Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(60)

Then he frowned as he heard the echo of something Pippa had said when she was talking about going—or rather about not going—to London for a come-out Season. I would not go when I was eighteen, she had said. I did not want to.

Why?

Their father had still been alive. Things had changed here at Ravenswood for the worse, but would not that very fact have made her all the more eager to escape to the pleasures awaiting her in London? Would she not have dreamed all the more of meeting someone and falling in love and marrying and all the rest of it? She had been eighteen, for the love of God.

What the devil had happened?





Chapter Fifteen





Those days when there had been frequent social gatherings of any considerable size at Ravenswood Hall were long in the past and almost forgotten about by some. They were sadly missed by others. Now, however, all the families with some claim to gentility in the village and beyond had been invited to a formal tea, and their numbers were expected to be so large that it was to take place not in the more intimate setting of the family drawing room or dining room, but in the largest of the reception rooms in the west wing, a room exceeded in size only by the ballroom and the gallery.

The occasion had been billed as a welcome-home reception for the Earl of Stratton. And everyone, it seemed, wanted to attend, whether they felt kindly toward the earl or not. They wanted to see what changes a six-year absence had wrought in his appearance and to hear him speak if he should deign to do more than bow politely to them. They wanted to be able to discuss him afterward with one another and pass on their observations to anyone who had had the misfortune to miss the occasion. That number was not likely to be large, however. It was being said that not a single invitation had been rejected.

Gwyneth’s feeling of relief over having already seen Devlin and spoken with him had dissipated overnight. For it was not enough to have come face-to-face with him when they were virtually alone together. Now she was going to have to do it again while dozens of pairs of curious eyes looked on. It was too much to hope no one would remember that on that most ghastly of horrid nights Devlin had been clinging to her hand, making it obvious to anyone with an ounce of sense that she had been with him on the pavilion hill when he encountered his father.

It did help that she was going to have Aled with her, however. He had been very attentive last evening and had made her forget her annoyance over being ignored for hours on end at the church. He had taken her for a stroll outside after dinner, before darkness descended completely. He had leaned an elbow on the top of the wooden stile while she sat on it and had gazed across the meadow and told her he must have a talk with her father one day soon and then with her. That was all. He had not added any explanation or poured out his undying love for her. He had not kissed her, though she had hoped he would. It was ridiculous at her age to have been kissed only once in her life. But he had looked at her and smiled, and his smile had promised much and warmed her to her toes. Afterward, he had asked her to play her harp and had praised her and offered suggestions and had her play one section of one piece over and over until he had nodded and smiled warmly at her and declared that before it had been only very, very good, but now it was perfection.

Gwyneth felt distinctly queasy when she saw the crowd in the reception room at Ravenswood. Her eyes took in a head table at one end of the room and a number of round tables set out in the rest of it. All were covered with starched white cloths and set with matching china and crystal and silver with a vase of flowers—presumably from the greenhouses—at the center. Very few people were seated yet, however. Everyone was moving about, greeting friends and neighbors, talking in hearty tones, laughing a great deal. There was no receiving line inside the doors. It would have been a bit absurd when everyone knew almost everyone else—except Aled, of course. But the countess was close to the doors, her eldest son beside her, welcoming the guests as they arrived.

Gwyneth and Aled had become separated from the rest of her family while he had dawdled along the corridor outside, gazing upward to admire the fretwork up close to the ceiling.

“It is always a privilege to be invited inside one of England’s stately houses,” he had told her. “It seems that Idris came home at just the right time, bringing me with him.”

After stepping into the reception room they paused to greet the countess and thank her for inviting them. Gwyneth introduced Aled. The Countess of Stratton was still beautiful, though she must be nearer fifty than forty by now. She was still elegant and gracious. But Gwyneth remembered the warmth and charm that had once clung about her like an aura. They had vanished even before she was widowed. She offered Aled her hand as he inclined his head to her.

“You are the Welsh musician who is staying with the Rhyses at Cartref,” she said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Morgan. But are not all Welsh people musicians?”

Aled laughed as he shook her hand. “Indeed we are, ma’am,” he said. “I believe there is even a law. I am not quite sure about that, but if there is not, then there ought to be.”

“Except that we do not need a law to persuade us to make music,” Gwyneth said.

“True enough,” Aled agreed, and the countess smiled at him.

Devlin shook his hand too and Gwyneth looked directly at him for the first time today. Inevitably she made comparisons between the two men. Aled was taller and more slender. His light brown hair was wavy and a bit unruly. He had a long, good-humored, expressive face. He was smiling now. Devlin was half a head shorter and of a more solid build, unlike his slenderness six years ago. He looked rugged, like a man who spent a great deal of his time outdoors. His dark hair was neatly combed. His face, as she had noticed yesterday, was bronzed and hard and scarred. He was not smiling, though he was behaving with perfect good breeding. But he was looking as though he would rather be anywhere else on earth than where he was.