Suddenly You(67)

“Quite a strong interest,” Fretwell murmured.

“Well, that’s all over now.”

“Is it?”

Devlin gave a low, humorless laugh. “Miss Briars has too much sense to desire any entanglement with me.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said flatly, “Hartley’s a good choice for her, don’t you think?”

Fretwell was compelled to answer honestly. “If I were Miss Briars, I would marry Hartley without hesitation. He’s one of the most decent fellows I’ve ever met.”

“It’s all settled, then,” Devlin said brusquely. “I wish the two of them well. It’s only a matter of time before they wed.”

“But…but what about you? Will you stand by and allow Miss Briars to go to another man?”

“Not only will I stand by, I’ll escort her to the chapel myself, if she requires it. Her marriage to Hartley will be best for all concerned.”

Fretwell shook his head, understanding the private fear that moved Devlin to cast away the woman who clearly meant so much to him. It was a strange, self-imposed isolation that all the survivors of Knatchford Heath seemed to share. None of them seemed able to forge lasting ties with anyone.

Of the few who had dared to marry, such as Guy Stubbins, Devlin’s bookkeeping manager, had these unions that were sorely troubled. Trust and fidelity were damnably elusive for those who had endured the hell of Knatchford Heath. Fretwell himself had scrupulously avoided marriage, managing to love and lose a very good woman rather than take the risk of attaching himself to her permanently.

Yet he hated to see Jack Devlin suffer the same fate, especially as the man’s feelings appeared to run far deeper than he had first suspected. After Amanda Briars married another man, it was likely that Devlin would never be the same.

“What will you do, Jack?” he wondered aloud.

Devlin pretended to misunderstand the question. “Tonight?…I’ll leave off work and go to Gemma Bradshaw’s place. Perhaps I’ll purchase some ready female companionship.”

“But you don’t sleep with whores,” Fretwell said, startled.

Devlin smiled darkly, gesturing to the plate of ashes. “I don’t smoke, either.”

“I’ve never had a picnic indoors before,” Amanda remarked with a laugh, viewing her surrounding with glowing eyes. Charles Hartley had invited her to his small estate, built on the outskirts of London, where his younger sister, Eugenie, was hosting a luncheon. Amanda liked her immediately upon meeting her. Eugenie’s dark eyes were filled with a lively youthfulness that belied her matronly status as a mother of seven, and she possessed the same aura of serenity that made Charles so appealing.

The Hartleys were a family of good blood, not aristocrats but respectable and well heeled. It made Amanda admire Charles all the more. He had the means to live an indolent life if he so desired, and yet he had chosen to occupy himself with writing for children.

“It’s not an authentic picnic,” Charles admitted. “However, it is the best we could do, considering the fact that it is too cold to enjoy oneself outdoors just yet.”

“I do wish your children were here,” Amanda said impulsively to Eugenie. “Mr. Hartley speaks of them so often that I feel as if I know them.”

“Heavens,” Eugenie exclaimed, laughing, “not for our first meeting. My children are a lot of perfect little hellions. They would frighten you away, and we would never see you again.”

“I doubt that very much,” Amanda replied, taking the seat that Charles held for her. The indoor picnic had been laid out in an octagonal-shaped sunroom featuring an atrium set in the center of the stone floor. Here a “white garden” planted with white roses, snowy lilies, and silver magnolias gave off a delicious scent that drifted across the table laden with linen, crystal, and silver. The white linen cloth had been scattered with pink rose petals that matched the flowered Sevres china.

Eugenie picked up a glass of sparkling champagne and regarded Charles with a smiling gaze. “Shall you make a toast, dear brother?”

He gazed at Amanda as he complied. “To friendship,” he said simply, but the warmth in his eyes seemed to convey a deeper feeling than mere friendship.

Amanda sipped the beverage, finding it to be refreshingly tart and cold. She felt festive and yet completely comfortable in Charles Hartley’s company. Lately they had spent a great deal of time together, riding in his carriage or attending parties and lectures. Charles was a complete gentleman, making her wonder if there were ever any improper thoughts or ideas in his head. He seemed incapable of rudeness or vulgarity. All men are primitive louts, Jack had once told her…well, he had been wrong. Charles Hartley was living proof of that.

The reckless passion that had tormented Amanda faded like the glowing embers of a once-roaring fire. She still thought of Jack far more often than she would have wished, and during the rare occasions when they met, she experienced the same hot and cold chills, the same excruciating awareness, the same intense yearning for things she could not have. Fortunately, it didn’t happen often. And when it did, Jack was unfailingly polite, his blue eyes friendly but cool, and he spoke only of business matters that concerned them both.

Charles Hartley, on the other hand, made no secret of his feelings. It was easy to like this kind, uncomplicated widower, who clearly needed and wanted a wife. He was everything Amanda admired in a man; cerebral, moral, his character sensible and yet seasoned with dry wit.