“You will be greatly sought after,” he said. “Thereishappiness awaiting you, Pippa.”
A fine one he was to promise her that. What the devil did he know about happiness or courtship or love? Only that all three could be crushed in a moment and ought never to be risked.
She was looking steadily at him, apparently unconvinced. Or—worse—uninterested.
“Devlin,” she said, “are you really going to stay?”
“I am,” he said. “It is my duty to take on the role of Stratton and see to it that Ravenswood thrives at least in material ways. I am not like our father and never can be. I cannot light up a room or a village street with my mere presence. But I will always do what I can see needs doing. Like seeing to it that you have your Season in London next year and your chance for happily ever after.”
She was still gazing at him. “No one can ever be someone else,” she said. “But even if youcould, Devlin, or if you could at least belikePapa, I would not want you to do it. I loved him with all my heart, but he did not love us.”
Her words chilled him again.
“He loved us in his own way, Pippa,” he said, and thought with some surprise that it was probably true.
“It was not good enough for me,” she said. “I think the only person he really loved was himself.”
Strangely, Devlin was not sure about that either. He had determinedly not thought of his father all these years. But the man had beamed love to all around him. Maybe it was not a pure love, since he undoubtedly took a great deal of pleasure for himself at the expense of those nearest and dearest to him. But it was love he had given them nevertheless. They could not possibly have been so deceived by him if it had not been. Could they?
His father had been a...complexbeing, Devlin thought, and was contented to leave it at that. He did not want to analyze him. He did not want to think about him at all.
He did not ever want to step into the village churchyard.
“Pippa,” he said. “I ought toaskyou rather thantellyou, ought I not? You are an adult. What have the past six years been like for you? What may I do for you? How can we mend what is broken? Is it even possible?”
She looked at him for a long moment. “You were not to blame,” she told him. “Even though the consequences were terrible, I was never really sorry that you did what you did. I was actually proud of you. For if you had waited and talked privately with Papa and even perhaps with Mama and the grandparents, everything would have been hushed up when it needed to be shouted from the rooftops.” She paused then. “There is one thing Idoblame you for, though. Papa died more than two years ago. We waited and waited for you to come home, but you did not come. Steph worshipped you, Dev. She took to hanging about down by the river, and though she said nothing, I know she was watching for you. Fortwo years.And Owen has needed you terribly. He had three older brothers and then none. And not even letters from you. Nothing. Just silence. Because you could not bear to think of us, I suppose. And now you have come back all turned to stone. Or so it seems. And talking about how you are going to take charge.”
He gazed mutely at her. What the devil was there to say? He closed his eyes and hung his head.
“You are not the only one who has suffered,” she said, getting to her feet. “It is chilly out here. I am going inside.”
He let her go and stayed where he was. And realized something with a sinking heart. For six years he had shut himself up inside himself in an act of self-defense that was incredibly selfish. And now he had come home to do his duty. But cold duty was definitely not going to be enough. He was indeed going to have to mend what was broken in this family. Yet he was surely the least suitably equipped man on earth to do so.
Then he frowned as he heard the echo of something Pippa had said when she was talking about going—or rather aboutnotgoing—to London for a come-out Season.I would not go when I was eighteen,she had said.I did not want to.
Why?
Their father had still been alive. Things had changed here at Ravenswood for the worse, but would not that very fact have made her all the more eager to escape to the pleasures awaiting her in London? Would she not have dreamed all the more of meeting someone and falling in love and marrying and all the rest of it? She had beeneighteen, for the love of God.
What the devil had happened?
Chapter Fifteen
Those days when there had been frequent social gatherings of any considerable size at Ravenswood Hall were long in the past and almost forgotten about by some. They were sadly missed by others. Now, however, all the families with some claim to gentility in the village and beyond had been invited to a formal tea, and their numbers were expected to be so large that it was to take place not in the more intimate setting of the family drawing room or dining room, but in the largest of the reception rooms in the west wing, a room exceeded in size only by the ballroom and the gallery.
The occasion had been billed as a welcome-home reception for the Earl of Stratton. And everyone, it seemed, wanted to attend, whether they felt kindly toward the earl or not. They wanted to see what changes a six-year absence had wrought in his appearance and to hear him speak if he should deign to do more than bow politely to them. They wanted to be able to discuss him afterward with one another and pass on their observations to anyone who had had the misfortune to miss the occasion. That number was not likely to belarge, however. It was being said that not a single invitation had been rejected.
Gwyneth’s feeling of relief over having already seen Devlin and spoken with him had dissipated overnight. For it was not enough to have come face-to-face with him when they were virtually alone together. Now she was going to have to do it again while dozens of pairs of curious eyes looked on. It was too much to hope no one would remember that on that most ghastly of horrid nights Devlin had been clinging to her hand, making it obvious to anyone with an ounce of sense that she had been with him on the pavilion hill when he encountered his father.
Itdidhelp that she was going to have Aled with her, however. He had been very attentive last evening and had made her forget her annoyance over being ignored for hours on end at the church. He had taken her for a stroll outside after dinner, before darkness descended completely. He had leaned an elbow on the top of the wooden stile while she sat on it and had gazed across the meadow and told her he must have a talk with her father one day soon and then with her. That was all. He had not added any explanation or poured out his undying love for her. He had not kissed her, though she had hoped he would. It was ridiculous at her age to have been kissed only once in her life. But he had looked at her and smiled, and his smile had promised much and warmed her to her toes. Afterward, he had asked her to play her harp and had praised her and offered suggestions and had her play one section of one piece over and over until he had nodded and smiled warmly at her and declared that before it had been only very, very good, but now it was perfection.
Gwyneth felt distinctly queasy when she saw the crowd in the reception room at Ravenswood. Her eyes took in a head table at one end of the room and a number of round tables set out in the rest ofit. All were covered with starched white cloths and set with matching china and crystal and silver with a vase of flowers—presumably from the greenhouses—at the center. Very few people were seated yet, however. Everyone was moving about, greeting friends and neighbors, talking in hearty tones, laughing a great deal. There was no receiving line inside the doors. It would have been a bit absurd when everyone knew almost everyone else—except Aled, of course. But the countess was close to the doors, her eldest son beside her, welcoming the guests as they arrived.
Gwyneth and Aled had become separated from the rest of her family while he had dawdled along the corridor outside, gazing upward to admire the fretwork up close to the ceiling.
“It is always a privilege to be invited inside one of England’s stately houses,” he had told her. “It seems that Idris came home at just the right time, bringing me with him.”
After stepping into the reception room they paused to greet the countess and thank her for inviting them. Gwyneth introduced Aled. The Countess of Stratton was still beautiful, though she must be nearer fifty than forty by now. She was still elegant and gracious. But Gwyneth remembered the warmth and charm that had once clung about her like an aura. They had vanished even before she was widowed. She offered Aled her hand as he inclined his head to her.
