Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(18)
She was free. It was the thought that had set him tossing and turning all night.
He need no longer keep his distance from her out of deference to his brother. Not that she would ever have him, of course. And to his shame, he would not even know how to go about wooing her. But . . . Well, suddenly there was a glimmering of hope.
And she appeared to be very happy about her freedom, if her appearance today was anything to judge by. It might not be, of course. Her smiles and sparkling eyes, her pink dress, the flowers in her hair might all be a mask to disguise heartache. She had always seemed exceedingly fond of Nick, and that had never surprised Devlin. His younger brother had all the magnetic charm, not to mention good looks, that Devlin lacked. And ease of manner. And confidence in himself.
But she was free.
He had made the devil of a poor start with her this morning, however. He had gone to greet all the Rhyses after their arrival, as he had done with everyone else too, of course. He had exchanged a word with each of them. But what had he said to Gwyneth? He could not remember his exact words, but it had been something to do with the fine weather. The weather. To the woman he wished to impress. To the woman he wished to woo and marry. He had led the charge with remarks about the weather.
But she was free.
Chapter Five
Gwyneth was with someone different every time Devlin glimpsed her after that, even once, briefly, with Nicholas, who was smiling and shaking her hand and then striding away in one direction while she moved off in another. She watched the maypole dancing with Audrey Proctor and Leonard Atkins, one of the Ware cousins. She ate luncheon with Wendell Lamb, another cousin, and James and Barbara Rutledge. Afterward she was down by the lake with Idris and two of the maypole dancers. Devlin could not recall the woman’s name, but the man was Sidney Johnson, a prosperous landowner from five or six miles away, though he was still only in his early twenties. His father had died suddenly a year or two ago.
Whenever he saw her, she was sparkling and clearly enjoying every moment.
The maypole was still up, Devlin saw when he returned to the front of the house from the stable yard. The dancers had consented to give lessons to anyone who wished to experience the fun for themselves, and they were already starting. He strolled closer.
There were predictably more females than males interested in the dancing. Both his sisters were there. And Gwyneth Rhys. Two of the regular male dancers had made the numbers equal by joining the learners. Stephanie was clutching the bright orange ribbon as though her life depended upon not letting go. Her eyes were so focused upon the instructor that she did not even notice her brother. Pippa was bright-eyed and flushed. She was partnered with one of the dancers, a ginger-haired young man with freckles and a crooked smile. Mrs. Shaw was there too.
One of the fiddlers began to play, and, following the instructions one of the dancers called, the students circled the maypole, their ribbons weaving in and out and remaining miraculously unsnarled for a whole minute before one of their number—Pippa—ducked under her partner’s arm at the same moment he tried to duck under hers and they bumped heads and everyone got tangled up and stopped with a burst of laughter and agonized giggles from Philippa, who apologized profusely.
The earl, laughing heartily, moved up beside Devlin.
“Pippa has inherited something from me, at least,” he said. “I tried that a few times when I was a lad. I could get the steps right if I forgot the ribbon in my hand, and I could get the ribbon to work right if I ignored my feet. I could not do both at once, though. It was a bit like trying to play the pianoforte with both hands. It looks easy when you watch the experts.”
“Most skills look easy if the performer has practiced long enough,” Devlin said. “Sir Ifor on the organ, as a case in point.”
“Oh, well done,” his father called a minute or so later, after the dancers had performed a whole series of steps without mishap. “Very well done indeed.” He applauded with enthusiasm.
Mrs. Shaw turned her face toward him and smiled with a lifting of the corners of her lips and a lowering of her eyelashes.
Good Lord, Devlin thought. Really. Good Lord.
“Did you see me, Papa?” Stephanie shrieked. “Did you see me, Dev?”
“I did indeed,” Devlin said, his heart melting as it usually did when he looked into his sister’s round, shiny-cheeked face. Her hair was in its usual braids.
“Splendid, splendid,” his father called back. “All of you.”
Gwyneth glanced their way too, but with an open, happy smile, not that . . . seductive? Was that the right word? Not that expression Mrs. Shaw had had on her face a moment ago when she looked at his father, anyway.
“Look!” one of the women dancers called from the cluster surrounding the instructor. “A spare young male, just standing there doing nothing. Lord Mountford, do please come and take Sidney’s place at the maypole.”
“That is not necessarily a good idea,” Devlin said, grimacing and then laughing as his father slapped a hand on his shoulder and propelled him forward. “You may be sorry.”
“I am an expert at untangling ribbons, Dev, if you should need me,” Stephanie said. “Come and join us.”
Sidney was the one partnering Gwyneth.
“Here,” he said, grinning and extending an emerald green ribbon—one of the new ones—toward Devlin. “Take it. The worst that can happen is that you will wreck the whole dance and ruin everyone’s day.”