by Liana Lefey
“You’ll abide by her decision?” her mother asked timidly as he passed.
“I trust Mary to make the right choice,” he said, sounding far more confident than he felt. Striding to the door, he didn’t wait for it to be opened for him, but let himself out.
Chapter Nineteen
Mary pressed deep into the shadow beneath the staircase and held her skirts close so they wouldn’t give away her presence as he left the salon and strode out of her home. Hastening from her hiding place, she scurried up the staircase before her parents could come out and catch her lurking and try to influence her.
Entering her bedchamber, she closed the door behind her and then lay on her bed. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. I trust Mary to make the right choice… She pulled a grimace and dried her face. It seemed like all she did these days was cry.
Choice. Ha! He wouldn’t let her marry his brother. Of that much she was certain. The strength of his resolve was frightening.
It’s his child I carry. He has a valid claim.
It’s also my child!
The war within her raged on until her head ached. Ideas popped up like mushrooms after a rain and were as quickly squashed. She could beg Daniel to take her to Gretna Green. They already had a license.
Don’t be a fool, Mary. He does not love you. For all that her parents thought he’d honor his offer despite his brother’s return, she knew in her heart he wouldn’t. Blood was thicker than water, and they were twins. Daniel might feel responsible for what had happened, but he wasn’t the one who’d gotten her with child. Devlin’s claim of fatherhood superseded all others.
He’d surprised her, coming here to bend knee and offer himself up. She recalled his earnest expression as he’d produced a ring which had, for all that she’d barely glanced at it, appeared quite impressive. But, as she knew, appearances could be deceiving. For weeks, she’d been fooled by a charlatan. In retrospect, she ought to have kept hold of the jewel, if only to get a closer look and make certain it wasn’t paste.
A hysterical laugh burbled up from her chest at the thought of a paste ring. She swallowed the sounds, fearful that her parents would hear and think she’d gone mad. The man was a duke’s son. It wouldn’t be paste. Whether it was or not, regardless of whether he actually harbored tender feelings for her and had come of his own volition or his brother’s hired hounds had caught him and dragged him back home, she knew she’d have to put it on. The only question that remained was what would happen afterward.
He bought Rosewood House. He intends for us—for me and our child, at least—to stay here. She’d get to keep Augie and all the other friends she’d made, provided there was no scandal. Her stomach tightened. Even with a “whirlwind courtship,” there would likely be some gossip due to her babe’s “early” arrival. She pictured her female acquaintances counting on their fingers and sliding knowing glances at each other behind their fans.
Babies arrive early all the time. It will be nothing, especially after a few months pass. Regardless, my child will be legitimate. Massaging her temples, she tried to wrap her mind around the idea of motherhood. Though she wasn’t yet showing, she would be soon.
Rising from her bed, she went to the window. Her face felt hot and swollen from all the crying she’d done. Some cool air would do her good and help her think more clearly about how to silence at least some of the inevitable whispers about her hasty marriage and an early delivery.
She didn’t know what instinct made her do it, but before opening the curtains, she peeked through a crack between them—and spied a dark shape huddled by the gate outside.
He’s still here!
Bright though it was outside, she still shrank back, fearful that he’d somehow seen her. She ventured another peek, and this time remained. His face was upraised, and he was staring at her house with an expression of such regret she felt it like a physical blow.
You were all I could think about.
I came back for love of you.
I’d rather be the one to make her happy, myself.
She stared at him through the crack, his words repeating in her memory as more tears slid down her cheeks. It would be lovely indeed if he’d meant those words, and a tiny part of her still hoped, foolishly, that he had. But it wouldn’t do to allow sentiment to influence her anymore. Necessity had to take precedence.
She would marry Devlin Wayward, but it would be on her terms. Turning away, she again lay on her bed, eyes dry at last, to plan her and her child’s futures.
The following day, Mary sat in the salon once more, determined to maintain her composure as the two men who’d ruined her life were brought to stand before her. One was in priestly garb, the other in a tailored silk jacket and breeches. Looking at them side by side, she no longer wondered that she’d been fooled. They were indeed identical, right down to the way their hair curled over their foreheads.
Their faces both held an equal mix of tension and resignation as they awaited her leisure.
“I’ve come to a decision,” she said softly, avoiding her parents’ eyes. They’d argued vociferously against it, but as they themselves had said, this was not their choice to make. “I will marry the father of my child.”
The way both sets of shoulders sagged with relief spoke volumes. One told her its owner hadn’t really wanted to follow through on the promise he’d made. The other kindled a spark of hope inside her.
Don’t be so quick to grasp at straws, warned her heart. She didn’t know for certain why Devlin Wayward seemed so glad she’d chosen him. It might be that, despite his claim to the contrary, his family had found some means to bring him to heel, and that he’d just avoided a more painful alternative to marriage.
Regardless of his motive, it must be done. “I’ll marry you, but—” She held up a silencing hand as Devlin opened his mouth to speak. “I have conditions that must be agreed to—in writing and witnessed—before any vows are spoken.”
“Name them,” he said at once.
“I want the means for independence should I find living with you intolerable. A comfortable home and ample provision for both myself and our child, who will remain with me, regardless of my relationship with you.”
His face paled a shade, but he nodded. “Done. Rosewood House is yours, furnishings and all. I’ll sign over the deed to you prior to the ceremony and revoke any and all claim to it through marriage. I’ll also have my solicitor draw up a contract providing you with an annual stipend of a thousand pounds, to be paid to you in perpetuity regardless of whether or not we live together.”
It took everything for her not to gape at the figure. Good heavens, just how rich is he? It was a fortune! More than enough to cover the cost of maintaining a house—her house—servants, and provisioning.
But he wasn’t finished. “The money will be yours and yours alone, to do with as you please. Spend it, save it—once it’s in your name, it will no longer be any business of mine. Prior to the ceremony I will, however, want your word, also in writing and witnessed, that you’ll give me ample time to attempt to mend things between us—and that if at the end of that period you should choose to evict me, I shall continue to have unrestricted access to our child until he or she is an adult. Even if you decide you don’t want me for a husband in the true sense, I will be the only father our child ever knows.”
She blinked in surprise at his vehemence. “How much time?”
“A full year after our baby’s arrival—and no separate bedrooms for us. I give you my solemn oath that I won’t touch you unless you invite me to do so, but we will live as man and wife in every other respect for the duration of that year.”
She concealed her dismay with a wry twist of her lips. “You intend to live as a monk while sharing a bedchamber with me, then?”
His lopsided little smile was all Devlin. “No, I intend to live as a husband—a celibate husband for a while, owing
to your delicate condition after our child arrives, but a husband nevertheless.”
Heat roared into her cheeks. “It may be a very long while,” she warned frostily. “Possibly more than a year.”
One coal-black brow lifted. “I’m willing to take that chance.”
Blue eyes twinkled merrily back at her from another face, and she looked with shock at Reverend Wayward’s faint smile, guessing that he’d wager his brother would win her heart long before the probationary period was over.
I hope he does not wager much! For one, she’d soon be too swollen to garner any man’s desire. Already, her belly was beginning to round just a little—nothing noticeable yet to anyone but her, but give it another month or two… Once the baby was born, she’d be in no condition to be engaging in conjugal activities for at least another three months. Longer, if she could manage to convince him she was still fragile.
She looked back to Devlin, whose expression was far more sober. “Agreed.”
Nodding, he went on. “So there is no chance of confusion, I would like to clarify to all present that should you invite physical intimacy between us, there can be no subsequent reneging. Once that happens, we will thereafter conduct ourselves as husband and wife in every sense.”
Swallowing her nerves, she nodded. “Agreed.”
An infuriatingly satisfied look entered his eyes, and she bristled—even as a disturbingly familiar melting sensation unfurled deep within her. Alarmed by the unexpected and unwelcome reaction, she tried to pass it off as nothing.
I don’t want him to touch me. Not in the least. And that won’t change. Not in a year. Not in ten years! Not unless he can prove he truly loves me.
Which brought up another concern she felt compelled to address. “And I’ll want your word—in writing and witnessed—that there will be no one else,” she added. “I demand absolute fidelity for as long as we reside together.” She’d give him no easy way to wait her out. “If I ever learn you’ve violated my trust in this regard, you will immediately and permanently depart the premises—with the exception of those times you come to visit your son or daughter, of course.”
“Agreed, and with no hardship on my part.” He swallowed, and a look of such longing crossed his countenance that it made her ache inside. “I don’t want anyone but you, Mary.”
Damn the infernal warmth and foolish pride his words evoked! That she should feel anything but utter contempt for the man seemed the worst betrayal yet—a betrayal of self. “Let us be perfectly clear,” she snapped, acutely aware of those witnessing their exchange. “I’m marrying you for my child’s sake and to free your brother. That is all. The last time you came here, you told me you did not expect forgiveness. I hope that’s still true, because you’ll get none from me.”
“I deserve none,” he said solemnly, eyes growing suspiciously bright. “And I’m grateful beyond words that you’ve agreed to give me this chance. In doing so, you’ve been more than generous to one who injured you most grievously.” He looked down and cleared his throat before adding softly, “Do you have any further conditions?”
“No.” None that she could think of at the moment, anyway, with her emotions running riot. “But I do have a request. A month is too short a time to convince people ours is a love match. I propose that all of us, if asked, tell people we were introduced when you visited Winterbourne over the holiday. I would prefer everyone to believe we at least met before now, thus mitigating—as much as possible—the scandal of an overly hasty courtship.”
“I have no objection, especially since it’s the truth,” he answered drily. “And I’ll add another truth to the tale: that my choice to resettle at Rosewood House so soon after our introduction was in part because I could not forget you and hoped very much to see you again.”
Damn her traitorous eyes for smarting over his pretty words! She covered it with sarcasm. “Your silver tongue will doubtless have them believing you fell in love with me at first sight.” The impact of her verbal whip-snap was visible, and quite satisfying. “Tell them whatever you bloody well like, as long as it prevents them learning of your deception and my gullibility,” she added bitterly, ignoring her mother’s soft gasp over her language.
With a grim nod of acceptance, he again held aloft the ring he’d tried to give her on his previous visit. “If that is all, then let us consider ourselves officially engaged.”
Afraid lest she lose her nerve, she plucked it from his hand without touching his fingers for more than a split second. It was still warm. She jammed it onto her finger without sparing it even a glance. “We will be married in a month’s time. Until then, you may call here daily for the sake of appearances.” Without further ado, she turned on her heel and fled back to her room, happy to put a door between them.
The ring on her finger felt as heavy as a millstone. Taking it off, she went to the window to examine it in the light. A tiny, shocked exhalation of approval escaped her lips as she gazed into the enormous jewel’s rich green depths. It was definitely not paste. Turning it, she marked an inscription on the inner surface of the golden circle.
Devlin & Mary Wayward
For the fifteenth day in a row, Mary broke down and cried.
…
Everything went according to plan. The morning after she accepted Devlin’s proposal, she encountered the reverend and his twin in a “surprise reunion” in the village’s crowded patisserie. Shy smiles on her part and blatant admiration on the part of her soon-to-be groom as they “reminisced” over their first meeting formally sealed their acquaintance in the minds of several witnesses. Lord Devlin Wayward subsequently called on her at home every day and together they made a point of being seen about the village, sometimes in his brother’s company but more often alone.
Conversation between them remained stilted in private—she had nothing to say to him that would improve her circumstance, and despite his rueful gazes, he didn’t press her. Desperation made her a fine actress in public, however, where she did her best to give every appearance of becoming utterly smitten.
Little more than a week into the ruse, Augie confronted her about her obvious and alarmingly hasty transfer of affection. “But you were so in love with the vicar!” she insisted. “And—” Her face colored. “Well, to be quite honest, I find it highly…remarkable that you should now be so enamored of someone who looks exactly like him. Are you certain you’re not making a mistake?”
Mary repressed the urge to laugh aloud at the well-intentioned warning. “I learned at great cost to my pride that the good reverend’s heart is reserved solely for his Lord and his holy commission,” she replied, feeling guilty. “I’ve forgiven him for rejecting me, of course. He cannot help who he is. In truth, I think I shall like him far better as a brother-in-law than I would have as a husband. As for Lord Wayward, that gentleman is…quite a different sort of man.”
The rest of their conversation forced her to enumerate those differences at length to convince her friend of all the reasons why she was allowing Lord Wayward to make a complete cake of himself over her. As she did so, she realized that those differences were indeed what had attracted her to him. It gave her much to think about.
The only one apparently not fooled by their charade was Mrs. Small. The old lady, who’d ventured into the village on a warm, May Sunday to take communion at church, took one look between Devlin and Daniel, and then her canny gaze settled on Mary with a most knowing and amused expression.
Mary, panicking, had no choice but to visit her the next day and share her secret. Mrs. Small listened to her entire tale in silence before swearing to carry the secret to her grave. Her greatest concern was for Mary’s happiness.
“I knew them when they were boys,” she revealed. “Full o’ mischief, that pair, but both had good hearts. So, ye fell for the prodigal, did ye?” Her eyes lit with amusement, and she chuckled. “Me own husband, God rest him, was a bit o’ a rogue
, himself, and we had many happy years together. He kept me young.” She laid a dry, wrinkled hand atop Mary’s. “Trust your heart, me girl. It knows what’s right.”
Again, Mary was forced to reconsider her own feelings about the man. The people of Harper’s Grove had readily accepted his return, with broad smiles and many fond reminiscences of him and his twin. And while it was true his father had disowned him over his refusal to join the clergy, his remaining family had welcomed him back to the fold, all but erasing that black mark in the villagers’ eyes. Everything indicated his siblings were well on their way to forgiving his more recent transgressions, too—even his fierce sister, who’d all but threatened to geld him if he put so much as a toe out of line.
They love him. Even after all he’s done, all his many errors, they love him still.
In spite of herself, over the next three weeks, now that he wasn’t pretending to be someone else, she began to understand why. Beyond the smooth, charming exterior, there was a gentleness similar to that which she’d seen and admired in his twin. There were still some sharp edges, doubtless due to having rubbed shoulders with some of London’s most jaded for many years, but he’d relaxed, and that gentleness had begun to show itself.
As she walked past Mrs. Stone’s house and admired the new roof, she was reminded that he’d done that. Thinking back, she realized he’d actually committed a great many kindnesses during his short time masquerading as his twin. Considering his injury, no one would’ve faulted him for asking someone else to deliver food and comfort in their shepherd’s stead, but Devlin had done it himself. Where the bare minimum would have sufficed, he’d gone above and beyond.
Again, she wondered if she had not indeed misjudged his character. Even so, she resisted the impulse to trust the instinct—or, as Mrs. Small had put it, her heart—to relent. Better to steel herself against the worst possibility and be pleasantly surprised than to again suffer the pain of disappointment.
