Regency Wagers Page 8

  ‘It is my job,’ Sophie said, visibly upset.

  Madeleine put her hands on her hips. ‘I would like to make it. I am tired of being waited upon as if I am no use at all.’

  ‘But, but…’ Sophie burst into tears and ran out.

  ‘That was badly done, miss.’ Bart gave her a stern expression. ‘The lass wishes to serve you. She credits you with sparing her much hardship.’ He marched after Sophie.

  Madeleine glanced at Devlin, her hand rubbing her throat. ‘I did not mean to make her cry.’

  Devlin understood. She wanted to feel she had some use beyond the bedchamber. He had even less to offer, except the money his brother controlled, if he could get it. If Madeleine wished to make tea, what was the harm?

  He turned back to the blocks. ‘Maddy, if it would not be too much trouble, would you make me some tea?’

  The next morning Devlin walked up to an impressive town house on Grosvenor Square and rapped with the shiny brass knocker. The heavy door opened and a solemn-faced butler almost broke into a smile.

  ‘Master Devlin.’

  ‘Barclay, you never change.’ Devlin did smile. ‘I trust you are well?’

  The man took his hat and gloves. ‘Indeed, I am, Master Devlin.’

  ‘Is my brother here?’

  ‘He is expected directly, my lord. Shall I announce you to her ladyship?’

  ‘If you please.’

  He followed Barclay to the parlour, decorated with Serena’s usual perfection, couches and chairs arranged to put visitors at ease. A moment later, the Marchioness came through the door.

  ‘Devlin, you kept your promise. How good to see you.’ She reached out her hands to him.

  He clasped them warmly and kissed her cheek. ‘Serena, you are in excellent looks, as usual.’ His brother’s wife had the cool beauty of the fine china figurines gracing the mantelpiece, disguising her warm-hearted nature. Her reserve and unceasing correctness could so easily be mistaken for coldness.

  She coloured slightly. ‘Do sit with me and tell me how you go on. I’ve already rung for tea.’

  He joined her on the couch. ‘I am well, Serena.’

  She peered at him worriedly. ‘Are you sure? You look a little pale. Do your wounds still pain you?’

  He laughed. ‘I am quite well. Thoroughly recovered and there is no need to fuss over me. Where is Ned?’

  ‘Attending to some business.’ Her brows knit together. ‘Are you in trouble, Devlin?’

  ‘Good God, no, Serena.’ Her solicitude rivalled his brother’s. ‘I have something to discuss. Nothing to signify.’

  The tea arrived and she poured with precision. He sipped the liquid, brewed to perfection, and thought how different this cup was from the strong, leaf-filled concoction Madeleine had made the day before.

  Serena spoke. ‘It was pleasant seeing you yesterday.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘That young lady—Miss England, I believe—was lovely. Who is she, Devlin?’

  He should have expected this question. He gave Serena a direct look. ‘An acquaintance.’

  Her eyebrows raised.

  He held her gaze.

  Serena glanced down demurely. ‘Does she interest you?’

  Did Madeleine interest him? Keeping her safe interested him. Making love to her interested him, but he would not explain that to Serena. At least Serena must not suspect Madeleine to be anything but a well-bred young lady, unchaperoned though she had been. She would not have mentioned Madeleine at all if she had thought her to be Haymarket-ware, as Madeleine called herself.

  ‘She is an acquaintance, Serena,’ he repeated in a mild voice.

  She tilted her head sceptically, but was much too well bred to press any further.

  They sat in awkward silence.

  ‘I should tell you I have moved, Serena.’

  She peered at him. ‘Moved? For what reason?’

  Devlin paused. ‘No reason.’

  ‘Some difficulty with the rent?’

  ‘No.’ Devlin hid his impatience with a small laugh. ‘Why do you suppose I should have difficulty with the rent? You and Ned. I cannot say who is the worse. I am not in difficulty. I am well able to take care of myself. At six and twenty I should know how to go on. I survived Napoleon’s army, if you recall.’

  Serena looked stricken. ‘But you were so badly injured. We feared you would not live. You do not realise how close a thing it was.’ She fished a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. ‘And you have been gambling so. Ned was concerned because no one has seen you for days.’

  ‘Ned can go to the dev—’ This was too much. ‘Good God, what does he do, scour the town for news of me?’

  Serena’s eyes glittered with tears. ‘I believe he hears word of you at White’s,’ she replied in all seriousness.

  Devlin burst into laughter. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her, squeezing affectionately. ‘Dear sister, I beg your pardon. I do not mean to upset you. I know you and my brother mean well, but you forget I’m out of leading strings.’

  She blushed and straightened her posture. ‘I am sure we do not.’

  ‘Tell me how you and Ned go on? Is my brother still managing the family affairs to perfection?’

  Serena lifted her chin protectively. ‘Ned has much on his shoulders.’

  Devlin gave her a kind smile. ‘Indeed he does. He is a man to admire, Serena. I mean that.’

  ‘I have heard from your sisters and brother. They are excellent correspondents.’

  Unlike himself who wrote little and visited less.

  ‘Indeed? What is the family news?’

  Serena, with a wistfulness in her voice, chattered on about the trifling activities of his nephews and nieces. Percy’s son, Jeffrey, the eldest, at Eton. Rebecca, Helen’s daughter, learning the pianoforte. All the little ones merging into a blur. He listened with as interested an expression as he could muster. Serena doted on all the children. By far she was their favourite aunt. And he, the Waterloo Dragoon, was their hero uncle, even though he had difficulty keeping their names straight.

  What a pity Serena had not had a child. Fate had no notion of fair play. She would make a perfect mother, and a loving one, as well. He suspected her disappointment in that quarter was immense.

  ‘And you, Serena? How do you go on?’

  ‘I am well.’ A sad look came over her face.

  Devlin gave her another hug. She would not wish to speak of her disappointment at not presenting the Marquess with an heir.

  ‘Dear sister,’ he murmured.

  She recovered herself. ‘Ned will be here directly. Will you wait for him?’

  He had little choice. ‘Serena,’ he said, surmising a change of conversation was in order, ‘do you suppose Ned would mind if I borrowed a pair of horses some morning? I’ve a notion to ride.’

  ‘You will ride again?’ she said brightly. He had not been on a horse since charging the French, east of the Brussels road. ‘Indeed he will not mind. He will be glad of it, and I will personally ask Barclay to instruct the stable to provide any horse you wish.’

  ‘Any two horses. I…I wish to have Bart join me.’

  ‘Two horses it is.’ She smiled.

  The parlour door opened and the Marquess strode in at a quicker pace than was his custom. Devlin stood to greet him.

  ‘Devlin, how good to see you.’ Equally uncharacteristic of him, he embraced Devlin heartily.

  This idol of his childhood, his oldest brother Ned, usually did not betray emotion. Ned always could be counted on to remain unflappable when his youngest brother came begging for his help out of the latest scrape. Because of those days, Devlin always felt in awe of that tall, ramrod-straight figure. He always expected to crane his neck to look at Ned. It never failed to be a shock when he found himself half a head taller and his brother going grey at the temples.

  ‘What brings you to call?’ Ned asked with such surprise, it suggested he had given up altogether on a
visit from Devlin.

  ‘I wished to see you and Serena, of course, but I also have a matter of business to discuss with you, if it is convenient.’

  Ned regained that strict composure. ‘Indeed. We shall go into the library. You will excuse us, Serena?’

  With a nod to his wife, he preceded Devlin out the door. Devlin followed dutifully, feeling much like that little boy, in a scrape once more.

  Inside that book-lined room, Ned poured two glasses of port. Devlin glanced at the shelves and had the incongruous thought that Madeleine might enjoy a good book. Not the sort of book to be found in this room, he supposed, but perhaps a Miniver Press novel such as his sisters had read when they sat by his sick bed.

  Ned handed him his glass. ‘What did you wish to discuss?’

  Devlin sipped and paced the room, trying to figure out the best way to present this.

  ‘Are you in trouble?’ Ned’s voice was low and steady.

  Devlin flashed him an irritated glance and muttered, ‘You and Serena.’ Speaking more firmly, he said, ‘I am not in trouble.’

  His brother’s face remained impassive.

  Devlin took a gulp of port. ‘I have moved.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘To a larger place.’

  ‘You required a larger place?’ A disapproving tone crept into his brother’s speech.

  ‘It was too good an opportunity to pass up. On the same street, but a much better situation.’

  ‘And?’ One of Ned’s eyebrows rose.

  Devlin took a deep breath. ‘I am short of money as a result. I would ask if you would advance me some additional funds until next quarter.’

  His brother did not drop his gaze, nor did his expression change, even a muscle. Devlin knew he was considering, weighing the matter silently in his head.

  As a child, this silence had been a comfort. It meant Ned was reckoning a way out of his difficulties. As a man, he was less certain.

  His brother stared implacably into his port. ‘How wise was this move?’

  ‘Devil it, Ned, the move is made. Whether it was wise or not is moot.’

  ‘You engaged in this impulsively.’ This was not a question but a statement of fact, a disapproved-of fact.

  Devlin put his glass down on a table and faced his immovable brother. ‘It is done, Ned, and I need some money to get through to next quarter. Will you give it or not?’

  Ned sat in a nearby chair and casually crossed his legs. ‘You have been gambling heavily, little brother.’

  Devlin knew that was coming. ‘As your spies have reported? I do not suppose they were present when I won back my losses?’

  Ned’s cronies would never have been present at such an unsavoury place as Farley’s. If they had, his brother would be discussing what else Devlin won that night.

  ‘I have heard your losses to be steep. This gambling must stop, Devlin.’

  If his brother had not ordered him to stop gambling, he might have informed Ned that he’d come to the same conclusion. Now he would not give his brother that satisfaction.

  ‘And what else might I do, Ned? What is there for me to do? The war is over, and I’m damned if I’ll go anywhere else in this world to fight. India? Africa? The West Indies? I’m no longer keen on dying on foreign soil.’

  Ned swirled his port and tasted the rich, imported liquid. ‘It is time you took your rightful place in the family.’

  ‘Rightful place?’ Devlin prowled the room. ‘What the deuce is my rightful place?’

  Calmly his brother spoke, ‘You need to assume the control of your estate. It should not fall to our brother Percy, who has enough of his own to oversee.’

  ‘You know I cannot.’ Devlin glared at him. ‘You and my father saw to that. I cannot take control until I marry. I must subsist on what you obligingly provide me until I marry a suitable woman of whom you approve. Good God! What possessed you and my father to contrive that addle-brained plan?’

  ‘You know why.’ Ned spoke in the most reasonable voice possible. ‘You lack control. You have always been devil-may-care. Father had the wisdom to know you would cease your wild ways when you had another person dependent upon you. A wife.’

  ‘Damn it, Ned, would you have me marry merely to get my fortune? Would you have married under that fancy bit of blackmail?’

  At least Devlin had the satisfaction of seeing his brother betray emotion. Ned’s cheek twitched. ‘Leave Serena out of this.’

  Devlin felt a pang of guilt for speaking of his brother’s marriage. He never knew for certain if his brother loved Serena, though he suspected she loved Ned. When he saw Ned and Serena together, there was such a reserve between them, who could tell? Had Ned married her out of duty? Pity Serena, if he had. Their father was behind the match, of course, and Ned would never have gone against their father’s wishes. Two peas in a pod, his brother and father.

  ‘I am not speaking of Serena,’ he said more mildly. ‘I am speaking of myself. I have no desire to marry at the moment, but I am more than ready to assume control of my property. Indeed, I long to run it. Let me take the task from Percy and work the farm. I do not give a damn if the rest of the money is under your thumb.’

  It would be an ideal solution. Bart and Sophie would fit in neatly on the estate. Madeleine and Linette would be a bit more difficult to situate, but he was sure he could contrive something.

  Ned regained his damned composure. ‘Doing so would deprive you of an opportunity to make an advantageous match. The Season has begun and there are all manner of eligible young ladies from whom you may choose.’

  Devlin clenched his fist. ‘I have no desire to marry.’

  Ned rose and walked to the desk by the window. He fussed with papers stacked there, glancing through them, and re-stacking them. Devlin would have liked to think his brother was considering his proposal, but he suspected Ned was simply showing him who was head of the family.

  Ned did not look up from the papers when he spoke. ‘Our father’s wishes will continue to be honoured. You will receive your allotted portion on the quarter, not before. When you marry an acceptable young lady, your estate and your fortune will pass to you, and I will have no more to say of it.’

  Devlin leaned down, putting both hands on the desk, forcing his brother to meet his eyes. ‘Both you and Father were mistaken, Ned. You could at least let me work. As it is, you and our dear departed father have deprived me of any responsibility at all and have kept me as dependent as if I were still a schoolboy. Had I something of value to do, I might have reason to be steady. As it is, I have nothing.’

  ‘You will have everything you desire if you marry.’ Ned spoke through clenched teeth.

  ‘But I do not wish to marry.’

  The two men glared at each other.

  Devlin swung away from his brother. ‘You and Father never trusted me to find my own way. You knew, did you not, that he almost refused to purchase my colours?’ He fingered one of the volumes on the shelf. ‘I would have enlisted as a common foot soldier had he done so. Father could not force me to do anything and neither can you, Ned.’

  ‘You are being foolish, Devlin. This is for your own good. You have always been too wild by half and too wilful to behave with any sense.’

  ‘You dare to say such a thing to me? Do you forget what I have been doing these past years? Do you think I have been on a lark?’

  The Marquess stood. ‘I know it killed our father to have you traipsing all over the continent risking your neck.’

  Devlin shook with rage. ‘Unfair, Ned.’

  ‘You should have been seeing to your duty to the family.’ Ned raised his voice.

  ‘I was seeing to my duty to the family. How well do you think the family would have fared under Napoleon?’ Devlin matched his brother’s volume. ‘Go to the devil, Ned.’

  Ned stepped from behind the desk and faced his brother. ‘Our father worried every day that you would meet your death. Not only during the war, but every day of your sad youth. You have been a
rash care-for-nobody and it is past time you became a grown man.’

  Devlin clenched his fists, standing nose to nose with his older brother. ‘I fought for my life before I ever went to war. To be a man means more than following the dictates of a father who thought he could pull a string and have all his bidding done. When will you assume manhood, Ned? Have you ever had a thought of your own?’

  ‘You are addressing the head of the family, little brother.’

  ‘I am addressing my father. You may as well be him, Ned. You always did whatever he said. You and Percy and our sisters. You all blindly did his bidding. If he said jump, you jumped. If he said marry this young lady, you made the offer.’

  ‘Leave Serena out of this!’ Ned’s eyes blazed. He shoved hard against Devlin’s chest.

  Devlin automatically shoved back, his soldier’s reflexes operating. With his greater height, youth, and war-honed strength, he knocked his brother to the floor. ‘Leave me to live my own life! I will choose when and who I marry.’

  ‘Indeed you shall, you insufferable ingrate.’ Ned picked himself off the floor and, to Devlin’s surprise, came at him with a swinging fist that connected smartly to Devlin’s jaw.

  ‘Deuce,’ yelled Devlin, lunging back at him, toppling them both to the floor. They rolled, grunting and punching, knocking down a small table and sending the wine decanter crashing to the floor, red wine splashing.

  ‘Stop this! Stop at once!’ Serena cried from the doorway.

  The two men paid her no heed. On their feet now, they smashed into a bookcase and books rained down from the shelves. Blood dripped from Ned’s nose and Devlin’s coat ripped.

  ‘Barclay! Barclay!’ Serena screamed for the butler as she ran over to her husband and brother-in-law. She pulled on Devlin’s back to get him off Ned.

  ‘Master Devlin. Master Ned.’ A voice of authority seemed to boom directly from their childhood. White-haired Barclay entered the room. ‘You ought to be ashamed.’

  They stopped fighting at once.

  Ned recovered first, dabbing his nose with the lace-edged handkerchief Serena offered him. ‘Thank you, Barclay. We are quite in control again. Your help is no longer necessary.’