Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(62)

She had always liked Ben, Gwyneth realized. She had also unconsciously relegated him in her mind to a secondary place behind the rest of the family because he was not a Ware, though he was the son of the late earl. That had been very wrong of her. She could see and feel the kindness in him now. She could also feel the edge of defensiveness. He expected to be seen as somewhat inferior to his half brothers and sisters. He wanted her to know that he was not ashamed of who he was or of who his wife had been. And he was going to devote his life to seeing that his daughter never had to fight for respect.

“I am glad you went away with Devlin,” she said. “I think he very desperately needed you at that time. Is that why you went?” She had always wondered. He had been the steward of his father’s properties then, and an excellent one too, according to her father. He had not, apparently, become either an officer or an enlisted man himself.

“It was part of the reason,” he said.

He did not volunteer the other part of it, and she did not ask. The conversation at the table became general at that point. But it was not hard to guess. His father had just been exposed as a philanderer. He had brought a mistress to Boscombe and Ravenswood, and everyone had guessed, if they had not already known, that she did not represent his one and only lapse into infidelity. Not when one remembered that throughout his married life he had spent a few months of the spring each year in London without the countess. And when one recalled that even before his marriage he had had at least one mistress—Ben’s mother.

A while later, just when Gwyneth was beginning to feel almost relaxed, the countess got to her feet. Mr. Greenfield, her father, coughed loudly and tapped the side of his teacup with the spoon from his saucer, and everyone turned their attention toward the head table and stopped talking.

The countess thanked them all for coming to join her family in welcoming her son, the Earl of Stratton, home. She informed them that she looked forward to further such gatherings in the future. She did not add much more. And she did not mention her son by name, Gwyneth noticed, only by his title. There was polite applause.

Devlin rose to reply. He looked about at them all, his eyes pausing a moment upon her before they moved on.

“Thank you, Mother, for this lavish welcome,” he said, and it was unclear whether he intended any irony. “And thank you all for coming and in such impressive numbers. I wish you to know that I am here to stay and intend to do my duty to the earldom, to Ravenswood, and to the neighborhood around it. I intend to see to it that everyone is always welcome here, during open days when the park is available to anyone who wishes to enjoy it, and during the various social events that will be arranged here. I intend to restore the annual Christmas ball and the summer fete, among other things.”

There was a buzz of interest among his guests, and perhaps some surprise too. For he certainly looked both morose—to use Aled’s word—and uncomfortable, so unlike the late earl, his father, who had reveled in speech giving and in drawing smiles and laughter from his audience.

“I will not, however, expect my mother to do all the work of planning such events,” he added. “She did it superlatively well for many years, but she has earned a rest. I will employ someone to do what she did so graciously and uncomplainingly for so long.”

His words were greeted with applause.

“I am not much of a public speaker,” he said. “I will end this one without further rambling. Thank you again for coming. I will do myself the honor of paying a return call upon each of you in the coming weeks.”

This time the applause was a little more prolonged, and Gwyneth thought of how typical the speech was of Devlin, with its emphasis upon doing his duty—and not expecting others, most notably his mother, to do any of it for him. How very much against the grain it must be for him to promise social events at Ravenswood and visits to each of his neighbors when he probably did not even know which were friendly toward him and which might be hostile. She suspected, though, that it would not matter to him in which camp they lay. They had come here this afternoon, and therefore he would return the courtesy.

Ah, Devlin, she thought. Perhaps you have not changed all that much after all. You are still a decent man.

The guests began to leave, and Idris found his way to Gwyneth’s side. He set an arm loosely about her shoulders and spoke in her ear.

“All right?” he asked her.

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “Of course I am all right.” She had not told any of them about her walk with Devlin yesterday.

His eyes searched hers before he moved away to take his leave of Devlin, who was standing near the door. She watched the two of them clasp hands and exchange a few words, and then she turned to leave the room with Aled and her parents.

Yes, of course she was all right. Of course she was.



* * *



—

Devlin went up to the nursery with Ben, a plate heaped with sandwiches, cakes, and pastries in his hand. He was so hugely relieved to have that ridiculous tea behind him and he would have been happier to retreat to his own rooms or go striding off to somewhere secluded outdoors. But he would not allow himself that luxury.

“Magnificent speech,” Ben told him.

“I thought so too,” Devlin said. “And who says a speech has to last longer than one minute?”

“It was its very brevity that made it so magnificent,” his brother said. “It is a pity you were destined to be the earl, Dev. You would have been a very popular clergyman. No sermon longer than two minutes. You could have advertised that fact on the church board outside.”