Page 24 of Miss Devon’s Choice

When Christian was born, he was the light and joy of his mother. His father had told him this, many times, perhaps in an effort to give Christian a connection with the woman he didn’t fully remember. He had often wondered during his youth how his life might’ve been different had she lived past his sixth birthday.

When he thought back on his childhood, he couldn’t remember anything from before the disease that had taken him in its grasp so firmly. The agony, the pain of the sores all across his fevered skin, was nearly as fresh as it had been more than twenty years prior. Anything that came before was eclipsed by the illness, and everything that came immediately after existed in a haze of mourning.

Somehow, with her declaration, Rebecca Devon had driven him back into memories he preferred to keep shut away in the dark corners of his mind.

Love. The emotion was dangerous enough without Rebecca telling him she actively sought to attach herself to him with it. Perhaps she would give up the absurd idea given his response to it.

He couldn’t hide from her. They were at a house party with her relatives, and his whole purpose in coming was to make certain society saw their betrothal as legitimate. After he collected himself, he would need to be part of the household again.

What peace he’d found during the morning ride had fled. He needed to ground himself again. But how? His need for solitude could not be met without insulting his hosts.

Christian used the excuse of the letter to stay in his rooms. Had his relationship with his grandfather been different, Christian may have told him of the disturbing conversation had with Miss Devon. As it was, he kept his letter short and reported only who else was in attendance at the party, but when he finished writing he knew he must venture into the common rooms of the house again. The gentlemen had discussed billiards.

He needed to distract himself from Miss Devon’s forward intentions. Billiards might be just the thing.

After he found the billiard room, where tables and comfortable chairs had been set up for the men in the party to relax, converse, and smoke pipes, he settled into a chair that afforded him a view of the baron’s sons.

“I am the better player. You know this. Why you persist in trying to beat me is ridiculous. You’ll lose all your pocket money.”

“I have trounced you in billiards five times in the past month alone. Your memory is going, old man.”

Harold and Alfred Berwyn were in the midst of what seemed to be a friendly competition, with Lord Sharpeton leaning against the wall opposite Christian, clearly amused by the brotherly bickering.

Remaining silent for the duration of their game, Christian had ample time to put himself back together. He had nearly convinced himself that he’d misunderstood Rebecca’s pronouncement. And even if he hadn’t, she was young, innocent, and inexperienced with the world. She didn’t know what she was saying.

He’d started to relax when Lord Sharpeton took the chair next to his. “Lord Easton,” he said, tipping his head.

“Lord Sharpeton.” Christian returned the greeting but said nothing more. He didn’t know much about the Marquess’s son, only that he went to a different club. He was, perhaps, the same age as Christian but his open and friendly expression suggested he came from a vastly different background.

“I wanted to congratulate you,” Sharpeton said after a moment of quiet. “Your Miss Devon is a lovely young woman. It was smart of you, to snatch her up before the season began. She’s obviously well-connected, too. Makes me reconsider the whole business of a courtship during the season.” He grinned and crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair.

Uncertain as to what he’d done to encourage such familiarity, Christian answered without much warmth. “Thank you.” He had no wish to discuss his betrothed with anyone. He’d hoped to put her from his mind for a time, after all.

Sharpeton’s smile widened. “Fine place to finish courting her, too. The countryside here is spectacular. I understand you went for a ride this morning?”

“I did. I accompanied the earl.” Christian saw no harm in admitting to that.

“Excellent. You’ll have to ride out with me tomorrow, show me the grounds. But what about that lake? I want a closer look. It is full of entertaining possibilities. Perhaps we might fish. Do you enjoy fishing?”

Had Sharpeton made it his goal to get to know Christian as well?

“At times. When conditions are right.”

“Or we could take the young ladies on a picnic,” Sharpeton added, his eyebrows shooting upward as though he surprised himself by the idea. “Berwyns,” he said louder, gaining the attention of the baron’s sons. “Should we take the misses picnicking tomorrow?”

“I say, that’s an excellent idea.”

“Wonderful notion. I agree.”

Sharpeton clapped his hands before him. “Excellent. If we’re lucky, Lord and Lady Annesbury will have the treasure hunt underway, too.”

Christian winced. He’d nearly forgotten about that aspect of the party. The other single men had come up with the idea of a treasure hunt after breakfast. The baron’s sons couldn’t have been much younger than Christian and Sharpeton, but the eagerness with which they talked of treasure hunting was almost irritating. Now they were planning picnics. Had any of these men a serious thought in their heads?

He’d rather spend time with the earl and the older male members of the house party. They were likely holed up in the earl’s library or study, talking of politics or the war, something of real substance.

“I hope Lady Annesbury won’t mind if we take a hand in planning amusements. I hate sitting still for long,” Sharpeton said.

One of the baron’s sons groaned. “As do I. House parties can be so dull when there isn’t any shooting.”