The Magic of Love Series

by Margaret Locke

  Did any of his siblings know how contentious their parents’ marriage had been? Unlikely. It was he who’d often sneaked down to the library at night when he couldn’t sleep, seeking solace in a book, only to wander by his mother’s chamber or his father’s study and hear them arguing. Occasionally, he heard noises of an entirely different nature. As a young boy, he hadn’t understood them. As an adolescent, he’d been sure to hurry past, not wanting to acknowledge his parents were still driven by the flesh.

  And then his father would disappear again, back to London, back to the city and the temptations the duke loved, but which Deveric’s mother did not. Much of their time after Chance was born had been spent apart, though three sisters had followed. Neither one of them talked of his father’s unfaithfulness, of course, although it’d been common knowledge about Town, of which Deveric and his mother were painfully aware. To acknowledge it wasn’t proper.

  When once Deveric had asked his father for advice on matters of the heart, his father had shut him down.

  “Focus on begetting heirs, my boy,” he’d said. “You needn’t feel anything for your wife; she’s not likely to return it. Women are fickle.” His father had eyed him under those ferocious eyebrows and commanded, “Find love where you wish. You shall be a duke. You may do as you please.”

  That had often been his father’s guidance: “Do as you please.” Except, of course, when that went against his father’s other myriad commandments regarding how a gentleman, or a Claremont, behaved.

  Deveric stuck a leg out from under the covers. Gingerly, he sat up, trying not to move too quickly, lest he worsen the pounding in his head. Had doing whatever he wanted, sporting with all those women, made his father happy? It’d certainly made his mother miserable.

  Was his mother’s sorrow over his father’s carousing the reason Deveric had no interest in it? Besides the fact he didn’t want to kill anyone else, of course.

  Deveric didn’t know. He did know what he wanted to do most was go back to Clarehaven and drink in Eliza’s amazing blue eyes, run his fingers through her soft flaxen hair, kiss her luscious pink lips ... and question her all over again about the future. It fascinated him, the things she knew that he didn’t.

  A knock came at the door, followed by Arthington bellowing, “Get up, lazy bones. It’s near four o’clock and I thought we might take a gander through Hyde Park. I’m wearing my newest waistcoat.”

  Four o’clock? How was that possible? It’s possible, his head screamed, when you don’t set the bottle down until after the sun is up. He groaned. He wasn’t ready to face the day. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, his fantasies about the amazing American at Clarehaven.

  The door popped open a few inches. “Don’t you know, you clot pole,” Deveric snapped, “that no one disturbs a duke?”

  “Except a fellow duke, perhaps,” Arth quipped, ducking the goblet Deveric snatched from the table and lobbed at his head. It fell to the floor with a thud. “Amazing. It didn’t even shatter. That must be pricey crystal.”

  “Be quiet.”

  Arth sniggered. “Never could hold your drink, could you? Not that I know many who could consume an entire bottle alone. And then a second. By all rights, you should be dead.”

  “I feel dead. Now leave me be. I shall be down in half an hour.”

  “Wonderful,” Arthington said. “There is a certain lady I am hoping to see.”

  “And you need me?” Deveric muttered as he rose slowly from the bed.

  “Good God, man, warn a fellow!”

  Dev looked down. Damn, he was naked. When had he ever slept naked? He grabbed the bed covering and held it around him.

  “Be off,” he snarled at his friend.

  The door closed, but Deveric could hear Arthington call, “Keep the rumpled hair and surly expression. I can only look better in comparison.”

  Exactly half an hour later, Deveric strode into the foyer, hair carefully combed and impeccably groomed.

  “My, my, one would never guess you had single-handedly tried to drink all of White’s under the table last night,” Arth joked as he examined his friend. “Except perhaps for the eyes; they’re a little on the red side.”

  “Cook gave me her amazing remedy. I don’t want to know what’s in it, and Lord knows it tastes like swill, but I know of nothing better for ridding the headache.”

  Emerlin sauntered into the hall, wearing a closely fitted coat of blue superfine wool enhanced with a red waistcoat.

  “You look like a peacock!” Arthington poked his friend in the arm.

  Emerlin’s cheeks tweaked up in a grin. “Tell me that again when all the ladies are preening for my attention,” he said in his lilting accent.

  Deveric rolled his eyes. These two. He couldn’t imagine better friends, or people more perfect for plucking him out of his doldrums than Arthington and Emerlin.

  The three men exited the back door and walked to the mews, where their horses were already saddled and waiting.

  “Tell me why I’m doing this again?” Deveric said as he mounted his horse and they ambled off. “I’ve never enjoyed the Hyde Park parade. Too many people, too much horse dung.”

  “Because, as you know, I need to marry, to produce an heir, lest my dastardly uncle get his hands on the estate,” Arthington said. “And so I must ensnare a fine filly. And because you need to get back up on the horse, as well, so to speak.”

  “I prefer an actual woman,” Deveric muttered. One woman in particular. He’d like to ride her—or perhaps have her ride him. His groin pulsed just imagining it. Ludicrous.

  “It’s nice to hear you prefer anything,” Em said. “I’d feared we needed to procure you monastic robes.”

  The burning of his ears told Deveric they’d turned red. Great. As if these two needed more ammunition. He flicked his hat against his thigh, urging his horse forward so that he needn’t respond.

  They rode in silence, his friends’ gazes on the people around him. Dev’s thoughts flitted back to the people—person—at Clarehaven. How he wished he were there.

  Arthington adjusted his cravat as they turned into the park, his eyes already scouting the ladies in nearby carriages. He grinned. “Shall we drop into Watier’s for a quick bit after this?”

  “A bit? Of what sort? Food? Female? Cards?” Emerlin’s dimples were out in full force as he teased his friend. A young lady strolling to their side stumbled as she saw him, her cheeks pinking. They drop like flies wherever he goes.

  Deveric sighed. He’d had enough of gaming hells. Between his uncle and his brother, he was forever dragging someone away from the tables. He’d managed to satisfy the creditors this week, promising he was good for his uncle’s debts, but he wasn’t happy about it.

  All he wanted to do was return to Clarehaven, return to Eliza. If his friends knew of his obsession for his American “cousin,” however, he’d never hear the end of it. He had to play his part, at least for now.

  Cracking a grin, he winked at the two men. “Why limit ourselves, my friends?”

  Chapter 26

  It’d been a week. The days had passed slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

  Not that Eliza didn’t enjoy her time with Deveric’s son. She did; Freddy was an inquisitive, clever young boy who loved peppering her with questions about Virginia and the world. His winsome grin and enthusiasm for life wormed their way into her heart in no time. In spite of his initial distrust, he warmed to her rapidly, his eyes lighting up whenever she came to see him. If only his father were so easy to win over. She couldn’t exactly forge a relationship with someone who wasn’t there.

  Every day, Freddy gained strength, though he still rested each afternoon, a concession Eliza had made to Nurse Pritchett. She and the nurse hadn’t exactly mended fences, but they weren’t openly antagonistic to one another, either. Eliza suspected Nurse Pritchett enjoyed having some time off.

  When Freddy rested, Eliza had time to herself. Occasionally, she walked in the gardens with Amara, or discusse
d books with Grace, or listened to Emmeline plan for the upcoming London Season—the one Deveric’s mother made quite clear Eliza wouldn’t attend. Even the dowager, however, grew less hostile in her interactions as the week went on, evidently satisfied with Eliza’s efforts with her grandson.

  In the late afternoons, Eliza and Freddy visited the pups. It quickly became her favorite time of day, not only because she herself loved dogs and delighted in seeing Freddy so happy with them, but because she and Mr. Sayers conversed on a number of topics. Eliza learned much about the care of hunting dogs, of horses, of local villages and the pattern of days, and seasons. If he was surprised at her lack of knowledge, he never showed it, never talked down to her, but treated her rather as a friend.

  Occasionally, Eliza wondered if something more sparked in his eye. He wasn’t an unpleasant man to look at, his face weathered from years of outdoor work, but his eyes a pleasing gray, and his chin strong and square.

  Too bad she felt nothing in return. Her heart already belonged to Deveric. She missed his intelligence, his teasing wit, even his rather stoic demeanor, such a contrast to her own exuberant and expressive nature. She missed the nearly tangible current that flowed between them whenever they were in the same room, missed the butterflies of anticipation and nervousness that fluttered in her stomach whenever he was near.

  Frederick sometimes told her stories of things he’d done with his father, such as when Deveric had let Freddy ride on the front of Lightning with him, or showed him the fish swimming in the nearby lake, or read stories to him before bed. The wistful tone in the little boy’s voice told Eliza he missed his dad as much as she did.

  Where was Deveric? It had been a week. Was he coming back? Or was he merely waiting for his family to join him in London? Amara said they were traveling there in a week’s time, after all. Without her.

  Uh, Cat? What went wrong? How is this conducive to building a relationship? Are we betting on an ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ deal?

  She just wanted him to come home.

  “Pirate’s doing well, isn’t he, Eliza?” Freddy pointed to the pup, which had grown at such a rate he was nearly the size of his brothers and sisters. Eliza suspected Mr. Sayers must have been taking extra measures to help the small dog.

  “He is. Much like you, don’t you think?”

  Freddy grinned. “I do feel ever so much better!”

  “A little love goes a long way.” Goodness, had she said that out loud? Frederick didn’t notice; he’d already sprawled on the ground so that the dogs could lick him, but Mr. Sayers tipped his head to her, a knowing look in his eye.

  She’d grown so fond of the boy in just a week. It surprised her, this depth of feeling. She’d babysat often as a teenager, but that was for money, not because she liked kids. She adored little Freddy, however.

  She bit her lip, worrying at it with her teeth. His father should be here, should be witnessing his son’s transformation, his zest for everything around him. A boy needed his dad. “Deveric should be here,” she blurted out.

  The hounds master raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Did he disagree? Or was it because she’d called Claremont Deveric again?

  “Don’t you think a boy needs male attention?”

  The older man shrugged. “He has you. Me. Nurse Pritchett. And the sisters sometimes entertain him. I saw Emmeline spinning a hoop with him on the grounds just yesterday.”

  “Well, yes, they do, but it’s not the same. Children need their parents.”

  She’d needed hers. Wanted hers. They hadn’t been unloving, her mom and dad, just always busy. Dad’s work as a management consultant had him traveling all the time for business, and Mom, as a school principal, had constantly been in meetings, dousing one fire or another. Not much time had been left over for Eliza.

  If and when she had kids, she’d sworn it would be different.

  “Did De—His Grace get along well with his father?” She’d asked a similar question a week ago and he’d shot her down.

  This time, however, Mr. Sayers sighed before admitting, “His Grace showed little interest in him. According to Mrs. Wiggins, he only cared whether or not his son behaved in ways befitting his station. The old duke had strong ideas about those behaviors.”

  Mrs. Wiggins was the housekeeper. Eliza hadn’t spoken with her much, but the woman had never been less than polite, and Betsy said she treated the housemaids with respect. Good enough in Eliza’s book.

  The hounds master cleared his throat. “When His Grace decided he preferred London to Clarehaven, we were not displeased. The dowager seemed happier to remain here without her husband, as well. She could turn more of a blind eye to his ... indiscretions that way.”

  Dowager Dragon or not, no woman deserved a husband who treated her like that. Unexpected sympathy flooded her for Deveric’s mother.

  Eliza studied Freddy, with his mop of auburn hair and darling square chin, trying to picture Deveric at that age. She thought of the knuckle-rapping Nurse Pritchett had given him, how it had not fazed the boy. “Did the previous duke beat his children?” She clapped her hand over her mouth, not believing she’d asked that question.

  Mr. Sayers’ eyes clouded. “Lord Chance bore the brunt of his ire often, yes. I do not know about the current duke. At least the old duke left his daughters alone. I’m grateful for Lady Amara’s sake, though, that he was not alive when ...” He stopped talking.

  “Yes, I know about that,” Eliza said. “Hardly her fault, and completely unfair that she should suffer so much because some jerk took advantage of her.”

  “Jerk?”

  “An American expression. Basically a man without honor.”

  “A fitting word, then.”

  She walked over to check on Freddy, who’d grown quiet as he leaned against the side of the stone wall to watch the puppies. “Why, he’s asleep!” she said, her cheeks crinkling in amusement.

  “He is still recovering. Perhaps he shouldn’t be outside for so long.”

  “Or perhaps this is exactly what he needs. Being cooped up in that nursery all day with Nurse Pritchett can’t be good for anyone’s health.”

  “No, indeed,” the hounds master said, a slight smile escaping him.

  “What did Lord Chance do to displease his father so often?” She was being extra nosy, but she couldn’t imagine that charming scamp ever being a true problem. He certainly didn’t show any ill effects, as far as she could see.

  “I don’t know that it was anything he did. I think it was his mere existence.”

  Eliza cocked her head at him. “How do you mean?”

  He shifted on his feet, tugging on the brim of his hat. “His Grace was convinced Chance was not his son.”

  “What?”

  “He never publicly accused her. Thank goodness. Chance was born seven months after the last time His Grace had visited Clarehaven. The duke had been gone before that for another five. Although Her Grace insisted Chance came early, His Grace had his doubts. Mrs. Wiggins overheard him demand the boy be named Chance because there was only a chance he was Claremont’s.”

  “That’s awful!” Eliza exclaimed. “Although do you think? The dowager?” Eliza couldn’t imagine the woman indulging in passion with anyone, much less two different people.

  “No. I don’t. I was here, a young man at the time. It was an unexpected and messy birth. Both the dowager duchess and Chance almost died. He was exceptionally tiny. An exact image of the duke, though.”

  Eliza mulled that over. Emmeline, Grace, and Becca were all younger than Chance. The dowager had taken the reprobate back into her bed?

  Mr. Sayers shuffled his feet, his mouth twisting down. “I have said too much. You make one feel ... at ease in your presence, Mrs. James.” His voice softened as he said those words.

  Eliza avoided his eyes. She didn’t want to encourage tender feelings on his part, but she was desperate for information. Asking his sisters didn’t feel right, and she didn’t want to put Betsy in an aw
kward position. Guilt tugged at her conscience.

  Accused of infidelity by her husband and then her daughter’s seduction made public? No wonder the Dragon adhered so rigidly to social etiquette, determined to never let scandal shadow the family name again.

  What could be more scandalous than an unpolished, untitled American widow after her son? Not to mention the time-traveler part—not, of course, that Eliza would ever reveal that. I haven’t got a shot with her.

  Eliza’s shoulders fell. What had she gotten herself into?

  The mama dog yelped as a puppy bit her ear, and Freddy stirred.

  “I should get Frederick back to the house.”

  Mr. Sayers pulled at his collar. “I should not have shared so much.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Sayers. I will hold everything in strictest confidence. I would not dishonor our friendship.” She emphasized the last word, hoping he’d get the message.

  He touched his fingers to the edge of his hat, giving a grateful dip of his head.

  Freddy yawned and stood up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  “I think this has been enough of a lesson for one day,” Eliza said. “You look like you need a nap.”

  “I’ve just had one!” Frederick protested as he stumbled sleepily toward the door. “Please take care of Pirate, Mr. Sayers. I want him to live.”

  “I’ll do my best, lad,” the older man responded with an affectionate glance. “I want him to live, too.”

  With the way the hounds master’s eyes trailed after the young boy, Eliza had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t referring to the pup.

  Chapter 27

  Deveric nodded to every female they passed in the Park and engaged in polite conversation with more than a few, but his head and heart weren’t in it.

  “We might as well secure invitations to Almack’s if you’re serious about this, Arth, rather than freeze out here,” Em said. He rubbed his hands together and pulled the neck of his coat more tightly around his ears. “Why am I part of this, anyway? No proper English lass would seriously consider me.”