Devlin laughed softly, wondering what he would say and do when he learned of the impending nuptials.
When Hughes was gone, he glanced at the bronze clock on his desk. Now it was almost one. He went to the door. “Benson?” he called.
The butler appeared as if by magic. “Yes, Sir Captain?”
“I wish to speak with Miss Hughes.”
Benson nodded, swiftly leaving.
Devlin returned to his chair, eyeing the first list at hand, one of rations for his men. Salt beef, salt pork, peas, oatmeal, butter, cheese…he sighed and gave up. It had become an urgent matter, to discuss the impending wedding with Virginia. Was she actually ill? Or had she decided to walk all the way to London? He looked up as Benson stepped inside, drumming his fingertips on the desk. “Is she coming down?”
“She was not in her rooms, sir. But I did find this upon the bed. Most curiously, it is your seal—yet it is also addressed to you.” Benson handed him a sealed letter.
Devlin leapt to his feet, almost snatching the letter, instantly suspecting what was at hand. “That is all,” he said tersely.
Benson left, closing the door, and Devlin slit the seal, opening the letter.
The hand was feminine and it was addressed to him.
December 5, 1812
Dear Captain O’Neill,
I cannot marry you. By the time you receive this letter, I shall be gone. It has occurred to me, with no small amount of reflection, my behavior has been foolish in the extreme. It is definitely time for me to go home.
I have many regrets. Our failure to forge a genuine friendship is foremost among them. I also regret the harsh words spoken yesterday. Please know that I hold no grudge, and that in spite of all circumstance, I bear you no ill will. Indeed, the opposite is the case. I do consider you a friend, even if the feeling is not a mutual one. I wish you all the best, always.
Please give my best regards to your family, as they have been nothing but kind.
Sincerely,
Virginia Hughes
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THECOUNTESS OFEASTLEIGHwasn’t certain that she had heard the servant correctly. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, her arms filled with the flowers she had picked from the greenhouse. She set them carefully down on the huge center table in the kitchen.
“Miss Virginia Hughes has called, my lady,” the liveried manservant replied.
For one moment Elizabeth stared, careful not to allow her face to change expression. But she was more than surprised, in fact, she was stunned. What could Devlin’s mistress want? Why had she come calling? Had they returned to Wideacre? And if so, why? Elizabeth knew all about the sordid affair at the Carew ball.
And she still did not know what to make of it. It was astonishing that Devlin had brought his mistress into polite society, but she had come to grips with the fact that she did not know the man who had been her lover for six years. Her neighbors, Lady Philips and Lady Cramer, had been very quick to tell her all about the ball and the duel almost to the death between her stepson and O’Neill. Lady Cramer had been present at the scene (she also knew, Elizabeth was certain, of her own involvement with O’Neill until recently), and she had been very obliging, regaling Elizabeth and Lady Philips with numerous details of the duel. According to her, O’Neill had been intent on murdering his rival and only his stepbrother had prevented him from doing so.
Elizabeth managed a smile and she quickly handed a dozen tulips to a housemaid. “Please set these in a vase and put them in my room,” she murmured. Why on earth was Devlin’s new mistress here?
She had yet to recover from his rejection, or worse, his using her so baldly to abduct her husband’s niece. If she did not hate William so, she would demand to know what it all signified. If she had not been a faithless wife, she would have asked the same of Eastleigh. But she could approach neither man.
Yet Elizabeth was no fool. She had been O’Neill’s mistress. Now her husband’s niece had that dubious distinction, and Devlin had purchased Waverly Hall from the family some years back. Elizabeth began to sense that some terrible plan was afoot.
“Bring refreshments, Walden,” she said, a decision made. Her curiosity won and she removed her apron, washed her hands and left the kitchen.
Virginia stood in the yellow salon, a pretty room quite large in size with a half a dozen seating areas, the furniture obviously tired and worn, and two large chandeliers hanging from the pink, gold and white ceiling. She wore a pale lavender dress with long sleeves and a black pelisse, her dark hair tightly coiled to the back of her head. Her posture was stiff and erect, indicating extreme tension, but Elizabeth had only to look at her strained little face, devoid of all coloring, and then into her large eyes, to realize with shock that she was heartbroken.
Her own heart lurched and the awkward urge to comfort the girl came. “Miss Hughes?” She smiled more naturally now as she stepped into the salon.
Virginia tried to smile back, but it appeared to be more of a grimace. “I am sorry if I am disturbing you, my lady,” she said, her tone low and hoarse.
“You are not disturbing me,” Elizabeth said, gesturing at a seat. “Although I will confess, I am quite surprised by your call.”
