Miss Devon’s Choice
By Sally Britton
Other Titles By Sally Britton
The Branches of Love Series:
Prequel Novella, Martha’s Patience
Book #1, The Social Tutor
Book #2, The Gentleman Physician
Book #3, His Bluestocking Bride
Book #4, The Earl and His Lady
Book #5, Miss Devon’s Choice
Miss Devon’s Choice
Miss Devon’s Choice © 2018 by Sally Britton. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover design by Blue Water Books
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Sally Britton
http://www.authorsallybritton.com
First Printing: October 2018
Dedicated to my husband, who always helps me figure things out.
And to my cousin, Brittany, because cousins are the best.
Chapter One
August 8th, 1814
“Your father is here to see you, Rebecca.”
Slamming her novel closed, Rebecca Devon hastily shoved it beneath the cushion of her chair, then tried to appear unruffled when she glanced over her shoulder to where her aunt stood in the doorway. Aunt Jacqueline, wearing a mauve silk gown and a purple jeweled comb, looked every inch a dowager countess. From her silver-fox hair to her well-turned heel, the woman exuded elegance and snobbery.
“Were we expecting him?” Rebecca asked, standing quickly and using her knee to nudge the spine of her novel further beneath the seat. Aunt did not approve of novels. She also did not approve of a slovenly appearance, which made Rebecca instantly regret leaving her hair half down today. Her straight brown hair was held back by a clever braid invented by her maid, but the majority of it hung loose to her waist.
She hadn’t expected to see her aunt until dinner. It was Aunt Jacqueline’s day to visit the shops.
“No.” Nary a sigh, groan, or frown accompanied the answer, but Rebecca knew her aunt well enough by now to recognize her irritation. “And he is staying to dine with us.”
For all that Rebecca’s aunt and father had in common, they didn’t like each other very much. Jacqueline was older than her brother by twelve years, and she’d married young, so they’d had hardly any time together before adulthood. Rebecca didn’t think either of them minded it.
Rebecca dropped into a curtsy, a respectful gesture her aunt insisted upon even for relatives. “I’ll see him at once, Aunt.”
Her aunt looked down her long nose at Rebecca and something strange gleamed in her eye, almost like a look of pity. “Mind your lessons on deportment, child. You will need them today.”
What a strange remark. Rebecca walked with care past her aunt and went down the hall, knowing she’d find her father in the best parlor of the house. Her aunt always made him wait there, because it was the most elegantly furnished of the three public rooms, and thus the most uncomfortable.
Since coming to London to live with her aunt two years prior, Rebecca had only seen her father every two or three months. He resided in London most of the year but couldn’t be bothered to interact with a daughter on any sort of regular basis. As long as her social standing didn’t slip, he stayed away.
His neglect mostly came as a relief.
Rebecca paused before entering the parlor, looking down at the black marble floor as she gathered her thoughts. When Father visited, he always questioned her on what she had learned, where she had been invited, and who she spent her time with; rarely did her answers please him.
She further knew the scattering of freckles across her nose would fall prey to his external inspection of her person. He could never understand, of course, the lure of reading in the park during the summer. Or the irritation caused by bonnets meant to keep the sun off one’s face.
Swallowing, Rebecca put her shoulders back, knowing there wasn’t time to run upstairs and conceal the traitorous dots with face powder. She would just have to face him and weather his remarks until he left, which was usually directly after he’d had dinner.
She went inside, her eyes taking in the whole of the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed sunlight to flood the parlor, making the pale pinks and blues of the furniture appear brighter. Plush green rugs muffled the sound of her footsteps as she approached her father, who stood at the mantel, glaring up at his late brother-in-law’s portrait.
That was another reason Aunt Jacqueline chose this room for her younger brother’s visits. Her late husband, a wealthy earl, had elevated the entire family’s position in society, and she was not about to let Rebecca’s father forget it.
“Good afternoon, Father,” Rebecca said, remembering to keep her voice soft, but projecting it enough to be heard.
He turned and Rebecca dropped into a curtsy.
Before he’d even said a word, she could see the censure in his cold blue eyes. Something about her had already caused his disapproval; she suddenly worried that she’d somehow become a point of gossip. Had he learned of the way she laughed when Lord Moren fell out of his carriage in the park? Or perhaps he’d been informed she’d been going about barefoot in her aunt’s gardens. Had someone informed him about her disastrous performance on the pianoforte at Miss Gilderoy’s home the day before?
If she did not live up to her father’s expectations, he would make her life very unpleasant. Rebecca directed her gaze to the ground.
“Rebecca.” Charles Devon, a wealthy gentleman, had spent nearly all his adult life accumulating riches and social standing. Nothing could be of greater importance to him.
Even his children, all four of them, fell second to his ambition. Really, Rebecca supposed the only reason he’d ever had children was to use them as tools to reach his lofty goals. The fact that his eldest two daughters had thwarted those plans, around the same time Rebecca had been sent to live with her aunt, made him only more determined to bend Rebecca and her only brother, Horace, to his will.
“Stand up straight,” he directed, his tone stern, though his voice remained quiet.
She lifted her head to meet his eyes and squared her shoulders. She wanted to sink a little lower, if only to avoid remarks on her unfashionable height. It was hardly her fault she was tall. She’d obviously inherited that trait from him.
His eyes flicked from the top of her hair down to the hem of her gown and back. “You are very thin.”
She swallowed and tucked her hands behind her back, clenching them into fists. What did one say to that? “Yes, sir.”
He stepped toward her and let out a sigh, one she’d heard before, of disappointment. “It really doesn’t matter now, I think. I daresay, in a few years, after you’ve had a child or two your figure will be more in proportion.”
She felt heat creep up the back of her neck and into her ears. She hated being inspected this way. It was worse than being a horse at Tattersall’s. Those fine animals were at least afforded a little respect by prospective buyers.
“I have come with important news,” he said abruptly, turning away from her and going to his preferred chair. It was the only one in the room without spindly legs. “Sit.�
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She sat, quickly, on the small settee across from him. Rebecca folded her hands in her lap and kept her face as expressionless as possible. Her response was not required so much as her attention. Speaking too much often made her father even more disagreeable and stern.
“You are to be married in September.”
The bottom fell out of her stomach and bells sounded in her head. She took in a sharp breath and dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from shouting every question that rushed to her tongue. She counted to three but got no further before he spoke again.
“I have brokered a very fine arrangement for us both. You will marry the Earl of Ivyford’s eldest grandson and heir, Christian Hundley, Lord Easton. It has taken me nearly six months to secure this connection for us, but it will be well worth the effort.”
Rebecca had known her father wished to use her to secure an alliance with a more powerful family, possibly a peer, but she had no idea he would go completely about the business without her knowledge or involvement. Nor did she suppose the news of such a thing would be dropped upon her so unceremoniously.
Her mind spun through a dozen faces from the corners of ballrooms. “I haven’t any idea who that is,” she said at last, her voice rising higher in tone as she spoke, coming out as nearly a squeak at the end. Had she heard that name mentioned before? No. Not that she could recall.
Why wouldn’t she know about the heir to an earldom? He was the current Earl of Ivyford’s grandson. Perhaps he was very young. But how young? At sixteen, he wouldn’t be in society yet. Would she be married off to a child? Who was Christian Hundley, and why did his family even take notice of her? She wasn’t anyone important. Not really. Only her most distant relatives had titles or the prestige to make an earl take notice.
Her father narrowed his eyes at her and steepled his fingers before him. “Lord Easton is to inherit the title and holdings in England and Scotland. The family has shares in the East India Trading Company and properties in the Caribbean. Their wealth is immense.”
Rebecca’s throat felt as if it were trying to close, cutting off her air, but she forced herself to speak. “What is their purpose in aligning with us?” She had a thousand arguments in her heart, but she knew an outburst of any kind could mean severe consequences. She had to stay calm, reasonable, and remain in control of her emotions.
“I have controlling shares in a shipping company they wish to use for business with the Caribbean.” He smirked and sat back further. “If this unpleasantness with the Yankees ceases soon, as all suggest it might, my company also has a few salvageable ties to the Colonies.” He shrugged, glossing over the war being fought across an ocean. “The Devon name is a wise investment.”
The man obsessed over his shares of stock. The fact that her betrothed was interested in her for similar reasons didn’t win Lord Easton any of her favor.
Rebecca took a deep breath. “What if I do not wish to marry this Lord Easton? What if I say no?” She had to ask, though she knew he would have a suitable threat at hand. He always did.
“I will send you to Austria,” he replied evenly, the only sign of his displeasure a slight crease above his eyebrows. “To a school of the strictest nature. I will cut off all communication between you and your sisters, and Horace. You will remain there until you reach your majority. Perhaps longer. Alone. No access to books, to family, to friends. You will marry Lord Easton or suffer that fate.”
An icy grip locked around her heart. Rebecca started to nod, knowing he would fulfill every word of his ultimatum. The last two years of her life, every meeting with him had been riddled with disdain and commands. He controlled her and her younger brother completely.
She could not lose her sisters or her brother. They were the only people in the world who truly loved or cared for her at all.
“Very well.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay away long enough for her to escape the room. “When will I meet him?”
“Whenever he sees fit. I doubt he has any desire to bother himself with you. The man isn’t known to go about in society. He’s something of a recluse.”
Her eyes snapped open. “He’s what?”
Her father glowered at her. “I don’t repeat myself, child.”
Rebecca’s heart fell still further. A recluse? A man taking a bride in the same manner he would place an advertisement in the newspaper? It was calculating and cold. The man she married would be exactly like her father. Aloof, seeing marriage as nothing more than a business transaction. A memory of her mother’s sad brown eyes floated before her. What would her mother have thought of the arrangement? She couldn’t think on that. Not now.
“I understand.” Rebecca put her hands on the arms of the chair and rose to her feet, keeping herself as steady as possible given the trembling state of her spirit. “What of my cousin’s house party? Do you still wish for me to attend?”
“Did I suggest otherwise?” he asked, his posture as straight and unaffected as ever. “You will of course go to the Earl of Annesbury’s home.”
She suspected he found it a great annoyance to know she would see at least one of her sisters in the country while visiting her cousin, the earl’s wife. Christine, the middle sister, had an especially distant relationship with their father. His eyes left her, staring instead at the portrait of his late brother-in-law with dislike.
“May I be excused?”
He nodded without looking in her direction. “I will see you at dinner.”
“Yes, Father.” Her knees nearly buckled when she curtsied, but they held firm enough to get her out of the room and across the hall to the empty conservatory. There, Rebecca gave up at last and crumbled to the ground. She covered her mouth with both hands and curled into a ball on the floor, her heart-rending sobs hopefully muffled enough to keep anyone from hearing.
At eighteen years old, life was over, her choices made for her, and hope for a romance like the ones in her novels all but dead.
*
Christian rubbed at his eyes and closed the ledger in front of him. The day’s business was over at last and he could see to something more enjoyable. He stood from his desk and stretched, running his hands through his dark hair, then hastily correcting whatever mess that had made.
The thump of a tail on his desk made him look down at his feet where his prized hunter, Ajax, lounged on the carpet, his coppery fur blending into the shadows beneath the desk.
“Come, boy.” The dog responded immediately by rising to nudge his master’s hand, then fell into step beside Christian as he left the room. A footman in the hall stayed standing at attention when Christian passed, as stalwart as any soldier guarding a prison.
Christian made his way to the music room, his mind thrumming with the anticipation of playing his violin. When he’d come from Italy to live with his paternal grandfather, he’d been forced to give up many of his pursuits and habits. But the earl had let him keep his music, so long as it didn’t get in the way of his education or duties to the title.
His beloved instrument rested in its case, protected from dust and damage. He lifted the delicately carved violin into his hands, tucking it carefully beneath his chin. He swept the bow across the strings, waking the room and his soul with the warmth of his opening notes. He closed his eyes, leaning into the music—
A throat cleared and Christian opened his eyes to see a footman standing in the doorway. “My lord? The earl wishes to see you.”
Had he been ten years younger, Christian’s shoulders would’ve slumped and he’d have dragged his feet every step of the way to his grandfather’s study. As it was, he gave the footman a curt nod, carefully replaced his violin, and left the music room with regret. He would play no more tonight.
Ajax snorted as they came to the stairs and Christian’s lips twitched. “I agree, old boy. I’d rather do something more amusing, too. But grandfather must be obeyed.”
The dog looked up at him, sympathetic to his master’s displeasure.
“On w
e go.” Christian took the stairs as sedately as he’d been taught and went down the hallway to knock on the dark mahogany door of his grandfather’s most frequented room. He checked that his sleeves were straight and tugged once at the bottom of his waistcoat before answering the summons to enter.
“You wished to see me, Grandfather?” he asked, closing the door behind him. Ajax sat at once, knowing he was not welcome further into the room, but Christian went all the way forward to the large desk.
His grandfather sat in a high-backed chair, lined with plush red velvet cushions, behind a desk far too immense to be truly useful. The man, seventy-six years old and as sharp as a person half that age, looked up from a book laying open before him.
“Yes. Sit, Easton.”
Christian obeyed, keeping his back straight and his countenance a mask of civility. He had an idea of what his grandfather wished to speak of, and the very thought of the conversation made his insides twist.
“The contracts are complete. I have secured you a bride.”
Christian swallowed and kept his eyes on his grandfather. The old man’s smile was surely meant to be encouraging—he’d had his doubts about finding anyone willing to take on his elusive grandson—but all Christian could feel was the sting of disappointment in his breast. He forced himself to nod, though he could not even pretend to be pleased.
It didn’t matter that he had requested this method of securing a wife, it seemed. It was necessary, of course. Only a marriage arranged on his terms would keep him safe from the pain and devastation his parents’ union had caused.
“At what price?” He had to ask. He had to know who had agreed to marry him, and through what means she was persuaded.
“A few business negotiations. Promises of favors to her father. Nothing serious. The man is hungry for prestige and we can easily lend him some of ours.”
Miss Devon's Choice: A Sweet Regency Romance (Branches of Love Book 5) Page 1
