“What you were,” he told her, “was a young lady of eighteen, ripe for love and courtship. Oh, Pippa.”
They were still standing, his arms about her. She drew away then and sat back down on the sofa. He sat beside her and took one of her hands in both of his.
“A few days after that,” she said, “a letter came from Ben telling us of the terrible wound to your face, though he was able to assure us that you would live and would not be blind. And I turned on Papa when I was alone with him after he had read the letter aloud at the breakfast table and told him it was all his fault. Thateverythingwas. It all came bursting out of me. At last. He did not deny it but actuallyapologizedto me. I told him it was toyouhe ought to be apologizing. And to Ben. And he promised that he would write to both of you. I do not suppose he did, though. I told him also, and I told Mama, that I would not be going to London, that I did not want to go. And I remained firm on that even though Mama pleaded with me. What ifhewas there in London? I would not havebeen able to bear it. And what if everyone else there had called mesoiled goods? Then, only days after he and Mama came home from London, where they had gone without me, Papa died. Without saying goodbye. Without giving us a chance to say goodbye to him. At least we were able to say goodbye to you and Ben. Not that it made any difference.”
She turned her face into his shoulder and wept with noisy, gulping sobs.
Soiled goods.Those words stuck in Devlin’s mind.Soiled goods.Pippa.His sister, that bright, happy little star.Who the devil was this Marquess of Roath? If he was still alive,whywas he still living?
When her sobs had subsided to a few forlorn hiccups, he set a handkerchief in her hand, and she turned away to dry her eyes and blow her nose. Clouds had moved over the whole of the sky, Devlin saw, though he did not believe they were rain clouds.
“Pippa,” he said. “I do not know who the Marquess of Roath is, though Iwillfind out. And he will be dealt with. But... Are you going to allow an ill-mannered man of such low character to blight the whole of your life?”
She turned back to look at him. Her face was marred by red blotches. Her eyes were bloodshot. But the beauty that had already been blooming six years ago was still there. It just needed something to light and animate it.
“I amnotgoing to London, if that is what you are about to suggest,” she told him. “I do notwanta Season.”
Which was answer enough, he supposed.
“Has anyone else here ever insulted you?” he asked her. “James Rutledge, for example? Sid Johnson?”
She thought about it. “No,” she admitted. “Edwina Rutledge said James sent Lord Roath away, but that was absurd. You do not send away amarquess, the heir to aduke, do you, when you areyourself only the second son of a baron and he has deigned to be your friend?”
“Yet it is just what I would expect James Rutledge to do,” he told her, “from what I remember of him. I would also expect that Sid Johnson would have had a word or two to say on the matter.” She hadnot, he noticed, mentioned that birthday party from which she had been excluded, according to Steph. Perhaps that had been in the early days, when everyone would still have been embarrassed about the scene Devlin had made at the fete.
“What you must remember, Pippa,” he said, “is that you are the elder daughter of an earl. And the elder sister of an earl. Twenty-one years old and dazzlingly eligible. Do you think perhaps it is time you learned to waltz? At Sid Johnson’s this evening, where the lesson will replace the maypole dancing practice?”
It was no solution to what ailed her, of course. He did notknowthe solution, if there was one. But sometimes all one could do to cope with life was get oneself upright and set one foot before the other to begin the journey.
Her chin lifted an inch and she gazed at him for a long while. “What time are we leaving?” she asked.
—
By the time the carriage from Ravenswood stopped outside Cartref to convey her to Sidney Johnson’s, Gwyneth was feeling very glad of the chance to escape from home for a while. Not that she was ungrateful for the outpouring of love after Devlin took his leave, but sometimes her normally placid mother became overwhelmed by emotion, and everyone around her became the victim of it. Her father had prudently withdrawn to the church to look for some music he was convinced must be there because it was not athome. Idris had disappeared to attend to some unspecified farm business. That had left Gwyneth.
How on earth, her mother had asked her, were they going to solve the problem of Sir Ifor playing the organ at her weddingandat the same time escorting Gwyneth into the church as father of the bride? Oh, anddidGwyneth think there was any merit in suggesting a double wedding with Idris and Eluned? She answered her own question in the negative before Gwyneth could open her mouth, however, for of course Marged, Eluned’s mother, already had that wedding more than half planned. Andcouldthere be any mother anywhere happier than she, Bronwyn Rhys, was today, withtwochildren getting married and the hope of grandchildren in the foreseeable future? Andwouldthey have Adeline Proctor make Gwyneth’s wedding clothes, or should they go up to London to a more fashionable dressmaker? But would Adeline be hurt if they did that? Oh, andwhatdid Gwyneth think about...
And so it had gone on through the day until Gwyneth was ready to suggest to Devlin that they elope. Not that she was seriously considering it, of course, but really...
Sir Ifor had come home with ideas for music he would play at the wedding. He had discussed the matter at great length with himself and confirmed his own ideas and contradicted them quite indiscriminately while Idris had winked at his sister and was probably relieved that his own upcoming nuptials were no longer the full focus of his parents’ attention. Today, anyway.
Gwyneth was very glad, then, that she was to have an unexpected evening out, and on her own, without her family. She was going to brush up on the steps of the waltz, and tomorrow evening she was going to dance it at the assembly—with Devlin. She did not know how that would be accomplished, but it would be. Hemight even think it was all his own suggestion. Oh, she did knowsomethingabout feminine wiles.
She could hardly wait to see him again.
But it was Stephanie who came hurrying down the steps of the carriage, her arms spread wide. “I am sohappy,” she cried, folding Gwyneth in her embrace and squeezing tight. “One story at least is to have a happy ending.MayPippa and I be bridesmaids? It is quite all right if you say no. Who would want me anyway? But I thought I would ask. Oh, Lady Rhys. And Sir Ifor. Is this not exciting news?” She rushed up to the door to hug them too.
Gwyneth laughed while Devlin came down the steps to hand her into the carriage. She set her hand in his and felt unabashed happiness. His eyebrows were raised.
“Need I say,” he said, “that my choice of bride has met with the approval of my sister?”
“I would never have guessed if you had not told me,” she said.
She was surprised when she climbed into the carriage to find the elder of his sisters sitting there. “Oh,” she said. “Hello, Philippa.”
“I am happy for you too,” Philippa said, her voice quiet and grave. “I agree with Steph. Sometimes stories really do have happy endings.”
“Thank you.” Gwyneth smiled at her. “Are we all going to take the assembly by storm tomorrow night with our waltzing skills?”
