Page 6 of Miss Devon’s Choice

Rebecca quietly voiced her agreement. Perhaps twenty miles east of London. That could be an advantage should her marriage prove too uncomfortable. Many a man or wife escaped their home life by taking up residence in London, sans spouse. She’d never understood that sort of relationship. Until now.

“Indeed.” She hadn’t really gleaned enough information, but it was time to change the conversation. “I am sorry I won’t be in London to share my news with more of our friends. I count on each of you to spread word of my engagement for me.” She didn’t really care if anyone knew of the engagement, but only after the words slipped from her did she wonder if it was wise to entrust it to this particular group of people.

She dismissed the concern. What harm could come of it? All of society would soon know, after the banns were read.

“Yes, you are going back to Kettering, aren’t you?” Miss Gardiner said with a nod. “The Countess of Annesbury’s summer house party.”

“Do you know who else is on the guest list? I have heard they are terribly exclusive,” the not-so-clever, but very class-conscious, Miss Gilderoy said with a gleam in her eye.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Rebecca admitted, allowing herself a small, genuine smile. She didn’t care much who came, so long as she was able to see her sister Christine while there. Rebecca hardly spent enough time with the members of her family she actually liked. Of course, she would need support and companionship this summer, her last as an unmarried woman. Especially if her cousin sent an invitation, as Rebecca had requested in her letter that very morning, to Christian Hundley, Lord Easton, to join the house party.

*

Christian spent eight days trying not to think on his betrothal. It didn’t matter to him that a woman somewhere in the world, a woman named Rebecca, was claiming the distinction of being a future viscountess. He kept to himself, as he always had. He walked the grounds, spent time rowing in the river, and attended to his studies as well as the management needs of the estate. His sole companion, most of the time, was Ajax. The dog remained his silent shadow, unless his grandfather had need of him. At dinner, and after in the library, Ajax was not permitted to be present. Those were the hours in which Christian experienced the most difficulty in forgetting Rebecca Devon existed, because his grandfather kept bringing the woman up in conversation.

On this the eighth evening, Christian had barely sat down to dinner before the earl was speaking of her.

“I have had report of your Miss Devon today. The girl has left London, but apparently decided to stir the waters ere she went. The ton, or what’s left of it in town at this time of year, are buzzing about your engagement. All the sources of the gossip trace back to her inner-circle.”

Christian’s stomach clenched. He hated knowing people were speaking of him. He stayed out of society’s way, and had for years, to avoid the gossip mill. His grandfather disapproved, but after the disaster four years previous, kept silent on the matter.

Christian dropped his fork and pushed his plate away, the aroma of duck in orange sauce no longer appealing. “What are they saying?”

His grandfather raised his white eyebrows and took on a tone of false lightness. “Oh, the usual sort of things. There are plenty who rightly say she’s marrying you for your money and title. Some are even clever enough to point the finger at her father. But there are other rumors less flattering. Some say she is being forced into a union with you, and they pity the woman.” The earl calmly took a bite of his duck and chewed slowly, watching Christian carefully.

The man was testing him. Christian knew the surest way to fail would be to express emotion on the subject, whether by expression or word. He maintained a facade of calm indifference.

“Do we care enough about such things to necessitate a response of some kind?” Christian speared a piece of duck on his fork and raised it to his lips, his movements slow, precise.

“I think we must do something, given that I expect you to take my place in the House of Lords when Parliament reconvenes.”

Christian froze, the food in his mouth, and stared at his grandfather. The man was getting on in years, but Christian didn’t think the earl would ever relinquish power, or control, in any form until the day he died. Sending his grandson to Lords in his place was tantamount to a confession of weakness. What could the old man be thinking?

“I can tell by your stunned silence that you are grateful for this chance to prove yourself capable as my heir.” The old man raised a napkin to his lips before lifting his wineglass. “I want to assure myself you are capable of taking my place in the party, despite your youth.”

There were men younger than Christian in places of power, of course, but many viewed twenty-six-year-old men as little better than boys. Suddenly, other things his grandfather had said and done over the course of the year began to make more sense.

“You want me to marry to look more credible,” Christian said.

His grandfather nodded. “And then these rumors start up. They must be countered, Christian, if you are going to take your place in society and politics when I die. We both know it cannot be far off. I am seventy-six, after all.”

Christian swallowed another bite of duck, finding it drier now than when he had first tasted it. He lowered his eyes to his plate, trying to decide if his stomach could handle another bite.

“What would you like me to do, Grandfather?”

“Have you no mental acumen, boy? What do you think you ought to do?” The old man’s fist landed suddenly, the wine in his cup splashing out. Christian winced but otherwise didn’t move, watching his grandfather from the corner of his eye. “And this is precisely why it’s time for you to take part in the world.”

His temper rose, but Christian clamped down hard on it. “The best way to put these rumors to rest, all of them, would be for Miss Devon and myself to make public appearances together. But you said she has left London. We cannot drag her back.”

“No. We cannot.” His grandfather scoffed at him, laying his hands on the table and leaning forward slightly. “And I doubt you showing yourself around town alone would do the trick. Likely it would fuel the fire. You must be known to keep company with each other. The girl must make it plain she has no aversion to your union.”

“As you said, I cannot do it on my own.” Christian’s shoulders were tight, his muscles coiled, but there was no work for them except to keep him still.

“Then it is a godsend for you that this arrived today.” His grandfather gestured to a footman standing in the corner. The servant moved to a table against the wall and lifted a tray, then brought it to Christian. A cream-colored, high-quality linen paper bearing Christian’s name, lay on the tray.

Christian took the thick sheet and noted the seal already broken. He didn’t immediately recognize the coat of arms pressed into the wax, but when he opened the invitation he saw it came from the Earl and Countess of Annesbury.

“This is where your future bride has gone,” his grandfather explained while Christian read the letter. “And you have been invited to join her there. The Earl of Annesbury is an influential man, as was his father before him, and his grandfather. His countess is a relative to Miss Devon. Such connections would be valuable for you and will improve the image the ton has of you. You will go.”