Had her father known he was capable of such intense feeling? Her father had always placed love above all else.
“As long as I have your love, Gina, I’ll die a wealthy man.”
She’d almost forgotten his words. Glancing around her, she sighed. “Ah, Papa, what were you thinking when you started gambling again, knowing that Devon had married me expecting to share your wealth?”
And what was she thinking to remain in this situation when she still possessed a ticket that would provide her with passage back to Galveston? But there was the rub, as they said in these parts. Until she knew for certain that leaving was what she wanted, she’d forever look back and wonder.
Devon was not surprised that he’d awoken earlier in a grumpy mood. He’d not slept soundly. He did not like it one bit that Georgina was making him doubt his fatherly devotion. His children were happy and well cared for. They went to bed neither hungry nor cold.
He supposed his first thought upon arriving should have been to visit with them. He hadn’t planned to see them right away simply because he trusted his staff to look after his children’s welfare. He’d not needed to reassure himself that they were fine, because he’d had no reason to believe they would be otherwise. He’d had several things on his mind, but in hindsight he grudgingly acknowledged that Gina had made a valid point: Looking in on his children should have been at the top of his list of things to do.
As for tucking the children in at night. Well, again, he trusted Mrs. Tavers to make certain they were comfortable. Perhaps he would speak with her to ensure she shared a story with them before they went to sleep.
They’d certainly seemed to enjoy Georgina’s tale of a fish with the power to turn a maiden into a mermaid. An enchanting legend. As for her tales regarding Kit…
Devon had heard his cousin had taken up enforcing the law in Texas. A strange undertaking for a man who had once taken pleasure in snubbing society’s code. Devon had certainly not heard Kit was having duels with outlaws. He’d have to consult with Christopher regarding that matter.
It was one thing to share time-honored legends with his children. Quite another to fill their heads with fanciful stories about members of the family.
He had expected Gina to content herself with her wing of the house, a wing that did not hold his children. After they finished eating breakfast, he would have another meeting with her, so he could spell out her duties more precisely.
He walked into the large dining hall and stumbled to a stop. What the deuce was going on here?
A woman in a tattered dress stood at the top of a ladder, cloth in hand, dusting cobwebs. A red triangular scrap of material covered her head and hid her hair. She was swaying her hips with such enthusiasm he feared she might topple off the ladder at any moment.
He didn’t know who she was, couldn’t get a good look at her face, but he knew she wasn’t anyone he’d ever had in his employ before now. Had his wife not understood when he’d explained yesterday that he had no funds with which to pay his servants?
Now she was hiring more?
He spun on his heel and strode from the room. He spied his butler in the foyer. “Winston, locate my wife and inform her that I wish to speak with her in my library immediately.”
“Yes, milord.”
His heart hammering against his chest, Devon stormed into his library and crossed to the window. Jerking the draperies aside, he stared at the forlorn landscape.
Margaret had asked his counsel on every household decision to be made, and here was Gina, after only one day, hiring servants, upsetting the natural order of things.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked.
His blood was thrumming through his temples so loudly he hadn’t heard her arrival. “Did you not understand that you were not to hire—”
He spun around and froze, unable to believe his eyes. His wife stood before him in the tattered dress with the red cloth covering her hair and dirt smudged across one cheek and the tip of her nose.
“What the deuce are you wearing on top of your head?”
She snatched off the offending object to reveal the thick rope of her braid coiled around her head.
“A bandanna. Cowboys have a hundred uses for them. And I did understand that I wasn’t to hire any servants. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, because I have quite a list of things I want to accomplish this morning and—”
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
She gave him a gamin smile and waved the cloth in the air like a white flag. “I decided your house could use a little spit and polish.”
He thought the top of his skull might explode. “Madam, my wife neither spits nor polishes.”
Her smile withered. “This house is huge. You’re short on staff, and those who are here are overworked. I wanted to help out.”
He took a step toward her. He wished she’d rub that damnably distracting dirt off her face so this urge he felt to gently wipe it away himself would leave him. “You help out, madam, by delegating chores, determining which tasks are essential to the upkeep of the manor—”
“Gina!”
His daughter flew into the room and wound her arms around Gina’s legs. Millicent wore rags and one of those abominable bandannas over her head as well!
She tilted up her smudged face and looked at Gina with evident joy. “I finished duthting the flowers. Now what?”
“Now you may go eat breakfast,” Devon said succinctly.
Millicent snapped her head around, her eyes sparkling like jewels placed before the sun. “Father, I’ve already eaten.”
“The children and I ate our breakfast together this morning,” Georgina told him.
“I see.”
Gina smiled at Millicent and cradled her tiny chin. “Go ask Winston what’s next on the list while I finish speaking with your father.”
“Are you going to give him chores ath well?” Millicent asked.
Gina cut a quick glance his way. “I don’t think so. I imagine he probably has enough to do.”
“I’ll tell Noel what to do when he’s finished with his chores.” Millicent skipped out of the room as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Tell me the heir apparent to Huntingdon is not wearing one of those abominations on his head,” Devon ordered.
“Of course he isn’t.”
“Thank God.” He started to turn away, then jerked back to face her. “You have my children doing manual labor?”
She rolled her eyes. “A little dusting and polishing. I’d hardly call that labor.”
“Madam, there is a hierarchy in England of which you are obviously unaware. An earl’s children do not dust. Nor do they dress in rags or cover their hair with scraps of cloth. You will put an end to this nonsense now!”
“They just wanted to help.”
“They can help by remembering their place in society.”
“There’s nothing wrong with hard, honest work.”
“Is that something your father taught you?”
He regretted his words the instant he saw the flash of pain cross her face. She’d loved the man, and he’d not meant to remind her of her recent loss. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why he was unable to stop himself from gambling away everything he’d worked so hard to obtain. It had happened before, and I’d assumed he’d learned his lesson. I’ll explain to the children that it’s beneath them to help the servants.”
She pivoted and walked from the room, back erect, shoulders squared. He dropped down into the chair behind his massive desk and wondered why she’d left him feeling as though he was the one who’d acted improperly.
In the end Georgina hadn’t explained any such thing to the children. She knew children had a habit of speaking from the heart and not the head, which meant that at any moment, in their innocence, they could blurt out that they were too good to lift a finger to help.
Instead she praised them
for the tasks they’d completed and asked if they’d like to escort her on a walk about the grounds while she decided what else needed to be done. But then Mrs. Tavers had appeared, and the children had been whisked away to do their lessons. Therefore Georgina was left to wander the grounds on her own.
And her imagination took flight. She’d never seen such lush greenery. Even though it was obvious gardeners were no longer employed to keep the grounds tidy, the land’s wild disarray possessed an untamed beauty. Devon no doubt would say it had gone to ruin, but she appreciated the naturalness of all that surrounded her.
She enjoyed walking in England. Unlike Texas, where the heat was suffocating and the air often heavy, the weather here was usually pleasant. Even the rain was more of a mist than a deluge.
If her cleaning offended her husband, then perhaps she would garden. Not the lovely roses Lauren’s mother was dedicated to, but something a bit more substantial, something useful. Corn, beets, peas, beans. She could section off some of the land, rig up a plow. Kneeling, she dug her fingers into the dirt, relishing the texture of good, rich soil.
By the time Devon realized her hobby didn’t revolve around flowers, she’d have vegetables on the table.
She was determined not to be a woman of leisure. Unlike her husband, she was willing to work in order to gain a better life. She saw no merit in idleness.
Here more so than in London, their differences would stand out, but no one would see, so where was the harm?
For the first time since leaving Texas, she’d actually felt deliriously happy. She’d been doing something that made a difference. She’d been able to see the results of her efforts.
Damn him! He had no right to take that feeling of self-worth away from her. She would polish. She would dust. She would scrub. She just wouldn’t do it in the main rooms, where he might happen upon her. But she would do it.
He couldn’t expect her to sit on a pedestal all day. She shook her head. Of course, he expected it, but that didn’t mean she had to oblige him.
She would have to plant her garden away from the house, so he wouldn’t come across it in his wanderings. If he ever left the house. She had no idea what his day entailed. But if he didn’t work, what did he do?
He excelled at rowing. His firm muscles indicated he did something more. But what?
In the distance, she caught sight of the stables. Since neighbors were as rare here as they were in Texas, she assumed those were Huntingdon’s stables. Wonderful. He’d mentioned he had two thousand acres. With a horse at her disposal, she’d be able to locate an out-of-the-way spot for her garden. The possibilities seemed endless.
Fisting her hands around her skirt, she raised it slightly and trudged toward the stables, the tall grasses snatching at her hem. She was grateful she hadn’t worn one of her nicer dresses this morning.
It would be a while before she wore anything fancy. She was in mourning, and she would wear black to reflect her grief—not only for the loss of her father, but for the deprivation of her husband as well.
She’d been a fool to think the physical aspect of their relationship somehow reflected the emotional aspect. Devon had no doubt been reacting to his baser instinct. That he’d been considerate, taking the time to stir her passions to life, had been a blessing. But in his mind he’d probably been no more than a rutting stallion. He could turn her aside with the wave of his hand.
As much as she tried, she couldn’t consider him cruel. He’d expected to receive funds as a result of his marriage to her, not debt.
Bending down, she plucked an errant yellow flower from its mooring in the rich soil. She imagined the field had been awash with color in the spring, but now only this tiny bloom remained, determined, holding on. She didn’t know its name or its origin. She knew bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, and an occasional cactus.
She hadn’t bothered to learn much about England, because she hadn’t planned to stay. She might still leave, once she’d determined the best way to make up for her father’s fiasco.
She figured her father, loving her as he did, probably thought he was doing the man a favor by hitching him to his daughter.
But he hadn’t walked in Devon’s shoes, as she was doing now. Everywhere she looked, she saw his heritage, steeped in tradition. The generations that had come before stared at them from portraits hung on the walls. The manor house carried their fragrance, each adding to the one who’d come before. They’d all slept in the hand-carved beds, sat at the heavy mahogany table, and gazed through the windows at the rolling hills and fertile fields the Crown had bestowed upon them and placed in their keeping.
Her father couldn’t have possibly understood Devon’s desire to do right by those who’d come before him. Until she’d arrived here, she hadn’t understood. She still didn’t. Not really.
As she neared the stables, she saw four horses prancing in the corral. Only the large fenced enclosure probably wasn’t called a corral here.
The dark bay coats of all four shone in the morning sunlight as though they’d recently received a good brushing. Their black manes glistened. They were beautiful creatures, no doubt bred for their sleekness and haughtiness.
Ah, yes, they knew they were gorgeous, tossing their heads, elegantly lifting their black tails. Just like their aristocratic lord, they weren’t expected to work, as a cow pony would. Class distinctions in this country even extended to the animals.
Still, she appreciated good horseflesh and wondered what it would take to gain permission to ride one of these beauties.
She caught sight of a tall man, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his black vest stretched taut across his shoulders, dumping oats into a wooden trough. As though she was back home, she stepped on a bottom slat of the fence, lifting herself off the ground, and crossed her arms over the top railing. “Excuse me, sir?”
The man jerked around, his face revealing a deep scowl. “What the devil are you doing out here?”
Georgina fought not to stare at her husband or display any measure of surprise at his performing such a menial task as feeding the horses. “Since I’m not allowed to clean the house, I decided to take a walk.”
He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw before returning to his task. “The stable boy has been negligent in his duties,” he tossed over his shoulder, as though to answer her unasked question as to what he was doing here.
She was surprised he was making right what the stable boy hadn’t. She would have expected him to give the boy a good tongue-lashing and then to stand over him while he worked.
“The horses are beautiful, Devon.”
He set the half-empty bag inside the doorway leading into the stable and strode toward her, his long legs quickly cutting the distance between them. “Indeed they are. Their papers are in perfect order. Aristocratic horses. Good bloodline.”
“Am I allowed to ride them?”
She could have sworn a smile touched his eyes before he looked away from her. “Certainly.”
“Is the stable boy around? I’d like to go for a ride now.”
“I can saddle one for you.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the fence. “I should think Midsummer Moon should do well by you. She’s a bit feisty but eager to please.”
“I like her name. Do you plan to breed them?”
He shook his head, his gaze never leaving the horses. “No.” He faced her. “I have to go into the village. You can ride with me, if you like. It’s preferable to your riding alone and risking getting lost.”
She smiled enthusiastically. “I’d like to see the village.”
He gave a brisk nod. “Go change into your riding habit. I’ll saddle two horses and bring them up.”
She hopped off the fence, turned to go, then stopped and glanced back at him. She held up the tiny flower she’d discovered. “Do you know what this is?”
“Cowslip. In the spring you’ll find them in abundance, along with bluebells and primroses. They’re usually gone by now.”<
br />
“It was the only one I saw.” She backed up a step. “I have so much to learn about your country.”
About him. She’d certainly never expected a proclaimed man of leisure to be pouring oats or saddling horses.
Hiking up her skirts, she ran back toward the manor, wondering if there was more to her husband than the civilized veneer he’d revealed to her in London.
Chapter 15
D evon decided he was undeniably insane, placing temptation within his reach. And Gina was certainly a temptation as she rode beside him.
He’d been unwise to invite her to go to the village with him. When she was nearby, he could easily forget that it was only a matter of time before she learned about everything he’d been reduced to doing in order to survive. With that knowledge would come thorough and complete disgust for him. Then she would avoid him as Margaret had.
He would experience much less pain if he were the one to put the distance between them. It would be easier to endure her disappointment in him if he grew accustomed to her aloofness and absence now, when she meant frightfully little to him. He needed them to spend as little time together as possible, because he could not risk allowing his fondness for her to grow.
And it would grow, because, God help him, she’d somehow managed to enchant him already.
“Papa will forgive me,” she’d said when she’d stepped out of the manor house wearing a deep red riding habit edged with black.
Hardly mourning attire, but if he’d learned one thing about his wife, it was that she’d seldom stand on ceremony. He gave her a week, a fortnight at the most, before she did away with black altogether and began wearing whatever she pleased.
As he guided his horse alongside hers he readily admitted part of her appeal was her disdain for the rules. He had spent his life adhering to them, down to the letter, had never considered casting them aside even when they seemed archaic or inconvenient. They were the mortar that held his world together.
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