Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(51)
“His position is quite safe,” Ben had told him, “provided Dev is satisfied with his work, of course. I’ll be setting up home somewhere else in a short while. It is high time. I am thirty-one years old. And I have a daughter to raise.”
“Oh, Ben,” Philippa had cried. “Not too far away, I hope. Not when we finally have you home again.”
“I am not sure yet,” he had told her. “But you will be able to come and visit, you know. I daresay I will find a house somewhere that has at least one extra bedchamber.”
Devlin had also told them that he would be establishing himself in the neighborhood in the coming weeks by calling upon his extended family and neighbors. Visiting, making polite conversation while sipping tea and nibbling on cake, was not something he had ever enjoyed. Now it was something he dreaded. Would he find doors slammed in his face? It seemed unlikely, though it was a possibility. Would he find rigidly polite, stony-faced hosts, rather like his mother? Would the Ware and Greenfield families turn their collective backs upon him? He had no idea what to expect. None of it mattered, however. He was the Earl of Stratton, he had chosen to return here to take charge of his inheritance, and he would not now cower on his own land, afraid to face the world beyond his gates.
It was important that everyone, including his mother and siblings, understand that from the start. He had not wanted what was now his life, but since he had no real choice in the matter despite ignoring it for the past two years, he would do what had to be done.
His mother had surprised him at that point by informing him that she had arranged a tea in his honor to be held three days hence. Invitations had already been sent out and acceptances returned.
“Your family and neighbors will naturally wish to come and pay their respects to you, Stratton, now that you have finally returned home,” she had explained. “I thought it as well to invite them to come all together rather than have a constant stream of callers for the next week or two. I guessed you would not wish for that.”
“No,” he had agreed. “I would not.”
His mother had always enjoyed entertaining. She had been known for her openhanded hospitality. But that had been then, while this was now. She did not look delighted at the prospect of this welcoming party she had arranged for her own son. She would be doing it out of a sense of duty, of course. Always that word—duty. And it struck him as it never had before that there were strong similarities between his mother and him, even though there was now this cold, stiff near-estrangement separating them. She had not forgiven him for his public display of outrage on her behalf, and he . . . Well, he had not forgiven her either, had he?
This tea, he could confidently predict, would be a grand and formal affair to rival his homecoming reception earlier. And of course almost everyone who had been invited would come, out of sheer curiosity if for no other reason. He would certainly not expect any warmth of welcome from the occasion, though. But he had none to offer in return anyway.
Joy turned out to be a welcome distraction to them all during those early days, as very young children often are. She clung to Ben at tea on the first day and only occasionally peeped at her new relatives. Then Owen took a large white handkerchief from his pocket and, without saying anything, made out of it a bird with wings that fluttered. The bird chirruped cheerfully through lips Owen managed to keep motionless. Joy peeped and stared. Then Owen slowly pulled a long, thin white worm from the bird’s beak until the whole thing collapsed in on itself. Joy chuckled and pointed and looked up at her father.
After that Stephanie crossed to the pianoforte and picked out a simple tune on the keyboard. When Joy peeped, she beckoned.
“Come and see,” she said. “Come and play too.”
At first Joy hid again. Then, when Stephanie resumed playing, she wriggled off Ben’s lap and toddled over to take a closer look. Soon she was on Stephanie’s lap and banging both palms down onto the keys and looking up over her shoulder for approval. Philippa went to dance beside the pianoforte and then coaxed Joy to dance with her while Stephanie played. Joy, holding her aunt’s hands, bounced on the spot in time to the music and laughed while looking to make sure her father was still where she had left him and could see her.
During those days not a single mention was made of Devlin and Ben’s father. Yet his presence seemed to loom over every moment the family spent in company with one another. There was something about the atmosphere that was heavy with unspoken sentiment and unresolved issues. Yet no one showed any willingness to address any of them. Least of all Devlin. His father was like a yawning black hole in his memory.
In many ways nothing had changed. They had never spoken truth to one another, this family, though Devlin had not realized it until six years ago. They had lived with illusion and considered themselves happy. They did not speak truth now either. Not that they spoke falsehood. They said nothing at all that had real meaning, that addressed the great awkwardness that lived in their midst, almost like another family member. For the moment he was content to leave it that way. He did not want to stir up anything, least of all emotion. There were other things upon which he could concentrate his attention.
He spent much of his first full day at home in consultation with John Mason, the steward his father had employed to replace Ben. He appeared to be a good man, about the same age as Ben, a bit dull and plodding, maybe, but he was not being judged on his personality. He kept clear, thorough records, and the estates had shown a decent profit for each of the past six years. Whether any of those profits had come at the expense of the workers remained to be seen, but the records did also show a slight increase in wages for three of the six years and evidence that repairs and general maintenance had been done on the laborers’ cottages in the village.