Miss Devon's Choice: A Sweet Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 5) Page 3

  On this the eighth evening, Christian had barely sat down to dinner before the earl was speaking of her.

  “I have had report of your Miss Devon today. The girl has left London, but apparently decided to stir the waters ere she went. The ton, or what’s left of it in town at this time of year, are buzzing about your engagement. All the sources of the gossip trace back to her inner-circle.”

  Christian’s stomach clenched. He hated knowing people were speaking of him. He stayed out of society’s way, and had for years, to avoid the gossip mill. His grandfather disapproved, but after the disaster four years previous, kept silent on the matter.

  Christian dropped his fork and pushed his plate away, the aroma of duck in orange sauce no longer appealing. “What are they saying?”

  His grandfather raised his white eyebrows and took on a tone of false lightness. “Oh, the usual sort of things. There are plenty who rightly say she’s marrying you for your money and title. Some are even clever enough to point the finger at her father. But there are other rumors less flattering. Some say she is being forced into a union with you, and they pity the woman.” The earl calmly took a bite of his duck and chewed slowly, watching Christian carefully.

  The man was testing him. Christian knew the surest way to fail would be to express emotion on the subject, whether by expression or word. He maintained a facade of calm indifference.

  “Do we care enough about such things to necessitate a response of some kind?” Christian speared a piece of duck on his fork and raised it to his lips, his movements slow, precise.

  “I think we must do something, given that I expect you to take my place in the House of Lords when Parliament reconvenes.”

  Christian froze, the food in his mouth, and stared at his grandfather. The man was getting on in years, but Christian didn’t think the earl would ever relinquish power, or control, in any form until the day he died. Sending his grandson to Lords in his place was tantamount to a confession of weakness. What could the old man be thinking?

  “I can tell by your stunned silence that you are grateful for this chance to prove yourself capable as my heir.” The old man raised a napkin to his lips before lifting his wineglass. “I want to assure myself you are capable of taking my place in the party, despite your youth.”

  There were men younger than Christian in places of power, of course, but many viewed twenty-six-year-old men as little better than boys. Suddenly, other things his grandfather had said and done over the course of the year began to make more sense.

  “You want me to marry to look more credible,” Christian said.

  His grandfather nodded. “And then these rumors start up. They must be countered, Christian, if you are going to take your place in society and politics when I die. We both know it cannot be far off. I am seventy-six, after all.”

  Christian swallowed another bite of duck, finding it drier now than when he had first tasted it. He lowered his eyes to his plate, trying to decide if his stomach could handle another bite.

  “What would you like me to do, Grandfather?”

  “Have you no mental acumen, boy? What do you think you ought to do?” The old man’s fist landed suddenly, the wine in his cup splashing out. Christian winced but otherwise didn’t move, watching his grandfather from the corner of his eye. “And this is precisely why it’s time for you to take part in the world.”

  His temper rose, but Christian clamped down hard on it. “The best way to put these rumors to rest, all of them, would be for Miss Devon and myself to make public appearances together. But you said she has left London. We cannot drag her back.”

  “No. We cannot.” His grandfather scoffed at him, laying his hands on the table and leaning forward slightly. “And I doubt you showing yourself around town alone would do the trick. Likely it would fuel the fire. You must be known to keep company with each other. The girl must make it plain she has no aversion to your union.”

  “As you said, I cannot do it on my own.” Christian’s shoulders were tight, his muscles coiled, but there was no work for them except to keep him still.

  “Then it is a godsend for you that this arrived today.” His grandfather gestured to a footman standing in the corner. The servant moved to a table against the wall and lifted a tray, then brought it to Christian. A cream-colored, high-quality linen paper bearing Christian’s name, lay on the tray.

  Christian took the thick sheet and noted the seal already broken. He didn’t immediately recognize the coat of arms pressed into the wax, but when he opened the invitation he saw it came from the Earl and Countess of Annesbury.

  “This is where your future bride has gone,” his grandfather explained while Christian read the letter. “And you have been invited to join her there. The Earl of Annesbury is an influential man, as was his father before him, and his grandfather. His countess is a relative to Miss Devon. Such connections would be valuable for you and will improve the image the ton has of you. You will go.”

  It rankled, even after more than ten years, to be told so precisely what to do. Christian narrowed his eyes at the paper in his hands. “Miss Devon did not waste any time spreading news of our engagement.”

  “Why would she? As a peer, you are something of a prize.” His grandfather’s expression remained neutral, but a flicker of curiosity entered his tone.

  “What if—” Christian cut himself off, hastily constructing his argument even as he spoke.

  “What if what, Easton?” his grandfather asked, his voice quiet, speculative.

  “What if Miss Devon, for all you have discovered of her friends and society’s view of her, proves an unsuitable match?” Christian hated himself for asking. If their engagement was known, breaking it under any circumstances would cast a poor light on the young lady. However, her machinations to ensure all of society knew of her conquest of an earl didn’t sit well with him. He valued discretion and his privacy.

  The Earl of Ivyford’s expression changed, relaxing instead of tensing. “If she is unworthy of the Ivyford name, I trust you will discover it while at the house party. I expect regular reports while you are away.” He nodded once, as though that settled matters.

  His grandfather resumed eating. The discussion was over, the edict given, and it was for Christian to accept and do as he was bid.

  He folded the invitation and put it beside his plate, then forced himself to eat.

  Later, in the privacy of his bedchamber, Christian paced. He moved from one end of the room to the other, his steps growing faster along with his agitation.

  He hated society. He held the whole world of ballgowns and gossip-hungry gentry and nobility in contempt. How dare they assume they knew anything about his life? Or anything about his motives for taking a bride?

  Before sending Christian to England, his father had warned him what the island of misery would be like. “The ton will do all it can to rip a man’s reputation to shreds, to say nothing of its delight in watching a person crumble beneath their censure,” his father said, bitterness lacing his words. “But you cannot stay in Italy. I will not let my son be caught up in this war. Your grandfather has sent for you. You will go.”

  He hadn’t come with Christian. His father had sworn never to step foot on his native shores again. He’d died not four months after sending Christian, who was still little more than a boy, away to the country that had claimed his mother’s life and his father’s happiness.

  What would his father say about Christian’s reputation? About the gossip and rumor that plagued him nearly from his arrival? Christian closed his eyes and stood still, picturing his father’s sad face, the broken look in his eyes.

  Soft fur brushed against Christian’s hand. He looked down at Ajax, grateful for the dog’s keen senses. Christian crouched next to Ajax and ruffled the dog’s ears fondly. Ajax pressed forward, butting his head gently against Christian’s chest.

  “Thank you, friend,” Christian said, wrapping his arms around the red-furred creature. “We are away to Kettering i
n the morning. Let’s hope the kennels there are accommodating.” It would be the height of rudeness to attempt to keep Ajax indoors with him during his stay, but Christian had every intention of exercising the dog daily. Ajax was the only fit companion Christian had and he wasn’t about to leave his friend behind.

  Christian would meet his intended bride. He only hoped the woman had enough common sense to understand they must get along, at least before others. Perhaps he might even take the opportunity to tell her, in very clear terms, what his expectations for this marriage would be. He had no desire to be friends. They were two people with a common interest: their standing in society.

  This is a business arrangement, Christian reminded himself. Nothing more.

  Chapter Three

  Rebecca descended from her father’s carriage and stepped into Christine’s arms. Christine, the middle Devon sister, had come to Annesbury Park to greet her. Aunt Jacqueline walked up the stairs, passing Virginia, Rebecca and Christine’s cousin, with barely an acknowledgement of the welcome offered her.

  Aunt Jacqueline and Cousin Virginia had an odd relationship for a mother and daughter. Virginia seemed perpetually amused by her mother’s haughtiness, while Aunt Jacqueline barely tolerated other members of humanity.

  Christine Gilbert, Rebecca’s second-eldest sister, was demonstrative in her affection to say the least. “Oh, my dear Rebecca, look at you! Are you even taller than you were at Christmas?” Christine stepped back and shook her head. “Half a head higher than me, if you’re an inch.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Now you are the little sister, I’m afraid.” Inwardly, Rebecca cringed. She hated being the tallest of her friends. She was as tall as most of the men of her acquaintance. It made her stick out, made it hard to conceal herself in a crowded room. It also made the fashions of the day more absurd on her frame.

  “Come in at once. I will accompany you to your room, where you will answer all my questions.” Christine’s words were light, but her eyes had turned serious. She had received Rebecca’s letter, of course.

  Virginia greeted Rebecca at the door, smiling warmly. “Welcome, Rebecca. I’m sorry Lucas isn’t here to greet you. He’s out riding with the boys. We expected you a little later.”

  The countess moved to give Rebecca an embrace, then whispered, “I sent the invitation. I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Then she stepped back, her expression open and kind. “I have prepared your usual room. The other guests arrive tomorrow.”

  Rebecca’s stomach clenched. The invitation was sent, but how had it been received?

  Christine started speaking, talking of nothing in particular, and kept up her chatter all the way up both flights of stairs. When they entered the guest room, Hettie was already there, a day dress laid out on the bed waiting for Rebecca.

  “Oh, there’s no need for you at present, Hettie,” Christine said, waving the maid away. “I will assist my sister, just as I did when we were children. Why don’t you go take some refreshment? I am certain you must be tired from your journey.”

  Hettie hesitated, but Christine’s dismissal could hardly be ignored. The maid curtsied and left, shutting the door behind her.

  Christine began babbling again, talking about the vicar’s family and their general good health, and walked to the door. She slipped it open and peered out into the hall, then closed it up again. “She’s gone.”

  Rebecca groaned and dropped into the chair at the dressing table. “When I marry, ridding myself of that tell-tale’s company will be the first thing I do.” She rubbed at her forehead with one gloved hand. “I think she even tells Aunt Jacqueline if I so much as dirty a handkerchief.”

  “You cannot fault her too greatly,” Christine said, coming to help Rebecca remove her hat. “Aunt Jacqueline is the one paying her, after all. Her position is constantly in jeopardy. Hettie might improve under someone else’s employ.”

  “That is charitable of you.” Rebecca met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “You do make a good point. And Hettie does have an exceptional way with my hair.” She grinned when Christine stuck her tongue out at her in the mirror.

  Christine placed the hat on the table and stood back, allowing Rebecca to rise, before unbuttoning the back of her travelling gown.

  “You are resigned to this marriage?” Christine asked, her voice lower.

  “I really haven’t any choice in the matter.” Rebecca shook her head and let her shoulders droop, the weight of the situation resting more heavily. “I am under Father’s command until I turn twenty-three, unless I marry. Harry is, too.” She swallowed at the thought of her younger brother, Horace. “Father learned from being thwarted by you and Julia. He’s done a good job of setting the trap this time.”

  Both of Rebecca’s sisters had secured marriages of lower societal importance than their father wanted. Mr. Devon didn’t care that his daughters married the men they loved, only that they had not given him greater consequence when they did so. He had disowned Julia when she married a Bath physician. Mr. Devon only remained civil toward Christine and her husband because of their close association with the Earl of Annesbury.

  “If we thought on it, perhaps consulted an attorney,” Christine said, sounding uncertain of the plan even as she spoke it.

  “It’s done, Christine.” Rebecca stepped out of her dress and bent to begin work on her boots. “I fear I have few choices left to me. The principle decision I must make is how to deal with my betrothed, which I’m afraid I won’t know until I meet him. Have you discovered anything yet?”

  “Not really. I learned he’s half-Italian and his mother died in England, years ago. Then his father took him to Italy and no one saw him again until he was sent to Eton.” Christine sat on Rebecca’s bed while her sister went to a washbasin to freshen up.

  “Perhaps our cousin might know more?” Rebecca ventured.

  Christine shook her head. “I spoke to Virginia and Lucas. Lucas promised he would discover more, but for now they know less about Lord Easton than we do. Lucas knows his grandfather from the House of Lords, of course.”

  “What do we know about the grandfather?”

  “From what I gather, he sounds like exactly the sort of man our father would enjoy doing business with.” Christine folded her arms and glowered at the floor. “Cold, manipulative, and primarily interested in ventures from which he stands to profit.”

  Rebecca took in her sister’s expression and posture. “Are you upset about something, Christine?”

  Her sister sat up straighter and raised her eyebrows. “You mean besides my sister being forced into a marriage? A marriage that may very well leach all the joy and happiness from your heart? Rebecca, I am more than upset. I am distraught. How can you not be?”

  Moving to sit next to Christine, Rebecca ignored the painful thump of her heart. “I cannot afford it, Christine. If I let my fears reign in this matter, I would be pitiful and useless. I’m trying to be brave.”

  “Then I shall have the hysterics on your behalf,” Christine said, raising her chin. Rebecca nearly laughed; Christine had never had hysterics a day in her life.

  Her sister continued, “But whatever are you planning to do? Are you going to attempt to sabotage the engagement? Why on earth would you ask Virginia to invite the man here, to the house party, when you could have a fortnight free of him?”

  “I have a plan.” Rebecca took hold of the change in conversation, grateful to turn her mind back to the task at hand and ignore her heart. “A great deal depends on the sort of man Lord Easton turns out to be, but I have sorted through many possible paths. The most obvious thing to attempt, of course, is to fall in love with him.”

  Rebecca had actually never seen anyone’s mouth gape open the way her sister’s suddenly did. For several moments, Christine looked as though all words had fled her. She opened and closed her mouth, then leaned forward to whisper, “You cannot be serious. Love isn’t something you can make happen.”

  “I disagree.” Rebecca reached out and ga
ve her sister’s hand a pat. “I think any reaction we have to a situation is a choice. It’s like when Julia used to play that game with us, when we were children. Remember?” Whenever a terrible disappointment struck them in childhood, Julia had always challenged them to find the good in the situation and be happy. That was Julia’s way of going through life, always looking for the rainbows amid the storms.

  “This is not a game, and you are not a child,” Christine said firmly. “This is your life. Not a broken toy, or a spoilt holiday. Loving someone is not so easy as determining not to let the rain ruin a picnic.”

  “Why not?” Rebecca asked. “It is all a matter of perspective. If I meet this man and choose to see the good in him, the qualities that one would admire and love in another, it may be enough.”

  Christine didn’t appear convinced. “And if that doesn’t work? What is your next dazzling idea?”

  “To be friends, of course. To find a way to make a marriage between us amicable.”

  “What if he is cruel? What if he treats you terribly?” Christine pressed the issue, her dark brown eyes full of apprehension.

  “There is no use worrying on it until it proves to be the case,” Rebecca said, then cleared her throat when she heard the tremble in her voice. “If I have no choice in who I marry, I must at least hold onto the possibility of choosing how I go about my life with this man. Don’t you understand, Christine? Hope and my wits are all I have.” She stood and retrieved her clean dress from the bed. “We should hurry. Aunt Jacqueline will wonder why we have not come downstairs.”