The Devil Takes a Bride

by Julia London

  “Of course I must,” Grace said. “I should have told him these past few days. But I was so grateful that some barrier had been breached between us, and I didn’t want to ruin it. And then, every time I summoned the courage, there was an interruption.”

  “Mmm,” Honor said skeptically, as if she didn’t believe that were true. Grace wasn’t honestly certain it was true. She only knew that she didn’t want to ruin the affection and regard that had sprouted between her and Jeffrey. It was a tender reed, so vulnerable yet.

  As always, Honor understood Grace. She reached for her hand. “I understand, darling, I do. I can’t even begin to imagine how a man as stiff and unyielding as Merryton will take the truth. But you can’t hide her, and we can’t desert Prudence and Mercy—they need us more than ever now. You must tell him. It won’t be easy, but I know you’ll do what is right, and you will keep your chin up, and you will carry on as you have. Because you are fearless and daring and you are the best sister I could have ever hoped for.”

  Grace smiled at Honor and put her arms around her in an embrace. “I hope you will still say so when I am living under your roof, disgraced and wretched and moping about every day.”

  Honor squeezed her tightly to her. “Oh, dear, I hope so, too.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  GRACE’S SPIRITS WERE quite low when she left Beckington House sometime later, and trudged through the rain back to the Merryton townhome.

  Of course Prudence and Mercy had been thrilled to see Grace, and she them. They had peppered her with questions about Blackwood Hall and Merryton, then had filled her in on all the latest gossip about the Season’s newest debutantes.

  Augustine was delighted to see Grace, too, hugging her so tightly to him that Grace was robbed of her breath, then suddenly holding her at arm’s length to examine her, declaring that she looked very well indeed. “So good that you’ve come, so good,” he’d said. “We must have you and Merryton over at once. Mustn’t we, dearest?” he’d said to his fiancée, Monica Hargrove.

  “Yes, at once,” Monica had said, eyeing Grace shrewdly from across the room, her arms folded. “We are all on tenterhooks to know how you came to marry him so quickly. I wasn’t aware that you were even acquainted. Were you?”

  “We weren’t,” Grace had said calmly. “But that’s the beauty of Cupid’s arrow, isn’t it, Monica? It strikes when you are least expecting it, and in some cases, rather deep.” She’d smiled sweetly and had promised that as soon as they could arrange it, she would introduce them to her husband.

  She sincerely hoped that she would indeed be introducing them to Merryton, and not just another, but larger, scandal.

  The time had come for Prudence to lead Grace upstairs, to the two rooms where her mother, Lady Beckington, and her longtime lady’s maid, Hannah, resided most days.

  Her mother had looked at Grace blankly beneath her unplucked brows. Her sleek dark hair had grayed over the past few months, and was wrapped around in a tight bun at her nape. Grace noticed that both sleeves of her mother’s gown had been ravaged by her constant picking at the seams and fabric. It was the fraying of the embroidery of her gowns that had caused Grace and Honor to first notice the change in their mother.

  Her mother stood, and her gaze had narrowed as she had studied Grace. At last she’d said, “So good of you to come.”

  “Mamma,” Grace had said, walking across the room to her, her arms outstretched. “It’s me, Grace.”

  “I know you who you are,” she’d said tersely, and had darted out of Grace’s path to avoid the embrace. “Bets, see her out,” she’d muttered.

  Bets, Grace recalled, had been her mother’s governess.

  Her mother took a seat at a gaming table and bent over a backgammon board. She hummed to herself as she moved the pieces about in no particular order or game.

  Grace looked at Hannah, who smiled with sympathy. “She’s weary, mu’um.”

  Prudence had linked her arm through Grace’s and pulled her aside, “Some days are better than others,” she’d confided. “If she hasn’t seen you in a while, she forgets. But were you here, she would remember you at times.”

  “Does she know you?” Grace had asked.

  Prudence had shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  Seeing her mother like that, her faculties even more reduced since she’d last been home, had plunged tiny daggers into Grace. What a harsh world it was when a mother didn’t know her own child.

  Grace was brooding as she entered the Merryton town house, determined to tell Merryton about her mother, as soon as he returned. Honor was right—it was unconscionable to keep it from him another moment. She stepped inside the foyer and smiled absently at the footman as she handed him her umbrella. When she had removed her cloak, she turned toward the stairs and was startled out of her wits by the sight of Amherst.

  He grinned at her and came striding across the foyer from the parlor, his arms outstretched, his hat in his hand. “Sister!” he said, as if nothing improper had happened, as if he hadn’t left her waiting at the tea shop for him. He grabbed her up in a tight embrace before Grace could even think what to say and kissed her cheek, then let go and stepped back.

  His grin was irrepressible. Curly, tousled light brown locks dipped charmingly over one green eye. He was a handsome man—she’d always thought so, all of London thought so—but Grace was struck by how Jeffrey’s quiet and solemn demeanor seemed more masculine to her. Amherst certainly bore a resemblance to Jeffrey, but his jaw was not as strong, his eyes not as vibrant and piercing.

  “Are you surprised?” he asked gaily. “You couldn’t possibly be as surprised as I was to learn you’d married my brother! But it was a happy surprise.”

  “Ah...” Grace frantically thought what to say, her gaze sliding to Cox.

  “Come, I must hear of it,” Amherst said, taking her by the elbow and steering her into the parlor. He shut the door behind them, then turned to look at her. “Marriage agrees with you, Lady Merryton,” he said, then abruptly caught her by the waist and twirled her about, as if they were dancing.

  “My lord!”

  He laughed and let go of her. “You and Merryton,” he said with a shake of his head. “What a bit of daring, Miss Cabot—shall I call you Grace? But to set your sights on the Earl of Merryton? I knew the Cabot girls were bold, and yet I had no idea how bold. The moment I heard he was in London, I came straightaway to congratulate him and greet my new sister.”

  A rush of heat swirled up in her. Grace hadn’t thought through what she would say to Amherst when she saw him again.

  His smile faded. “Oh, dear, I’ve distressed you. You look troubled, and you mustn’t,” he said soothingly, and leaned down to whisper, “It will be our secret.”

  “Our secret? There is no secret!” Grace said crossly. “Of course he knows.”

  “Of course he knows what?” Amherst asked.

  “Honestly, my lord—he knows why I was in the tea shop that night.”

  Amherst’s brows rose with surprise. He suddenly laughed. “Oh, ho, that is grand! You don’t mean that he—”

  “Yes, I mean that he came into the shop,” she said, folding her arms.

  Amherst laughed roundly, as if that was a lark. Grace deserved that—she’d certainly acted as if the entire tryst was a lark. She’d been such a foolish, stupid girl.

  “Goodness! I can well imagine his displeasure at that was great,” Amherst exclaimed jovially.

  “That would be putting it mildly.”

  “Still...how does it happen that you married him?” he asked, watching her closely. “My brother is not the least bit spontaneous. In fact, he is the least spontaneous person I know. Spontaneity makes him quite cross—”

  “My lord!” Grace cried. “Haven’t you anything to say for yourself? You were to meet me, and you didn’t come.” It was the question that had once tormented her, but now only a footnote to that fateful night in Bath. She wanted to hear him say it, to admit why he’d abandoned her. “Wh
y didn’t you come?”

  “Surely you’ve guessed at things by now,” he said.

  “I could not have guessed,” she said, cross that he would somehow think she would have divined his situation. “How could I possibly have guessed? You gave me every assurance you would come. When our eyes met at the performance at the abbey, you nodded your head.”

  “Ah, Grace,” he said, touching his fingers to hers. “How shall I tell you? I didn’t come because I had guessed at your motives.”

  Grace was stunned—she’d given him no indication, nothing that would cause him to suspect her motives. Had she been so obvious? “And?” she demanded, willing him to admit he had fathered a child.

  “I see I’ve offended you. But I’m not a greenhorn, love. I knew very well why you would want to meet under such suspect conditions. You had all but hinted at it in our previous meetings.”

  “I hadn’t—”

  He smiled and touched his fingers to her chin. “You had. And as much I esteem you, as much as I care for you...I could not help you in that way.”

  Grace blanched, humiliated by her foolishness. “But you encouraged me,” she pointed out. “For the past two years, you have encouraged me!”

  Amherst shrugged casually, as if it were nothing to him to flirt with many women while putting a child in another.

  “If you suspected it, then why didn’t you refuse to meet me? If you had refused to meet me, it might have at least saved your brother this fate,” she said crossly. “He was looking for you in that tea shop, and—” She shook her head. Amherst didn’t deserve an explanation.

  But one of his brows arched high above the other. “Do I understand you? The great Earl of Merryton made a mistake?”

  “How can you make light of it?”

  “In my wildest imaginings, I never thought Jeffrey would somehow make his way to the tea shop. I was shocked to see him at the concert. He loathes crowds. He loathes tea shops for all I know. And to think he went, and somehow...” He laughed, shocking Grace. “I beg your pardon,” he said when he saw her angry expression. “But if only you knew my brother—”

  “I know him. I married him.”

  “I mean really know him. I am certain he’s not allowed you to see his true feelings—he’s never allowed anyone to see his true feelings. I am so very sorry, love. I’d not wish him on anyone.”

  “What—”

  “But I can’t help you now. It’s too late. What is done is done, as they say,” he said, as if he’d just finished a meal instead of hearing how his own brother was tricked into marriage.

  Good God, Grace had assumed Amherst’s affable nature was the sign of a good and decent man. But she was appalled by him.

  But then Amherst pushed his fingers through his hair.

  It was such a small thing, but she’d never seen him do it before, and it struck her as an anxious sort of gesture. Grace suddenly saw Amherst differently, as a man desperately trying to hide the truth. He was just like his brother in that regard, wasn’t he? Both of them determined the truth not be known.

  And she was just like them. There was no end to the secrets.

  “Come now, Grace,” Amherst said, and held out his hand to her. “We are now brother and sister. We might as well be friends.”

  “You’re right.”

  That seemed to surprise him; he smiled curiously as she slipped her hand into his and gave it an affectionate squeeze.

  “You’ve missed quite a lot this spring,” he said. “Shall I tell you the news of London?”

  He wouldn’t tell her the biggest news of all, Grace was certain of it. And she hardly cared for the rest. But her mind was whirling, her heart aching, and she was glad to let him talk while she tried to gather herself.

  He told her what he’d heard about Honor’s marriage to George Easton—that her sister had gone to Southwark and had tried to wager an offer of marriage from him in a gaming hell, but he had publicly refused her.

  Honor had told Grace a bit of what had happened after she’d left for Bath—Easton had decided he was the worst possible match for her and had refused to see her, so Honor had taken matters into her own hands. Grace knew she’d gone to Southwark and she knew that she had done the offering. But Amherst’s version was far more scandalous.

  “One never wants for diversion when the Cabot girls are about, does one?” he asked, not unkindly.

  He told her how Easton had had a change of heart, apparently, and that the wedding had been done quickly, and all of London was still whispering about the propriety of it, given that Honor was in mourning for her stepfather. “Best hope Jeffrey doesn’t hear of it,” he said casually.

  “Why?” she asked. “Something very similar has happened to him.”

  Amherst’s gaze was quietly assessing. “Because he is a hard man. He has very rigid ideas and expectations.”

  “He considers things carefully,” Grace conceded.

  “He considers everything in light of how it may affect him. How society will perceive him. Don’t be shocked— I don’t think ill of my brother. I scarcely think he is to blame for these tendencies, really. My father was quite hard on him as the heir, you know. He would not tolerate anything that even hinted of impropriety, and punished us all for it. But he punished Jeffrey most. He was cruel.”

  “Cruel? Or strict?”

  “Cruel.” Amherst frowned. “He was quick to resort to beatings to get his point across,” he said quietly. “Especially Jeffrey. But wouldn’t one reasonably expect that now he is earl, he would be kinder? He doesn’t use his fists, but his expectations are no less exacting than our father’s were. He believes I should have an occupation that he approves, that I should be married to whom he approves and carrying on the family name. All in a manner above reproach, naturally.”

  But didn’t everyone strive to live in a manner above reproach?

  “I suppose he will want the same from you,” Amherst said. “He won’t tolerate any sort of deviation from what he considers to be proper behavior.”

  “He’s been rather accepting, given the circumstances,” she pointed out. Grace didn’t care for Amherst’s scrutiny of her.

  “Grace...” He touched her arm. “May I ask a delicate question? He’s not been...vulgar, has he?”

  Grace didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Coarse,” John amended.

  She could feel the heat flood her cheeks instantly. She was appalled by the impropriety of that question, of the presumption—she began to move, but John caught her arm.

  “I would never bring up such an indelicate subject to a member of the fairer sex, but you are my sister-in-law, and there have been rumors about his...preferences, so to speak.”

  Grace could have perished there on the spot. Jeffrey had assured her no one but her knew of the thoughts that plagued him. “I don’t know what that means,” she said frantically, wanting out of that room and away from Amherst.

  “I mean that he has a certain appetite...at least I’ve heard some talk of it in Ashton Down.”

  “For what?” she asked, feeling a swell of fear rising up in her.

  “For women...but more than one.”

  John was confusing her. “More than one woman?”

  “At the same time,” John clarified.

  Grace stared at him, unable to fathom how.

  “He hasn’t suggested—”

  “No!” Grace exclaimed, and jerked her arm away from him. She was acutely embarrassed, and worse, uncertain. She was only learning of these things, of the sorts of fantasies that plagued her husband, and now she worried that this was what Jeffrey had meant when he’d talked about his depravity. Is that what he desired of her, to share their bed with someone else? God, no—she was an eager student, and she liked what they did. But not that, never that.

  “I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I shouldn’t worry, if I were you, for he has a stronger desire to keep the family name as pristine as snow.” This, John said in a tone that indi
cated he didn’t share that view.

  Grace didn’t understand him. Why was he telling her these things? Why would he mention something so offensive? It felt almost as if he wanted to shock her, wanted to make her despise Merryton.

  “I’ve said enough,” he said. “But I thought I should tell you before you heard it from someone else.”

  That was a lie, and she knew it. He wanted to scandalize her.

  “Rumors like that will drift through London.”

  “Nothing ever drifts through London, my lord. Rumors are blown through like gusts from a storm.” She looked at him pointedly, thinking of his secrets.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said absently.

  The sounds of someone in the foyer reached them. She didn’t have time to think of what she would say, for the door to the parlor opened and Jeffrey walked in, his gaze running between Grace and Amherst, his expression cool and impenetrable.

  * * *

  IT HAD BEEN a grueling day for Jeffrey, spent searching for his brother. For a man who had trouble absorbing the asymmetry of various establishments and the chaos of all the people and animals moving around London, entering his brother’s usual haunts—from gentlemen’s clubs to gambling hells—had been the hardest thing he’d done in a very long time.

  Jeffrey had kept himself moving forward with the notion that Grace would have arrived by the time he returned to Mayfair. The thought of her, of the things he would like to do to her, of the feel of her, was motivating. But Jeffrey was aware that there was more to it than that—he wanted to see her smile. It was astonishing that only a few short weeks ago he would not have cared if he ever saw her again, and that his opinion could have changed so. He had been beguiled by a beautiful, vibrant woman.

  It was a shock to see Grace and John standing together when he entered the parlor. “Jeffrey!” John said congenially, coming forward. “How do you fare? You look well,” he said, and extended his hand in greeting. “I should like to offer my felicitations on your nuptials and best wishes for a happy future. I was just telling Grace how fortunate you are.”