by Liz Tyner
He let the wisps of her hair feather his face, but then he retreated, confronted with the innocence of her eyes, velvety, and with lashes that could sweep his feet from under him and swirl them into a bedroom.
He beheld her innocence and suspected how much grief Tenney had caused her, and he could not further something that would be unfair to her.
Anger at Tenney, frustration with her innocence and his demand within himself to do the right thing for her flickered to life inside him. He distanced himself even more. ‘You’ll find something that works for you and it will get easier.’
Then he took the key from the wall and put it in her hand. ‘Lock up behind me and expect an invitation, courtesy of my mother’s machinations, to arrive tomorrow.’ He leaned closer, whispering, ‘It was lost in the post and found just this afternoon. And there will be more. The social Season will be starting in earnest as people return from the countryside. So have your dancing slippers at the ready and be sure to thank my mother for her wondrous idea to bring you into the pomp of the social world.’
‘I suspect it is the son’s machinations that I am to thank.’
He opened the door, lingering longer. ‘Do not forget, you are the scarred phoenix, rising from a broken betrothal, to some day become a woman who has her life in her own hands and will comprehend what it is like to control a successful endeavour as well.’
‘It will be easier with you there.’
‘I wouldn’t normally attend and I don’t want to draw more attention to the suggestion that I am the cause of your broken betrothal. I’d already agreed to be at my uncle’s house that day and I’ll be too late arriving home.’
He saw the hesitation in her eyes. He paused, still clasping the wood.
He wanted her to know he wasn’t deserting her. That it was truly best for her not to appear attached so soon after Tenney. ‘You will have everyone at your feet.’
In the night, standing in front of the light, she appeared a waif, lost, with luminous eyes and lovely lips. And he fell at her feet.
He clasped her waist again and the warmth of her skin melded into his. The planning dissolved—all he saw was Rachael and he could feel her breaths.
The kiss was brief, but he felt it searing through him, changing too much, too quickly. He stepped away, quickly, ending the intensity. Ending their connection.
He pulled his assurance back into himself. ‘You’ll be the most important person there.’
With that, he brushed a hand over her shoulder, a reassuring pat, and he left.
He’d not realised how dark the night was and how cold it had turned.
Chapter Twelve
Two evenings later, Rachael tested her balance on her shoes. She hoped she didn’t topple from her heels.
She leaned towards the mirror and studied the face that peered at her. This was definitely her best. Better than her best. But was it enough?
Her hair had never taken so long to be arranged, but it was swept up so naturally that she would have guessed it had tumbled into place on its own if she’d not been the one waiting for it to be finished. Some of the curls had been purchased, but they blended so well with her own locks that no one would detect the difference.
It had taken most of the day to become the person in the mirror. The stranger. A confident woman. Not just the woman with the burned derrière and the one who’d spent much of her life waiting for a marriage that would never happen.
She feared she hadn’t chosen the correct jewels. She’d picked them because she felt hidden behind them and now she doubted she’d made the right decision. The necklace felt foreign against her skin and dangled against the bodice of her dress. The sapphires were lovely, but they overpowered her.
She straightened. The dress was a plain blue silk, one that was a favourite, but she wasn’t sure it was elegant enough.
Her burns suddenly ached because she’d been so tense and even her body didn’t feel like hers.
A different person stared at her from the mirror. One who blinked when she did and shifted when she did.
She brushed her cheek, then felt a tremble in her fingers.
She tried to get her hand to be still, thankful she would be wearing gloves if someone asked her to dance. Hopefully no one would scrutinise her closely and see the shaking.
But if they did...
And who would partner her?
She didn’t know the people holding the event and she likely didn’t know any of the men her age. No one would request a dance. She gulped in air.
In the past, she’d only danced a few dances with anyone other than Tenney and it hadn’t bothered her in the least to be a wallflower. She’d used Tenney as an invisible partner. A beau who couldn’t be there. Not dancing had appeared a natural choice, but now she wondered if she’d hidden behind him.
Devlin expected the impossible. He just didn’t see it because he’d been born with so much at his fingertips. People separated, giving him room to join their ranks when he arrived in a room, and it had been so natural no one around him noticed. He had no idea that she only frequented the edges of that same group.
She wouldn’t be able to increase her father’s business. She would be a hindrance to it. No one would respect her and everyone would speak of her broken betrothal. She wouldn’t be a scarred phoenix. She’d be a burned goose.
Rachael studied the face gazing at her from the mirror.
She leaned down, putting both hands on the dressing table, stilling them by pressing against the wood. Then she picked up her gloves, pulled one on, pressed the fabric in place at her fingers, and repeated the process with her other one.
She couldn’t do it. She would ruin what remained of the goodwill her family had. Her lack of social graces could cause people to dismiss the shop because they belonged to that awkward woman’s family.
Searching out her mother, she found her leaving her room.
‘Goodness, you’re beautiful,’ her mother gasped. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you.’
Rachael felt her last vestiges of faith in herself plummet.
‘Your father is making sure the carriage is ready for us,’ her mother said. ‘I can’t believe we have been invited to this event. Those days we spent with the Countess...’ She let out a breath. ‘I never imaged our lives could change so in such a short time.’
Rachael nodded. ‘We have a slipper in the door of the best society, Mother.’
‘It is a tenuous grasp at best.’
‘True.’ She touched her mother’s arm, capturing her attention. Her mother would be a better ambassador than she would.
‘I don’t feel well, Mother. Please let it be known that I couldn’t attend due to a megrim. My head feels like it could start pounding and I’m sure the drive there will make it worse, plus the music will not do me any favours.’
‘Rachael—’ Her mother gasped. ‘This is a chance for you to meet other men now that your betrothal is over.’
‘But I can’t go. Something is wrong.’ She held out her hand and showed her mother the trembling. ‘I can’t risk being out and about when I feel so unsettled.’
‘Then none of us will go. If you’re really ill, I don’t want you left alone.’
‘Nonsense. Of course you can attend. You must. This is a chance for you and Father to be among society. Please, pass along my sincerest regrets to everyone.’
‘I’m not sure...’ Her mother studied Rachael.
‘You accepted the invitation and you cannot, cannot, let the Countess down because she wanted you to be there. Please.’
It wasn’t the Countess Rachael feared letting down. It was her family. And Devlin. She could never be the person he wished her to be. It would be better to let him find out now than for her to begin a charade that would only end in defeat.
She hoped he could understand.
His plan for
her to belong in society was overreaching. She was a shopkeeper’s daughter and could not find common ground with a duke’s daughter, or a woman who had had tea with the Regent’s mother.
Devlin had been born in that world and he didn’t understand the invisible barriers. Money sometimes erased the walls, but she didn’t have that any more. This wasn’t a game. It was a losing battle and she was no Wellington.
Chapter Thirteen
Devlin stopped by his mother’s sitting room after his late breakfast. She sat by the window, her reading glasses low on her nose, and her teacup in one hand and a pencil in the other.
Devlin greeted her and walked around to peer over her shoulder at a list of instructions for the housekeeper.
‘She wasn’t there last night.’ His mother put down the cup. ‘Oh, my, the tea is cold. Terrible error of me to let it sit so long. But, no, Miss Albright was not in attendance.’
He’d not considered himself so transparent.
He held himself perfectly still. Well, that was the way of things. Rachael was her own person. If she did not want his interference, so be it.
He gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgement to his mother’s words. But inside, he felt as if she’d been a sweetheart and he’d been at the event, and she’d chosen to stay home rather than to see him.
‘Mrs Albright confided that she suspected the dissolution of her daughter’s acquaintance with Mr Tenney had put her out of sorts for dancing.’
‘Should have made her want to dance.’
‘I suppose.’ His mother turned, staring at him from over her spectacles. She took another sip of her tea. ‘Just don’t cause more grief for her.’
Grief? The only one he would like to cause problems for was the man she’d fancied.
She rested her cup in its saucer, a light whisper of china against china sounding in the silent room. ‘It’s not that I dislike her or would be upset if you were to court her. I just don’t see you pursuing such a gentle sort. She’s not used to the world around us. And people can be cruel. You can only promote someone so much and then it is up to them. Besides, you should know... I’ve heard rumours that the businesses owned by her father are not—are looking a little drab.’
‘She needs this.’
‘If she doesn’t want to flounce about in society, you should accept that. Not everyone is happy spending an hour dressing, an hour getting her hair fixed, a carriage ride when trussed so tightly you can’t breathe, then dancing with men you can hardly tolerate when they’re sober, much less when wobbly from a strong punch. Punch, the drink. Not the action.’ She made a fist with the pencil enclosed in it and jabbed the air.
‘You make it sound like an ordeal to be in society.’
‘No.’ She rotated to write another word on her list. ‘I enjoy it, but not everyone does. And I don’t know that she would. Don’t try to make her into a female version of yourself. We all return to our true characters.’
‘She must become more visible.’
She didn’t raise her head from her writing. ‘If she embarrasses herself, it won’t further her. And the poor girl doesn’t seem to have a knack for being at ease.’
‘She can learn.’
‘Yes.’ His mother let out a sigh. ‘And I can learn to cook. Don’t hold your breath. You’d be much better off eating one of my stunning flower arrangements than any macarons I might make.’
‘Your florals do look good enough to eat,’ he said, his mind still on Rachael as he bent to kiss his mother’s cheek.
‘I agree.’ She gave his shoulder an absent-minded pat, her attention returning to the paper. ‘I’ll manage it so that she gets a few more invitations, but she’s going to have to put her heart into it and her mother will have to respond with at least a few invites to tea soon, or it’s all going to be a waste of time.’
He stepped to the door.
‘I expected you to be gone today,’ she said. ‘How did your trip with your father and his brother go?’
‘Uncle Ted’s in better health. He sends his love. Or at least half of it. He said he doesn’t want to steal you from Father.’
‘Did he say that in front of your father?’
‘Of course. Father didn’t think it clever.’
‘You’re more like Ted than your father. You favour the Earl in appearance, but you inherited a brain from somewhere and I can’t think it was from your father. It had to be his brother.’
‘Could it have been from you?’ He stopped at the threshold. ‘You told me that the Hinshaw estates were for sale for a pittance because the Duke needed funds to invest in his shipyard immediately.’
She returned to her list, lifted her cup again and pushed her glasses higher on her nose. ‘Had to wait a while to sell it, but we made a tidy profit, didn’t we? Ruffled your father’s feathers.’ Her chuckle was low. ‘Loved it.’
Devlin remembered those days. He was surprised he’d not walked around with his hair standing straight out in fear. He’d taken a risk by using the strength of his future inheritance to secure the loan.
It had been frightening to invest everything his mother truly had that was her own, but she’d insisted, and then he’d had to locate the rest of the purchase price.
‘Until then, your father deemed you a youth and couldn’t get past those days when he was never questioned, just followed.’ She flicked a fingernail over the paper. ‘By both of us.’
His father had been angry and hadn’t recovered quickly. Yet as he got over the irritation, he’d treated them both more respectfully. Devlin’s parents’ relationship even improved.
‘We made a considerable profit.’ He’d not cared particularly about the profit, but just that he’d not indebted himself for the future.
Movement in the room ceased except for his mother’s face. ‘It was a strike for independence, not just for yours, but for mine as well. Your father took it better than I judged he would.’
‘We didn’t make anything on the next one.’
‘We broke even. A good learning experience for us. So, it was a success. And now your father trusts you and you’ve worked tremendously in that devil-may-care I’m-just-enjoying-myself-and-what-property-are-you-hoping-to-sell? way you have about you.’ She focused her attention on her list again and mumbled, ‘I created a monster.’
Devlin’s stare jerked to her.
‘Not you, my son. Myself.’ Her eyes sparkled in laughter and she waved him out of the room.
Striding into the hallway, he accepted that his father had needed him, although none of them had seen it at the time. His father had trusted people too easily. His mother didn’t.
Rachael’s family business could increase. She’d have to take risks, but it was a bigger danger never to take them. He didn’t want her to have to depend on a marriage to increase her status. He’d seen the pride in his mother’s face when they’d sold the Hinshaw estates and made a profit and he’d had to talk her out of some of the bigger gambles she’d planned afterwards. She’d heeded each word he’d said and addressed them as if they’d been generated from her own perceptions.
His mother and father made a formidable pair.
Leaving the room, he pushed the images of a joined family aside, planning to find some friends with nothing more important than to plan a card game or have a spot of revelry.
He went outside and moved quickly to get beneath the canopied trees, his energy increased by the cooler day. At the nearby mews, he greeted the stable master, took the saddle before the man could reach it and saddled his horse, then he led it by the ribbons into the street and jumped astride.
In moments, he was riding along the street, which emitted a peaceful family presence. Houses surrounded him on both sides, silent reminders of caring groups. He could imagine a loving family behind each door. His imagination dismissed the possibility that unhappiness resided in any home. For the day,
he was surrounded by caring families secure in their world.
He’d hated to be in his house when he was a child and both parents were in residence and were arguing. He loved them both apart, but couldn’t stand either of them when they were together and were picking at each other.
He wondered if that was how he’d learned his ease around people, by trying to cajole his parents’ anger or hurt into contentment. Or from watching his mother switch from being furious at his father to welcoming her guests with everything swept from view as if she’d had the most glorious day ever.
That was how he’d always presumed marriages to be. Two people joined together who could put on a happy face when they were around others, but who jousted for control in private.
Some of the fury he’d dissipated over the years must have hidden inside him. Now he felt a slow simmer of irritation at Rachael which surprised him. He was never angry. He didn’t like anything which took from his joie de vivre. He didn’t have a right to be upset with her. True, he’d offered advice and arranged to get her an invite, and she’d not attended.
A favour had been ignored. That was reason for irritation, he supposed.
The clubs would be a much better way to spend the remainder of the day than thinking about Rachael’s future and the way she’d just tossed his advice to the wind. But his horse didn’t want to go to the clubs.
It kept turning in the direction of Rachael’s house.
And who was he to argue with a beast?
* * *
Three taps. Pause. Four taps. Pause. Then five taps.
Finally, a butler answered the door.
‘Tell Miss Albright the Viscount is here for her.’
The man hesitated and Devlin stepped inside. ‘Now, please.’ Devlin ended the request with a small bow that took the butler by surprise. ‘Thank you,’ Devlin added, as if Rachael were already on her way.
