Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(28)

That would include her telling his father to stay out of the way, Devlin thought with inner amusement. And just like the rest of them, his father had done exactly as he was told.

“I could not have done better for myself if I had tried, could I?” his father continued. “She is the perfect wife, the perfect countess. And she has given me handsome sons and daughters. Even Steph may grow up to be a pretty girl once she loses that baby fat.”

“She is beautiful even with it,” Devlin said.

“Oh, absolutely. Yes.” His father laughed. “This will not be quite the elegant ball one grows accustomed to in London, will it? Nor will the company be as illustrious or the fashions as dazzling. But it will do very nicely indeed for a country party. It will make everyone happy. And that is our duty, Dev, mine and yours after me. To keep everyone happy—our wives, our children, our neighbors from far and near, and those men and women who work for us. We must always remember to put other people before ourselves. That is what your grandfather taught me, God rest his soul, and it is what I have tried to teach you. Not that we need to deny ourselves entirely, of course, for a man is entitled to some private pleasures of his own. But always remember to put other people first and you cannot go far wrong in life. Your mother—and your wife when you get one—must always be honored above all others. Kept content and happy.”

Devlin smiled at him. It was moments like this one that he treasured above all others—father and son, earl and heir, alone together and talking of duty and responsibility, but in terms of service and love. Putting others first. Making other people happy. Yet entitled to some personal pleasure too—but then did not personal pleasure derive from giving it to others? By tradition the earl would lead his countess into the opening set tonight, and as always they would smile warmly at each other and about them at their family and guests of all degrees. They would radiate welcome and happiness.

It was what an Earl of Stratton and his countess must always do—did in the past and in the present, and must on into the future. It was tradition.

“I will always do my best to live up to your expectations of me, Papa,” Devlin said. “Just as you have lived up to Grandpapa’s.”

His father squeezed his shoulder with a heavily beringed hand and laughed again. “Always so earnest, Dev,” he said. “You need to learn to laugh more. And to enjoy yourself more.”

He did laugh, Devlin thought. And enjoy his life. And show warmth and interest and fellow feeling to those around him. At least he tried. He lacked the outgoing nature and bonhomie of his father, it was true. Nick had it. He did not. But he could not help that. The magnetism that came naturally to them was a God-given gift and impossible to learn or even to imitate.

“Enjoy yourself tonight.” His father gave him a final pat on the shoulder. “Here comes your mother with Pippa and Steph.” He beamed his pleasure across the room and raised his voice as he strode toward them. “My love, as always you look quite exquisite.” He extended one hand and bowed over the countess’s when she placed it in his. He raised it to his lips as she smiled warmly back at him.

Philippa, flushed and pretty in pale blue, gathered the sides of her gown in her hands and twirled for Devlin’s benefit.

“Lovely,” he said. “You look quite the woman already, Pippa. Are you sure you are only fifteen?”

Stephanie’s face had been scrubbed clean. It shone.

“I met a princess on the terrace this afternoon,” Devlin said, wagging a finger at her and frowning in thought. “She looked remarkably like you, Steph. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Someone has coiled your braids around the back of your head. You look very grown-up. Turn and let me see.”

She turned. “Breathtakingly beautiful,” she muttered scornfully under her breath—and then giggled with glee.

“The loveliest hair of anyone in my whole family,” their father said, beaming at her when she turned again. “Your crowning glory, Steph. Promise me that you will never have it cut.”

“Caleb,” the countess protested. “Long hair must always be trimmed once in a while to keep it healthy.”

“I promise, Papa,” Stephanie said, and stepped forward to hug her father about the waist.



* * *



—

There was never a receiving line at the Ravenswood balls. What would be the point when all the guests had been at the fete all day, and the host family had mingled freely with them there? Nevertheless, the earl and countess and their older children stood close to the ballroom doors as everyone entered, welcoming them, shaking hands, and finding chairs for those who required them. Very soon the room was crowded and loud with conversation and laughter and the sounds of the musicians tuning their instruments.

Gwyneth gazed about the ballroom, eager to see how it was decorated this year. It was always a bit different. The countess, she suspected, worked hard to make sure the whole day did not grow stale with too much of a sameness from year to year. It must not be easy to achieve some variety.

There was not too long a delay before the earl mounted the steps to the orchestra dais, the countess on his arm. Something approximating silence fell even before he raised both arms to draw everyone’s attention. He beamed about at them all.

“Now this,” he said, “is what among the ton in London would be known as a sad squeeze. The ball would be deemed an instant success.”