conceal her grin.

  “You will be pleased to know, of course, that Rebecca will no longer require your services as chaperone and guardian. I have spoken with Rebecca’s family, and she will remain in the Gilbert house until our nuptials. This must be a great relief to you, my lady. You need not delay your return to London any longer. You may leave first thing tomorrow.” There was an edge to his voice, one that Rebecca had only heard once before, when he spoke to her father. Lord Easton had issued a command, thinly veiled as a suggestion.

  It was interesting to see what he might be capable of one day, with his powerful presence and influence. How had anyone ever dared insult him in the past? Rebecca wasn’t frightened of him in the least, but she saw her aunt’s expression change from one of mortification to near terror.

  It seemed someone was capable of discomfiting her aunt after all.

  Rebecca watched her aunt curtsy and then leave the room, carefully sliding by Christian without so much as allowing the hem of her gown to brush his shoes. He remained leaning against the doorframe, facing into the room.

  Rebecca sighed, wrapping one arm around her waist. She went to him, standing upon the threshold, her eyes seeking his. “Christian. I must apologize for her—”

  “It is of no concern, mi amore. As I said, I have been called terrible things before. My hope is that she has not spoiled your evening.” Christian’s eyes took in her appearance when she stepped into the hall. His expression gentled and turned almost appreciative. “You are elegance itself, Rebecca.”

  “Your Rebecca,” she corrected him, unable to conceal her delight. “And you are exceedingly handsome tonight, my lord.” He wore a black coat and a deep burgundy waistcoat, embroidered with silver thread. The dark colors on his tall, strong frame only made him look more authoritative, more mysterious. Indeed, he was an intimidating sight.

  When he smiled down at her, his lips pulling at the scar upon them, Rebecca’s first instinct was to stand on her toes and kiss that very spot. But she busied herself adjusting the fan at her wrist instead, a blush flood her cheeks. “Thank you for escorting me downstairs. Your timing is perfect.”

  “I understand it is something of a tradition to slay dragons in England,” Christian retorted, his expression entirely pleasant once more. “That is not the only reason I have come, however. There is something else. I have a gift for you.”

  “A gift?” she echoed curiously. “I have no need of gifts, Christian.”

  He pushed away from the wall at last and took her hands up in his. “My Rebecca, this is something very precious to me. It belonged to my mother, and I would like you to have it.” He reached into his jacket and produced a small velvet pouch and slipped it into her cream-colored glove.

  Rebecca regarded him with understanding, compassion for his loss squeezing at her heart. She loosened the strings of the bag and carefully poured its contents into her hand. A tiny gold cross, studded with red rubies, on a thin gold chain slid into her palm. She held her breath, examining the exquisite piece carefully.

  “Do you like it?” Christian asked, stepping closer, the warmth of his breath against her cheek.

  “It will be an honor to wear it, Christian. Thank you.” She held it out to him. “Will you help me?”

  His dark eyes fairly glowed with happiness. “You will wear it tonight?” His hand covered hers, then gently took the cross.

  “I will. Even if my dress had been blue, or green, or silver, I would wear it tonight. I wish I could’ve known your mother.” She stayed still while he stepped around her and fastened the chain at the back of her neck. The elegant cross settled just below the hollow of her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered, touching the pendent and turning to face him. “How does it look?”

  Christian’s hands went from her wrists up to her forearms, holding her carefully. “Sei la donna più bella per camminare sulla terra.” He bent enough to place a kiss upon her brow.

  Warmth spread from his kiss and her heart simultaneously, filling her completely. Rebecca leaned into him, overcome with gratitude. Everything about Christian had been unexpected from the first, and she had hoped to win his love with her own, but Rebecca never could’ve expected everything to turn out this well.

  “I think that must’ve been a lovely compliment. Will you teach me Italian, Christian?” she asked, stepping back enough to look into his eyes. “Please? Then when we go to Italy to visit your family, I can speak with them.”

  A look of awe stole over his face. “You wish to meet my mother’s family?” She nodded and a full smile appears on his face. He took up her hand and kissed it. “Then your lessons begin tonight. I have told you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And now, to dance, ballare.”

  “Ballare,” she repeated, then bit her bottom lip to try and keep back a smile. “Will you dance with me tonight, my lord?”

  “And every night you wish it, Rebecca.” He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. “But if we are not in the ballroom soon, people may come looking for us.”

  She went with him, her heart light and full of joy.

  The ballroom, filling with guests, was actually two very large downstairs rooms with all the furniture removed and doors thrown open between them. They went through the reception line with the guests coming from outside the house. Virginia clasped Rebecca’s hands, her eyes glittering merrily.

  “You are a vision of beauty, cousin,” she said. “That dress is b
reathtaking.”

  Lucas bowed over her hand and then bowed deeply to Christian. “Everything is arranged as you requested,” the earl said to her betrothed.

  “Arranged?” Rebecca asked when they stepped away from the earl and his wife. She looked back over her shoulder and Lucas winked at her.

  “You will see,” Christian said, two spots of pink appearing high on his cheeks. “Come. I see your family.”

  Her sisters and their husbands stood in the ballroom, with something very near to a reception line appearing near them as old friends from the neighborhood and the surrounding area had come to speak to Julia. It had been a very long time since Julia had attended an event in the area, due to her father’s displeasure. But here they were, at Christian’s request, and her father was nowhere in sight. Aunt Jacqueline didn’t appear to be in attendance either.

  When Rebecca came to her sisters, the crowd around them parted, and an instant later she was in Julia’s arms.

  “Oh, Rebecca. Sweet girl, you are so beautiful,” Julia whispered, clasping her tightly. “I hope all is well.”

  Rebecca returned the embrace, happy tears pricking at her eyes. She would never be kept from Julia again. “He loves me, Julia,” she whispered back.

  Julia chuckled and stepped away. Nathaniel produced a handkerchief for her and grinned when Rebecca raised her eyebrows at him. “I had a feeling we would need more than a few clean handkerchiefs tonight,” the physician said with a shrug.

  Turning to look at Christian, Rebecca gave him an expectant look.

  His smile turned rueful. “I haven’t learned all those tricks yet, carina. But I will carry an extra handkerchief for you from now on if you like.”

  Christine laughed beside them. “Thomas carries one for me, too, though I’ve had little occasion to need it. Rebecca, do you like the gown?”