Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(58)

He hated questions that had no clear answers. Had he done the right thing? The wrong thing? Did it really matter? He had done what he had done.

He could hear more of her words suddenly, just as if he were back in the dining room at Cartref that morning:

And if you loved me you would not be leaving me in this cowardly manner. You would be staying here and fighting for me. You would be persuading Dad to let you marry me, and you would be taking me off to Wales or somewhere to set up a new life with me instead of with your stupid foot regiment. You know nothing about love . . . A man does not leave the woman he loves . . . There is no warmth in you, Devlin. No give. You are all inflexible righteousness . . . I do not even like the real Devlin Ware. I am glad you are going away and never coming back.

Ah yes. She had used that ugly word—righteousness.

He had left her. He had not stayed and fought for her or for his ability to love at all, which had been slipping fast from his heart and was soon to be gone altogether. He thought of Ben and his Marjorie, such an unlikely couple but bound by a fidelity that was never demonstrative but was as steadfast as a rock. It would have lasted for a lifetime, Devlin was sure. It had lasted for Marjorie’s. And now Ben had Joy. Devlin thought of the women with whom he had lain, of the enjoyment he had had with them, of the liking and respect he had felt for every one of them.

But never a spark of love.

Had he been punishing himself when he left Gwyneth behind? For the fact that he had hurt his family? For perhaps destroying it? All for the sake of a truth that the adults among them, even his mother, had already seemed to know?

Yet he still felt sick to his stomach at the thought that his father had brought his mistress right into the home of his wife and children. Had the terrible indiscretion of it, the danger of it, somehow titillated him? He had been going to fornicate with her in the pavilion, only a stone’s throw from the ballroom, where his wife and his children were dancing. It was too bad that unbeknown to him one of his children had been closer than that, kissing his love down among the trees.

When he reached the house, Devlin was reluctant to go inside, where he might encounter his mother. He had still not been alone with her and did not want to be. They might find that they had to talk about more than just the weather and the health of every family member and acquaintance they could think of. Instead of proceeding up the steps, he went beneath one of the arches and through the tunnel to the courtyard and the rose arbor, though he realized the roses would no longer be blooming and that the fountain might have been turned off in preparation for the winter. The courtyard nevertheless would provide a quiet sanctuary for a while.

Too late he saw that there was already someone there—Philippa. She was alone and had nothing in her hands with which to occupy herself. They were holding the edges of her wool shawl. It was a lovely autumn day, but she should probably be wearing something warmer than that. The fountain was still turned on. She was gazing at it, but she turned her head to watch him coming. He could see that she was as sorry to see him as he was to see her. He could have turned and walked away. Perhaps he ought to have done so since it appeared she had come here for some solitude, just as he had. Instead he sat down on the love seat adjacent to hers.

He was home and he was master here and head of the family. This was not a fleeting visit. He was here to stay because it was his duty to do so. He could not avoid close encounters with his family forever. And did he really want to? He had given up everything six years ago for the sake of truth. He still believed in it as a fundamental value of life. Yet the opposite of truth was not just lies. It was also avoidance, the ignoring of what was uncomfortable. It was what he had done for his last year at home. It was what the adults of his family had done for years and years. Was he going to be content to perpetuate that? By simply saying nothing? By letting life just drift on, meandering about the silences?

Damn it all, why had he come back?

For a few moments he watched and listened to the fountain.

“I have been told,” he said then, “that there has been no summer fete here for the last few years.”

Pippa was looking at him, as she had done since his return, with an expression that was not openly hostile but was actually a bit worse. It was blank, lifeless. Or, if not quite that, then spiritless. “Not since I was fifteen,” she said.

“Why is that?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It was a lot of work. Mama did not want to do it any longer.”

With him and Ben and Nicholas all gone, that made sense. Organizing the fetes had involved an enormous amount of work for the whole family, not just their mother. The whole family except their father, who had always been useless. It was strange how the rest of them had skirted about that fact, perhaps convincing themselves that his great geniality to all was his contribution to preparing for the various social events at the hall. And perhaps it really had been a contribution of some value. There had always been an atmosphere of happy anticipation surrounding upcoming events at Ravenswood.

“What was the real reason?” he asked.

She looked away from him.

“I am sorry,” he said. “That was probably an unfair question. Was it terrible, Pippa? After I left?”

She shrugged. “What do you think?”

“Was it my fault?” he asked. Another unfair question. And even he was unable to answer it.

She pondered how to answer before replying. “We danced about the maypole with that woman,” she said. “Stephanie and I. Gwyneth Rhys too. Even you. I do not suppose she even was a widow. Or married. There was no husband who died tragically in the Indian wars. Shaw was probably not even her name. It would be too easy to put all the blame on her, though, as many people do. I suppose women like her are always seen as most to blame. But sometimes I think they do what they do because they have no choice. Because they do not wish to starve. How provoking of them!” She gave a hollow little laugh.