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

  Christine helped Rebecca pull the dress over her head, adjusting the collar and sleeves to lay correctly before doing up the buttons at the back, and tying a sash around Rebecca’s waist. “Why are you putting on a peach gown? You hate this color.”

  “Because Aunt Jacqueline insists it is an appropriate choice for a young lady of my age.” Rebecca grinned when Christine snorted. “Do you think you could help me secure some better clothing while I am here? At least one gown. I may be able to sneak that by Aunt Jacqueline.”

  Christine stepped around her, her brow pulled down in thought. “I think so. Would you like to visit Mrs. Chandler in the morning? She has the loveliest new fabrics, and you are a special favorite of hers.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Rebecca sighed and went to look in the mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair back into a pin. “I have saved nearly all my pin money to do just that thing.”

  “You mean what pin money you haven’t spent on novels,” Christine teased, reaching out to assist Rebecca in smoothing her hair. “Let’s not let money be a worry, though. I would like to buy your dress for you, as an early wedding present.”

  The kind offer caused tears to prick at Rebecca’s eyes, but she forced them away and was smiling when she turned. “Thank you, Christine.” She wrapped her arms around her elder sister in an embrace. With people who loved her in her life, even if her husband would not, there would still be some happiness to be had.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. Christine went to the window and looked out, her eyes going up toward the sky. “I hope we have a drier party than last year. Poor Virginia, all of her outings were rained on.”

  “Does she have a great many guests this time?” Rebecca came forward to look at the graying sky. “I remember summers being warmer when we were growing up.”

  “I do, too.” Christine let the curtain drop from her hand and thought. “I know Lucas has invited members of his political party. He has a bill to present this season and he wants more support for it. Three lords.” Christine waved the question away. “And their wives and children, I’m certain. You will meet them all tomorrow.”

  Rebecca laughed. “You could at least pretend an interest in Virginia’s guests.”

  “Why? None of them have much to do with me, unless they wish to purchase a fine horse.” Her husband was a gentleman horse farmer, and Christine’s extensive knowledge and devotion to the creatures made her the perfect helpmeet for him. “And I will meet them all at some dinner party or another, so it is of little consequence. Come. Let us go down and get something for you to eat.”

  “A wonderful idea.” Rebecca looped her arm through Christine’s. The conversation turned to lighter matters, and Rebecca almost managed to push her worries about Christian Hundley from her mind.

  Chapter Four

  Christian landed on the road with a horrid, squelching sound. His boots sunk in the mud. He raised his eyes to the gray skies above and ground his teeth together.

  He walked to the wheel and looked it over, noting the split spokes coolly. “Where is the nearest village?” he asked, his voice barely louder than the rain. He cut enough of an imposing figure, he well knew, without raising his voice. It wasn’t the coachman’s fault they faced this delay, he reminded himself.

  “We passed one about three miles back, my lord,” the coachman said. The groom riding with them came around the coach, leading one of the horses, and paused when he saw Christian standing in the mud.

  “What do you mean to do?” Christian asked, looking from the startled groom to the driver. “It’s nearly nightfall. Do you intend to find a wheelwright?

  “I-I had thought we might find another conveyance for you, my lord,” the coachman said. “Then we could worry over the coach.”

  “How far away is Annesbury Park?” Christian asked, his impatience starting to creep into his tone. He curled his hands into fists at his side and ignored a droplet of water hanging from his nose. The rain had softened to a fine mist, but it was still soaking through him.

  “Five miles, my lord,” the servant answered, pointing down the road the way they had been travelling.

  “So you will go backward three miles, then find a way to move me forward five more?” Christian shook his head and shoved his hair back. “It will be dark by the time you return for the coach. There are four horses and four of us. You two,” he jerked his head to include the groom, “load as much of our baggage as you can on the horses. One of you remain with the carriage. The other will go back for help, and Mr. Dowding and I will go forward to Annesbury and send a wagon back for the remainder of our things. I would rather arrive bareback on a horse than stand around here and wait for this disaster to be solved.”

  Dowding, whose name aptly described his temperament most of the time, stuck his head out the window. “Bareback? But the rain, my lord!”

  Christian gritted his teeth again. “You can repair any damage it does to us later. For now, get out of the coach.” He whistled and Ajax jumped out, coming immediately to his side. That made one creature not standing about, questioning his orders. “Get moving,” he barked at the others.

  Truth be told, the idea of sitting still, waiting, delaying his arrival and the meeting with his betrothed, would have driven Christian mad. He already fought against the twist in his stomach every time he thought about meeting Rebecca Devon. If he had his way, they wouldn’t lay eyes on each other until their wedding.

  Christian’s party would arrive late at Annesbury Park as it was. He didn’t want to delay for another day. It would be better to get there and get the worst of it over with. But now they would be wet, too, and likely smell of the animals they rode.

  “I’m not certain I can ride bareback,” Dowding admitted, carrying a small trunk around the back of the coach. “Are you equal to the task, my lord?”

  “We will do well enough, Dowding,” he said, moving to take the horse from the groom. “And if it proves to be a struggle, you may always walk.” He smirked to himself when he heard Dowding’s gasp. The fussy valet wouldn’t be pleased until they were both clean, dry, and wearing properly tied cravats again.

  After ten minutes of loading and unloading bags, making certain the trunk with his violin case was protected from the rain, and trying various means to affix things securely to the horses, three men rode away from the broken carriage and the groomsman remained behind, given permission to sit inside, waiting for help. Ajax trotted along next to Christian, obviously happy to stretch his legs.

  They rode at a sedate pace, more for Dowding’s sake than anything. The valet stayed silent, his full focus on riding, which gave Christian some blessed peace. The mist remained with them.

  It was growing darker, and the rain started falling again, when they passed through an iron gate and beneath enormous chestnut trees. Christian’s stomach twisted and turned; his first meeting with his future wife grew nearer.

  He looked up at the big house before him, seeing lights in nearly every window, and shuddered. If he was lucky, they would alert no one but the servants to their arrival. Christian would get to his rooms, change into whatever they had brought that was still dry, and join the party inside for a warm meal.

  His stomach jerked sharply, reminding him that eating might not be something he actually desired.

  “You had better go around back to the stables,” he told his valet. “Take Ajax.” He whistled and gave the dog a command in Italian. Ajax raised his head and Christian spoke to Dowding. “He’ll go with you.”

  “I will return to wait on you, my lord,” Dowding promised, his teeth chattering.

  “Make it quick, then,” Christian said. “I have a feeling we might be in time for dinner.”

  He dismounted at the door and handed the horse’s lead to Dowding, who took it and went in the direction of the stables.

  Christian turned and faced the set of double doors, knowing his bride-to-be was behind them. Not for the first time that day, Christian stamped down on his fears. What if s
he hated him on sight? What if he disgusted her? Worse, what if she was the same as all the English ladies his grandfather had attempted to match him with four seasons ago? Snobbish, fixated on their own importance, and lacking any show of intelligence? Then he would be the one disgusted.

  It shouldn’t matter what she thought. This wasn’t a marriage built on anything other than what his grandfather had contracted it to be.

  His best course of action, Christian had determined that very morning, was to remain as stoic and calm as he could, outwardly. The more he kept to himself, the safer he would be. Give no one a thing to comment upon, to whisper about. He must keep above the frivolous behavior of the ton. Protect himself from the fate his mother had experienced at their hands.

  His armor in place once more, Christian knocked on the door at last.

  It swung open sooner than he expected, a liveried footman ready to greet him. The butler was doubtless overseeing preparations for the evening meal.

  “Lord Easton,” Christian said, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the large entryway.

  “Of course, my lord. Welcome.” The footman’s wide eyes took in Christian’s dripping appearance before he stepped back. He looked around the door, where Christian knew he would not see a carriage, horse, or servants.

  Christian started to explain. “My coach is damaged five miles down the road. My valet has taken our horses and things around to the stables. I need a carriage sent back, and men to help my servants.”

  The footman was nodding. “I will inform the earl at once, my lord.”

  Christian turned to take in the entry hall, his eyes going to the stairs.

  A woman stood halfway between floors, her hand on the rail, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. She wore a gown of pale green, a forgettable garment, but Christian knew at once he would never forget her face. She was one of the loveliest women he had ever seen. Dark brown ringlets framed her oval-shaped face, her features were soft and fair, and her cheeks were turning a becoming shade of pink as he stared at her.

  Her lips parted as she stared at him, a soft gasp escaping as she stared.

  She had seen his scars. The shock was evident on her face; no doubt disgust would soon follow.

  His already knotted stomach experienced greater hardship when his heart sank into it. He knew, without any logical way to know, that this beautiful woman on the stairs must be Rebecca Devon. His future bride.

  He swallowed, going cold and numb. Why in the blazes was she standing on the stairs at the very moment he’d walked in the door, likely looking like a soaked mongrel, half-drowned and unfit for company?

  He curled his hands into fists, not breaking eye contact with her. Let her stare, then. He lifted his chin, daring her to pass judgment upon him.

  “Miss Devon,” the footman said from behind, jolting Christian from his thoughts and confirming his natural-born intuition of the woman’s identity. “May I present Lord Easton. His carriage has been damaged and he’s only just arrived.”

  “I can see that,” she said, her voice lilting slightly, the words neither coy nor cold. “You had better see him to his room. I will inform Lord Annesbury.” Then she turned, moving too quickly to call it graceful, nearly running back up the stairs.

  One look at you would send any gently bred girl running. Christian took in a deep, fortifying breath. He didn’t care. He hadn’t cared what society thought of him for years.

  But Rebecca Devon isn’t society, is she?

  He buried what little hope he’d held onto deeper, determined to keep it where it belonged—dead in a grave. He didn’t want her favor. He didn’t need it.

  The footman bowed. “If you would follow me, my lord.” He led Christian to the stairs; as he passed the place where she had stood, gaping at him, Christian hardened his heart. He would not be hurt by Miss Devon.

  *

  Rebecca’s world wouldn’t fall back into place. The pieces were scattered and had been since the moment she saw Lord Easton. She barely managed to stumble up the stairs to find Lucas. She went directly to the earl and countess’s suite of rooms but didn’t immediately knock. Instead she leaned against the door, placing a hand against her cheek to feel the heat of her blush.

  Every bit of sense she possessed had fled her when Lord Easton walked through the door. She’d paused on the stair when she heard the knock, half-hoping it would be him. The other guests had all arrived hours ago, and Virginia assured her that Lord Easton was meant to arrive that afternoon as well. But as she’d dressed for dinner, she told herself he might not arrive until the morrow, if he ever arrived. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and didn’t care to come and meet her after all.

  She almost wished he hadn’t. Rebecca had never seen such an imposing man in her life. He had to be at least as tall as the earl, and Lucas stood six foot high. But he was shaped differently, with broader shoulders. His black clothes, soaking wet, had not hidden his build. His dark hair hung down in long waves, just past his ears. It wasn’t a common style, but she knew at once it suited him, nearly hanging into his eyes.

  Those eyes. They had pierced directly through her. Had they been dark? She felt sure they had. They’d stared right at her, the intensity of them striking her more than whatever color they were.

  The door behind her opened and she fell backward, all thoughts of her betrothed fleeing as her hands reached out searching for purchase.

  Arms caught her from behind, and the person holding her stumbled back a step. “Rebecca? What on earth—”

  She looked up into her cousin’s eyes. “You look lovely, Virginia,” she said, forcing a smile. Rebecca regained her balance and Lucas came behind his wife, putting a supporting arm around her shoulders.

  “Are either of you hurt?” he asked, his eyes going from one to the other of them.

  In her childhood, Rebecca had stood in awe of Lucas Calvert, the wealthiest and highest-ranking man in the neighborhood. After his marriage to her cousin, she also counted him as family. “I’m well.”

  “I am, too,” Virginia added, taking her husband’s offered arm. “Rebecca, what were you doing leaning against my door? You haven’t taken to eavesdropping, have you?” Virginia teased. “We were on our way down to dinner.”

  “He’s here,” Rebecca blurted. “Lord Easton is here. He’s just arrived. He and his valet rode carriage horses, because the carriage was damaged. He said five miles down the road, I think. He’s soaking wet.” She didn’t pause for breath. “Virginia. What am I going to do?”

  Virginia’s eyes first narrowed as she tried to keep up with her younger cousin, then widened. The countess stepped away from her husband and put her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Compose yourself. Lucas?”

  He went to the door. “I’ll see what I need to do to help Lord Easton.” Lucas smiled at them both in that charming way of his.

  Virginia released Rebecca and went to the door, closing it behind him. “Tell me everything,” she said, taking Rebecca’s hand. “Did you speak to him?”

  Rebecca’s cheeks felt hot again as she shook her head. “I didn’t say a word to him. I was on the steps when he came in. He explained the whole of it to the footman—Darvis? It doesn’t matter. Then we were introduced, and I ran. I said I was coming to find Lucas.” Rebecca raised her eyes to Virginia’s, horrified by what she’d done. “He must think me the rudest sort of creature.”

  Virginia bit her bottom lip, her eyes dancing with amusement, which certainly wasn’t appreciated at that moment. “Sweet girl, I doubt he thinks any such thing, but if any damage has been done we will repair it. What did he look like?”

  Rebecca blinked once. “He’s very tall? And dark. And broad.”

  The countess laughed, not unkindly. “Surely you noticed more than that. This is the man you’re going to marry. Oh, dear.”

  Rebecca’s soft sob had interrupted her cousin’s comforting words.

  “Rebecca, it’s going to be all right. I didn’t m
ean to laugh. It struck me as odd that you wouldn’t take note of those things, but I suppose you have your mind on other matters. Come now. Dry your eyes.” Virginia went to her dressing table and procured a clean handkerchief, holding it out to her cousin. “You don’t want your second meeting to begin with tears. There. You are restored.”

  “This is not going well at all,” Rebecca said, sitting down in a chair placed near the hearth. “Virginia, what am I going to do?” she asked for a second time. She sniffled and twisted the handkerchief in her hands.

  “You are going to be gentle with yourself,” Virginia said, her voice demonstrating the very quality she named. “Forget all about seeing him at the door. The next time you meet, pretend it is the first time. All will be well. Remember your plan, Rebecca.”

  When Christine had dismissed her plan as foolish, Rebecca had nearly decided not to confide it to Virginia. To her relief, the countess acted as though it was a perfectly sensible idea, to determine to fall in love. The reminder calmed Rebecca.

  “What if he hates me?” she whispered, the fear sliding past her lips for the first time since she’d been informed of her betrothal.

  “No one hates you, my dear. You are a kind woman. He will be in awe of you.” Virginia took Rebecca’s hands and tugged her to her feet. “There now. No more worries or tears. I must see to my guests. Come with me.”

  Rebecca took another fortifying breath. “Yes, my lady.” She tried to smile, but feared it looked wobbly, just as her courage felt wobbly.

  They went to the parlor nearest the dining room. The guests were already gathered, mingling with one another, the room in comfortable spirits. Somehow, the complete normalcy of the setting unnerved Rebecca even more. How could none of the assembled know how her pulse thrummed? Surely, her agitation must be apparent to all. She strove harder to conceal it, pasting on her most pleasant, polite expression.

  Aunt Jacqueline descended upon her not a moment later. “You look dreadful,” she whispered, eyeing Rebecca carefully. “Have you been crying?”