Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(9)

He had been unable to forget, however. For those words had been spoken at just the time when a horrible, stomach-churning suspicion had been creeping up on Devlin. His father was meticulous about performing his obligation each spring and taking his place in the House of Lords even though it meant leaving his family and going to London alone. He hated to leave, he protested each year as he hugged them all and even shed a tear or two, and assured them that the coming months would be dreary and endless until he could return for the summer.

Devlin had never doubted his sincerity. But, when he was in London himself, he discovered very quickly that his father did not pine for his home and family in the country while spending all his waking hours in London on House business or moping alone at his town house. Rather, he enjoyed an active, boisterous social life. He was something of a favorite with the ton and was invited everywhere.

He also seemed to be very well known in the greenroom of a certain theater, especially by the actresses and female dancers.

He seemed also to be well acquainted with the proprietor of an elegant house that was too exclusive to be known as a brothel.

And he had encouraged his son and heir to make free with the services offered by both. Sexual services.

Devlin had not liked that side of his father—which was never in evidence when he was at Ravenswood. He tried very hard not to think about it, perhaps because he was afraid of where his thoughts might lead him. His father after all had had at least one premarital liaison when he was a young man. There was Ben as evidence.

No, Devlin had not wanted to think about it at the time. He had chosen not to think about it since. Which was a bit unlike him. Normally he would talk with his father about anything that bothered him in any way.

Perhaps, he had concluded, he really was just a dull dog.

Or, to use Stephanie’s kinder description, a man with a sense of responsibility.

“Come on,” he said, grasping one of his sister’s braids and tugging gently on it. “Let’s get ready and go purchase those ribbons.”





Chapter Three





Miss Jane Miller, the younger of the two sisters who ran the general shop on the village green, helped Stephanie choose ribbons. They had just had in a new supply, she explained, in all colors of the rainbow and more.

“Choosing is not easy when there are so many lovely colors, is it?” she said when she saw her customer dithering. “But look at this orange one, Lady Stephanie. Is it not as vibrant as the loveliest sunset you have ever seen?”

“Oh yes, it is,” Stephanie agreed. “I must have one of those. And that one too. It is just the color of daffodils, my very favorite flower. Lady Rhys told me it is the flower of Wales.”

Devlin stood back, since his opinion as a mere male had not been solicited. He nodded a greeting to the vicar’s housekeeper and held the door open for her as she left the shop, a laden basket over one arm. He kept it open for Sally Holland, the blacksmith’s daughter, as she entered and for Lady Rhys and Gwyneth, who came in almost right behind her. Sally would have stood aside to allow them to be served first, but Lady Rhys insisted, after thanking her, that it was only fair that they await their turn. Miss Miller, meanwhile—the elder sister, Caroline, that was—promised to serve Sally as quickly as she possibly could but also pointed out to her more illustrious customer that since Jane was already wrapping Lady Stephanie’s ribbons, she might be free even sooner to offer her services.

“We are in no hurry at all, Miss Miller,” Lady Rhys assured her. “And here is Lord Mountford waiting too, like patience on a monument. How do you do, Devlin? Is Stephanie purchasing ribbons? They must be newly arrived. There was not much of a selection when I looked a fortnight ago.”

“Oh, Lady Rhys,” Stephanie said, turning her head and beaming. “One of them is just the color of daffodils. Come and see. It is for the maypole, and Dev is letting me choose because sometimes I think he must be color blind.”

Lady Rhys stepped up to the counter and Miss Jane opened the wrapping paper so she could see the ribbons Stephanie had chosen.

“Men often have execrable taste,” Lady Rhys said. “They would probably choose gray or brown if left to themselves.”

“That is just what I said.” Stephanie giggled happily.

Devlin meanwhile was left standing beside Gwyneth. He nodded to her. “Good morning, Gwyneth. Or is it afternoon? I have lost track of time.”

“So have I,” she told him. “We have just come from Mrs. Proctor’s. Mam and I were being measured for new dresses for the fete.”

“Ah. For the daytime or the evening?” he asked. “Or maybe both?”

“I already have a gown for the evening,” she said. “I have not worn it yet, though I have had it for a while. It was intended for the assembly after Easter, but we could not go. We all had colds.”

“I remember,” he said. “I was sorry. I missed you.”

“I daresay it was Idris you missed, not I,” she said.

It was a strange thing to say and not too gracious. “But I could not have danced with Idris,” he said. “It would have looked odd. People would have talked.”

Briefly and unexpectedly, she laughed. Gwyneth, he had always been aware, did not like him.

“Perhaps you will reserve the opening set of the ball for me,” he said, and then regretted speaking so impulsively. “Or maybe you have already promised it to Nick, or intend to. How about the second set, then?”