Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(86)

“But faithful to each other,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “But what would you do if I ever were unfaithful, Gwyneth? Would you turn a blind eye, provided I was discreet about it?”

“No,” she said. “I would make a fuss. A very noisy and very public one. I would shout it from the rooftops.”

“And leave me?” They had stopped walking and turned toward each other. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were flashing. “With our children?”

“Think again,” she said. “Ravenswood is to be my home. It will be my children’s home. You would be the one to leave, my lord Stratton. I would toss all your clothes and personal belongings out onto the lawn. I hope it would be raining in a great downpour.”

He felt closer to laughter than he had felt since he did not know when. There was a gleam of answering laughter in her eyes.

But it was not funny. Very few women reacted as Gwyneth said she would. His mother had not. And, according to his mother, women were brought up to endure, to put personal dignity and unquestioning loyalty to their men above all else.

“I will not be a comfortable wife, Devlin,” she said.

“Alas,” he said, “your warning has come too late.”

“I like it when you almost smile,” she said, turning to walk in the direction of the stables.

He fell into step beside her. “I cannot be the man you want, Gwyneth,” he said. “The one with whom you tumbled into love when you were no more than a girl. But I will never dishonor you.”

She smiled dazzlingly at him a minute or two later. “I am very proud of myself,” she said. “I have never made a proposal of marriage before. Nor, therefore, have I ever had one accepted before.”

“I thought it was a betrothal resumption suggestion, not a proposal,” he said. “I accepted on that understanding. After I have spoken with Sir Ifor, I will make you a formal offer of marriage and you will give me your answer. A man must be allowed some pride.”

“Very well,” she said, laughter in her voice. “But I will expect something extraordinary.” She turned her head to look very directly into his eyes, and he was almost knocked back on his heels, so much did she resemble the old Gwyneth. Just as though all the cobwebs of six years had been blown away without a trace. She did know what she was getting herself into, though. It did not matter to her.

Before they reached the stable yard, someone called to them from the front of the house. It was Stephanie, waving her arms and hurrying along beside the east wing toward them, a spring in her step, her face beaming. She was on her way home from choir practice, Devlin guessed. Miss Field always released her from the schoolroom on choir days, since music was considered an important part of her education.

“Sir Ifor told me you had ridden here after luncheon to call upon Mama, Gwyneth,” she cried when she was close. “I was hoping you would still be here. You have to come to the maypole dancing practice tomorrow evening.”

That still happened, did it? Devlin wondered if it was still held inside Sidney Johnson’s large barn every second week. And was Steph a regular attendee?

“I always love watching the dancers, Stephanie,” Gwyneth said. “But I have never felt any burning desire to be a regular part of the group.”

“But it is not to be maypole dancing tomorrow,” Stephanie explained. “Mr. Johnson went to London this past spring and spent a couple of months there. Edwina Rutledge was there too, for her second Season in a row. She apparently came to an understanding with the second son of a viscount while she was there. She says he is very handsome, though I have not seen him myself. They both know how to waltz—Mr. Johnson and Edwina, that is. And they are going to teach the steps tomorrow evening to anyone who wants to learn them. The orchestra members who are going to play at the assembly on Friday will be there too. There are going to be waltzes at the assembly.”

“The waltz?” Gwyneth said. “I saw it performed when I was in London for a few weeks two summers ago. It was very new then, and many people considered it quite scandalous.”

“Why?” Devlin asked, frowning. He had heard of the waltz, but he had never seen it performed. Was not a dance a dance?

“It is not danced in lines or sets,” Stephanie told him. “The two partners dance exclusively with each other.”

“I thought it was the most romantic dance I had ever seen,” Gwyneth said. “Unfortunately there is a silly rule in tonnish circles in London that one may not perform it in public until one has been approved by a patroness of Almack’s Club.”

“You must go tomorrow, Gwyneth,” Stephanie said before turning an eager face to her brother. “And you must go too, Devlin. Please, please? Mama will surely say no if I am the only one who wants to go. Owen will just pull a gargoyle face if I ask him, and Pippa never goes anywhere, and Ben never goes anywhere he cannot take Joy too. So it has to be you. Please, Dev? You will be able to waltz at the assembly, and as the sort-of host, it is probably important that you do. No one will dance with me, of course, even though Mama has said I may go, but just to see other people waltzing will be wonderful.”

Why did Pippa not go anywhere? Why would no one dance with Stephanie?

The two partners dance exclusively with each other.