Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Madeline Martin

  Rachael lifted the perfume, putting a drop on her wrists and letting the aroma of springtime waft in the air. Devlin remained in her mind, much like the fragrance, settling softly. Not something she was really aware of, yet, still, in a quiet moment, recollections of him were easily summoned.

  She’d chosen the fragrance that morning because it reminded her of the scent after the shears had been used to cut the grass at the edge of the gardens and always gave her the feeling of new beginnings. Much like Devlin did.

  You did not often get chances to start afresh. She hadn’t planned to get the opportunity, nor had she wanted it at first, but she hoped to make the best of it. She’d taken her favourite dancing dress with her when she’d been to select the jewellery. It had taken her two hours of trying different pieces and listening to her mother’s comments and even seeking her father’s opinion.

  At the door, she returned to the mirror, clenched her teeth, raised both fists in a pugilistic pose and then went down to collect her mother.

  Her hands were shaking when she sat in the coach and her mother must have noticed. ‘Dear, you’re lovelier than ever. I’ve never been prouder of you. You’ve left that man behind and you’re moving on to a new world. I know you’d rather hide in your room, but you aren’t.’

  Her father turned to her mother. ‘What’d you say that for? Rachael’s fine.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ her mother agreed and spoke about the houses they were passing, rattling on as if they were all that could concern any of them.

  For the first time, Rachael recognised the bravado in her mother’s voice. The little quiver at the end of some of the sentences.

  Rachael gathered her resources.

  Her family needed her to be strong. This wasn’t only about her courage.

  * * *

  Devlin stood near the piano, talking with guests when she arrived. He was in command of the group around him. She could tell by the upturned faces and the attention he garnered. He wasn’t standing in the centre, but off to the side, yet he drew the people closer. Payton and the others burst into laughter. Devlin gave a nod, acknowledging the humour in what he said, but on the upsweep of his chin, his eyes caught hers and, at that second, everything else faded when his chin dipped and his eyes showed an awareness of her.

  Then his attention returned to the crowd around him.

  Devlin’s eyes crinkled at the sides and he raised a glass, tilting it to his cousin. She heard Devlin say he was thankful the arrow that Payton shot through a closed window hit no one, but all the glass shards had been a devil to find.

  Rachael knew that the story was about Payton, but every woman in the room heard and saw Devlin.

  He had a way with a grin that somehow said he knew more than he told. His smile invited everyone to the soirée of life.

  Rachael bit the inside of her lip.

  She turned, but then she paused and glimpsed at Devlin. What harm did it do to gaze at art, as long as it was left alone and not touched? He was exactly how she would have designed a sculpture if she could have.

  He made his way around the room, greeting most of the people and seeming to talk with everyone.

  But the moment he stopped beside her and her mother, Rachael’s heart warmed. This was no casual greeting, but more of a gentle commander’s presence to bolster his troops.

  Devlin and her mother chatted. Rachael observed the older woman relaxing into Devlin’s words.

  He only gave the briefest of glances to Rachael, but in that second their eyes met, a smile flashed from within him and the pleasant jolt of it lodged in her midsection. He didn’t even need to speak specifically to her, but he’d reassured her.

  Then he mentioned how glad he was that they both were enjoying themselves and excused himself to greet a friend. The temporary halt in his progress before he stepped away, little more than a flicker of extra recognition, fluttered over Rachael and nestled inside her, a warming hug with nothing more than eyes meeting.

  Even after he left, the confidence he gave her remained. She wanted to challenge herself and stand alone in the room.

  She turned to her mother and excused herself to visit the refreshment table. A tiny woman with white hair, and a feather almost as long as her cane, stood waving an oversized fan.

  She’d heard of the Duchess of Highwood. A truly evil woman, if the comments were to be believed. Rachael shored up her confidence, ignoring the rising sound of conversation in the room, covered only by scattered bouts of laughter.

  She challenged herself to speak to the woman.

  ‘Isn’t the pineapple lovely?’ Rachael indicated the centre of the table.

  ‘What?’ The lady’s brow furrowed and she stared at Rachael’s lips.

  ‘Pineapple. Isn’t it grand?’

  Wrinkles formed deeper around the lady’s lips and she spoke loudly enough that the people at the end of the room could hear. ‘I’ve not tried the apple wine. Would you fetch me a glass?’

  Rachael nodded, unsure of what to do next. But then she saw a footman with a decanter of undetermined flavour and motioned to him. In seconds, he’d poured the Duchess a glass.

  The woman sipped, then took another and another. ‘I can’t taste the apple,’ the woman near shouted. ‘But I like it.’

  Rachael walked to the nearest wallflowers. They greeted her as if poison had just dripped into their midst.

  Her mouth became dry. She stood with them for a cold moment, but left before her teeth started chattering. She retrieved a refreshment, thankful for something to hold.

  She perused the room. Devlin was in the midst of another group where everyone was at ease.

  Every cluster appeared so caught up in their own conversation that she didn’t dare progress closer to them and appear nothing more than a hanger-on.

  Her mother was at the edge of another group of women. She returned to her mother’s side, thankful she had a place to find some respite from attempts to be accepted.

  Happiness wreathed her mother’s face and she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that few more than the Countess spoke with them.

  They were going to starve.

  Where was a burning candle when you needed it? That event had been a rousing success compared to this evening.

  Again, she felt the ache from the burn. And a softer twinge of loss, one from Devlin not being nearer.

  Her mother left after saying she wanted to speak with Rachael’s father, then Rachael saw the Duchess of Highwood moving her way.

  Rachael refused to retreat to the ladies’ retiring room.

  ‘Are you not the young woman who was scarred so terribly?’ The Duchess raised a brow. ‘With the flames reaching the ceiling and everyone screaming? They’ve done a wonderful job of repainting the walls. And so quickly.’

  ‘I don’t remember it that way,’ Rachael said. ‘But everything happened so fast I was only aware of what was right in front of me.’

  ‘Terrible that you had such a calamity so near the wedding and that you wouldn’t be able to consummate the vows, but then one must think to the future. How bad are the scars?’ The woman spoke loud enough that the group beside her had stopped chatting and listened.

  The Duchess examined Rachael’s skin. ‘You can hardly detect the ones on your face.’

  ‘Yes. It’s fortuitous.’ She pursed her lips. Her ability to consummate the marriage had come into question. She’d not meant the tales to go that far.

  ‘Your Grace.’ Devlin appeared at Rachael’s side. ‘I would so relish a dance with you. Is this one taken?’

  ‘It is now,’ the Duchess said, stepping forward to drape an arm around Devlin and to pull herself so close that her breast squashed into him. Hopefully she would not be bruised the next day, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

  He smiled down at her. ‘I’m honoured.’

 
‘As you should be,’ the Duchess answered, a robust cackle at the end of her words.

  Devlin led the Duchess to the floor so they would be in place when the dance commenced.

  ‘They don’t make them like that any more,’ one of the other ladies murmured. They all chuckled. Rachael didn’t know for sure if they spoke of the Duchess or Devlin and she was fairly certain it was true on both counts.

  The ground didn’t open up and swallow her, and she seemed to have become invisible, so she retreated to a corner and sipped her second glass of wine, occasionally holding it with both hands when she noticed them shaking.

  Even her stomach trembled, but when she watched Devlin’s ease, and ability to speak to the Duchess, she calmed.

  That was how it was done, she realised. This war wasn’t to be fought with a sword, but with a smile. A smile for everyone.

  Today, she only had to focus on baby steps, or, in the case of the wine in her hand, baby sips.

  Then the Duchess’s words bounced in her mind.

  Except, blast it, the whole world now presumed she couldn’t consummate a marriage.

  While the others continued the celebration, she took a third glass of wine, but didn’t even sip it, content to warm the glass with her hands while trying to remain inconspicuous beside the curtains.

  She recalled the Duchess’s comments. Her reputation would be fairly locked in place if everyone assumed her unable to make love.

  But Devlin would know otherwise and that would put her most chaste plans to the test. He could easily make her forget all the cautions she’d lived her life following.

  Devlin appeared briefly at her mother’s side and Rachael watched the charm in his eyes, and the persuasion on his face. She didn’t have to hear the words. He seemed to be whispering softly, then her mother glanced at Rachael and frowned.

  Devlin focused only on her mother, and she saw the encouraging nod. He stepped to the side and blocked the line of view between them.

  Rachael knew she was being discussed, intensely.

  The conversation lingered a bit longer and then Devlin left. Her mother glanced at Rachael as if she’d never seen her before and wasn’t really seeing her then, but watching a future unfold. A bleak future.

  * * *

  He stopped at the Albrights’ door. Three taps. Pause. Four taps. Pause. Then five taps.

  He heard the key turn in the lock. The door opened.

  Stepping inside, he longed to reach out and hold her, imagining their bodies swaying together in a simple, sensual dance in the faded light, but he’d promised her mother that he’d only be there for a few quick, respectable moments. He’d given the assurance freely at the time and would do so again for the chance to see Rachael, but he wished it hadn’t been required.

  Rachael hadn’t changed her clothing, but her hair escaped from her knot, as if she’d loosened it after she arrived home. He didn’t think she wore shoes either because she’d lost the height she’d had earlier. She’d turned herself into a little bird ready to close her eyes and nestle into a fluff of feathers. The perfect woman to come home to. Come home to? he mused. Stay home with.

  He was starting to think like...

  Like someone he didn’t know. But someone he might like to become if it were possible.

  He stepped into the tiny space as she shut the door, their fingers brushing, reminding himself that he must take care. ‘I cannot stay long. I am taking too much risk with your reputation as it is just by visiting you.’

  ‘I’ve already had a little notoriety. I don’t like people noticing me.’

  ‘Try to accept it. Some people love it.’

  ‘The other guests tonight suspected I was there because your mother feels responsible for the accident. I’m thankful for that assumption because it’s a positive one.’

  ‘She does want to help you.’ He couldn’t help himself. He reached out, clasping her arm, giving her reassurance that all was well. ‘But you survived tonight admirably.’

  ‘Well enough. I stopped shaking and feeling so nervous, but I don’t think trying to be society’s darling is an easy task. I couldn’t eat all day and was starved when I got home.’ She waved an arm to the platter on the small table. Crumbs of bread remained.

  ‘Everyone was taking stock of you,’ he said. ‘It is natural when a new member joins a group.’

  ‘Yes.’ She firmed her jaw. ‘Rather like a performing bear. Is her heart broken? Is she defective?’

  He hated her pursuing that direction. ‘You’re not a theatre act. You’re a woman making the best of the hand she’s been dealt.’

  ‘I don’t want to lose everything. I don’t want my parents to lose all they’ve worked for their whole lives.’ She stared at the key as if it had the answer. ‘I want to return the favour they gave me by being such caring people. I want to have the strength to do right by them.’

  ‘You do. Strength is merely determination to put your feet in the direction you want to go and not focus on anything else but moving your body into place for the actions you want to happen.’

  She groaned. ‘You make it sound simple, but it isn’t. My innocence has been embellished. As soon as Father left earshot, Mother said someone she’d just met consoled her on having a daughter who could never wed and empathised with the scarring. Mother said she was speechless and I explained to her what the Duchess of Highwood had said to me. The tales have grown with each repeating, apparently.’

  ‘That isn’t fair to you.’

  ‘After I considered it, I gained courage. If I’m to be above reproach, then it might be best if I’m seen as a woman who has been dealt misfortune. A little sympathy might open the way for me.’

  She examined the key in her hand. ‘You were there. The burn. Surely you saw my derrière, just a bit.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘I saw flames and you.’

  ‘Afterwards.’ She put the key on the hook.

  ‘I noticed a beribboned chemise, and scorched fabric, and that you fitted in my arms nicely and you weren’t moaning in pain, so I took that to be a good omen.’

  He’d not really taken stock of what she’d felt like when he held her, but now his mind filled in the blanks. Not with imagined scars, but the feel of Rachael. The wonderment of her.

  ‘I know it is to my benefit that some rumours circulate,’ she said. ‘But I am almost completely recovered.’

  He didn’t need to be thinking of her as completely recovered.

  ‘I expect some scarring, but not tremendous ones. I’ve considered them. I can accept the damage to myself and be thankful I survived. You’ve helped me accept that the blemishes are just that.’

  She inhaled, putting the force of her emotions into it. ‘Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me.’

  Falling into his arms, she clasped him in a hug. ‘Thank you.’ The words whispered against his chest caused his body to react as if she’d touched the whole of him.

  She pressed so close that he forbade himself the slightest movement, because any waver would bring him against her.

  She burrowed against him and he remained immobile.

  He gave her a brief pat, then took her shoulders and gently stepped away. The slight distance he’d added between them made him feel deserted.

  ‘It will heal.’ Who cared about the scarring? She was alive and he needed to leave so he could stop thinking about how alive they were and how wonderful it would be to be alone with her in a forest with a moss-covered bed. Or any quiet place where they would not be disturbed. He imagined himself able to watch her for hours, much like da Vinci would have looked at one of the women he painted.

  ‘You know, I’d considered the dark before. If I am to wed some day, my husband will never even have to view my derrière’ She lowered her arms and let out a relieved breath.
/>   ‘That—’ he’d not known his voice could go so high ‘—is what you are still worrying about?’

  ‘Yes,’ her voice peeped out. ‘I had decided no one would ever court me now. Because of my accident. My blemish.’

  ‘Rachael, you can put that idea so far from your head that you need never consider it again. I assure you, from the depths of my soul, that even a man who doesn’t care a jot for you will never concern himself with a scar on your derrière.’

  He might even like it. Worship it. Dream of it.

  ‘Truly?’ she asked.

  He had to convey the reason for his reluctance. ‘I can’t touch you because I can’t just touch you. I can’t. I can’t treat you like Tenney did. I can’t mislead you and then go on about my way when I wish.’

  Again, he wanted to pull her closer, but he dared not.

  He paused, surprised at the direction his imagination had taken.

  She was a friend, not just someone he wanted to save. Someone he wanted to be with. He’d not really considered marriage, other than as a necessity for heirs. But marriage could be a solution. For both of them.

  He had to keep talking—to distract himself with conversation. ‘Can you manage another event in a few days?’

  She groaned. ‘It’s easy to say that I will, but I can hardly stand the questions and assumptions about me.’

  ‘If you must imagine yourself as a trained bear, then imagine the scraps of questions tossed your way are morsels. Tests of mettle. Or stinging insects you can bat into oblivion with a thrust of your mighty paw.’

  ‘Mighty paw?’ She held up her hand. ‘It’s not. But continue with the plans,’ she said. ‘I don’t want the feeling that I had such a miserable night for no good reason. If I stop now, it was nothing but a waste of effort.’ She recalled the moments. ‘I couldn’t even have a conversation with the wallflowers. I was so afraid they’d ask a question I didn’t want to answer.’

  ‘Those questions. The ones you dislike, switch the words, and repeat them aloud when they’re asked. Give your mind a chance to muster. You’ll give a better answer. You don’t have to respond immediately with half an idea. But you can’t be offended. You have to give people the benefit of the doubt even when none is deserved.’