“Devlin, yes,” she said. “We had a letter this morning from his wife—Gwyneth. They are on their way here from Wales at last. They could arrive any day now. I was unhappy with him for most of the six years he was away at war. For he never once wrote to any of us, even Stephanie, who pined for him and had done nothing to offend him. As I had not. Or Owen. And he did not return or write even after Papa died. Not for two years. I was determined not to forgive him after he did come home—with a scarred face and a heart of granite. Or so it seemed. But love does not die, I think. It may lie dormant, and it may leave wounds and scars. But it never goes away.”
She was staring down at her plate, though she seemed not to notice that the lobster patty was still on it, waiting to be eaten. She had drunk only half her tea. What remained in her cup would be cold by now.
She did not explain what had happened to cause all that disruption within her family, and he did not ask. But it sounded as though they had once been a close family and perhaps were again—now that Stratton was dead. Was there a connection? He would wager there was.
“Love is not love...”he said. “Do you know the sonnet?”
“It is an ever-fixed mark...”she said, quoting from a different part of the poem as she looked up and smiled at him. “But I think Shakespeare was talking about romantic love.”
“Love is love,” he said.
“Love is not love... Love is love. I am feeling a little dizzy.”She laughed softly. “Some people are going back to the ballroom. I think we should go too, Lord Roath. I have promised the next set of dances and would not like to be late.”
Lucas had the horrible feeling as he got to his feet and offered her his arm that he was falling a bit in love with Lady Philippa Ware, who was not only beautiful but also likable. For perhaps the dozenth time in as many days he cursed the fate that had taken him into the neighborhood of Ravenswood Hall for Easter four years ago.
And for the dozenth time he reminded himself that if he had not done so, she would doubtless be married by now. And probably happy.
Perhaps he would be happy too, for he would never have met her.
Chapter Twelve
Harassed?”the Duke of Wilby said. “Lady Philippa Ware is under consideration to be offered marriage to the heir to a duke’s title and vast properties and fortune besides, yet she is beingharassed, Lucas? She is, according to my observations and Her Grace’s, the most beautiful, the most charming, modest, poised, and eligible young lady now present in London. She is amiable in your company and converses with you and smiles at you without in any way giving the impression that she is intent merely upon snaring you. She has become Jenny’s friend. Kitty likes her, as do Charlotte and Sylvester. She lives up to and even exceeds every expectation Her Grace and I had when we came to town this year. We have indicated our approval by treating her kindly. Yet you accuse us ofharassingher?”
Whenever His Grace referred to him asLucas, his grandson knew he was in trouble.
“Well, there is Lady Morgan Bedwyn, Bewcastle’s sister,” theduchess reminded the duke. “We have heard that she is in London, Percy. She was not at last night’s ball, however.”
“She is not in search of a husband,” Lucas said. “She made that abundantly clear on the one occasion when I met her. She was haughty in manner and very, very bored with the whole social scene around her. I do not believe it was an affected boredom. I was not attracted to her.”
“What has attraction to do with anything?” His Grace snapped, signaling for the butler to refill his coffee cup now that he had finished eating his breakfast.
“That is your second cup, Percy,” the duchess reminded him.
“And the next one will be my third, May, should I decide to have my cup filled again,” he said testily. “They are an odd family, the Bedwyns. Especially Bewcastle himself. A cold fish if ever I knew one, though actually more like a wolf than a fish with those silver eyes of his. Let someone else take on Lady Morgan Bedwyn. I daresay she will grow to resemble her aunt Rochester in time anyway, and that would not be a happy prospect for whoever marries her. I still say Lady Philippa Ware is the one for you, Luc.”
“You were by far the most handsome couple on the floor when you waltzed together last evening,” the duchess said. “You would have lovely babies, Luc.”
Lucas winced.
His Grace stared at his wife, speechless for a moment. “Babies are notlovely.They resemble nothing more than bald eggs, which cry noisily and incessantly at one end and wet themselves or worse endlessly at the other,” he said. “But babies are a necessary means to an end, Lucas. Male babies.Notthat I have anything against female ones. But for you, a male one first and preferably second as well and then as many daughters as you want.”
The thread of this conversation had somehow begun to unravel, Lucas thought.
“Unfortunately, Grandpapa,” he said, “you have a measure of control only upon me.Notupon Lady Philippa Ware or any other prospective bride who may win your approval and Grandmama’s. I promised Lady Philippa last evening that I would have a word with you today and make it clear that she is not to be harassed.”
“Youpromisedher?” The duke grabbed his cup and downed his coffee in what looked to be a single gulp. “Did she say she felt bullied, then?”
Lucas sighed. “She actually said she could not help liking you both,” he said. “But—”
His grandfather slammed the flat of his hand down on the table, rattling the dishes and cutlery upon it.
“Butnothing,” he said. “It appears to me, Lucas, that I have a poor apology for a grandson, who is afraid to court a beautiful woman when he sees one for fear she may reject his suit. Court her. Make sure she has no reason to reject you and every reason to accept. Is that harassment? Is that bullying? She will still have the freedom to say no when you make your offer. See to it that she doesnotsay no.”
“Jenny has told me she would love to have Lady Philippa as a sister-in-law,” the duchess said, smiling at her grandson, as though she thought that would be encouragement enough for him to force his attentions upon a woman who simply would not have him. “Have you sent her flowers yet today, Luc?”
“It is only breakfast time, Grandmama,” he reminded her. His grandparents were almost always up at first cockcrow in the mornings—not that there were any roosters in close proximity to Arden House. It did not matter, though. Neither did the late night they had had after a busy evening at the ball. They were up anyway.His aunt and his sister, on the other hand, were still sensibly asleep in their beds, as doubtless were nine-tenths of everyone else who had attended last evening’s ball.
“The largest bouquet you can find,” His Grace said. “And then have it doubled in size. Every other young buck who was there last night will be sending her flowers. Make sure yours stand out.”
