Page 64 of Miss Devon’s Choice

“Rebecca,” her father said, causing her arm to tighten against Christian’s. “I trust you are in good health? As is my sister?” Christian had seen lizards look warmer and more inviting than the man before him appeared.

“We are both well, Father. Thank you for asking.”

“And you, my lord? Are you and your grandfather well?” There seemed to be something more to the question, another layer of inquiry, but Christian couldn’t be certain what it pertained to.

“I am, and my grandfather’s latest correspondence indicates he is, too.” Christian could feel the tension in the room as if it were a tangible thing, wrapped around each of them. “And yourself, Mr. Devon?”

“Fine, fine.” Devon waved his hand dismissively. “Are you enjoying your time at the earl’s house? His house-parties are always diverting.”

Christian saw Rebecca strangling her reticule again. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with her, there was little he could do by way of offering her comfort.

Despite the strange change in their relationship over the past several days, he needed to reassure her, do something to let her know she was safe. Christian reached for her hands, taking one of them up in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Mr. Devon took notice, and smirked.

Ignoring the man’s expression, Christian tried to pick up the thread of conversation again.

“I have enjoyed my time there immensely, mostly due to your daughter. Miss Devon is a very pleasant companion.” Her fingers laced with his and he saw the tiniest hint of a smile on her lips. “She will be performing this evening at a concert held by her ladyship. I hope you will be in attendance, sir. I have heard Miss Devon play. Her talent is lovely.” He directed the last sentence to her, tilting his head in her direction.

It was a show of their alliance, to Rebecca and her father. Christian didn’t understand the situation between child and parent but acting as a buffer for Rebecca came easily.

“I have received an invitation, and I returned my acceptance today.” Mr. Devon spoke each word in clipped syllables, never once glancing in Rebecca’s direction.

The sound of a clock ticking somewhere in the room was the only thing that filled the silence for several drawn-out seconds. Had a room ever felt so cold on an August afternoon?

The door to the study opened and, with a light step, Horace Devon entered the room. He came in with an energy and buoyancy befitting a boy of fourteen, and his grin would’ve been contagious in nearly any other setting.

“I apologize, I’m late,” he said, bowing to all when he reached their sitting area. “I am only just returned from a rescue mission.”

“What nonsense is this?” Mr. Devon asked, hardly appearing impressed by his son’s pronouncement.

“It’s true, Father.” Harry sat in the only unoccupied chair and steepled his hands before him. His brown-green eyes sparkled warmly, a contrast to his father’s cooler gaze. “I was out walking to the old blackberry bush near the road, to see if there were any likely berries for tarts, when I heard the strangest noises coming from across the lane. It sounded like some poor creature had either broken its heart or was being tortured.”

Mr. Devon sighed and Christian realized the man meant to interrupt his son, perhaps call his story to a halt, but Rebecca’s posture had relaxed as her brother spoke.

“What was it?” Christian asked, more eagerly than was necessary perhaps. But Harry winked, so quickly Christian nearly missed it.

“It was a combination of sounds, I’m afraid. There was a kitten caught up a tree and one of the vicar’s daughters sitting below it. One was yowling and the other sobbing. I’ll leave you to guess which did which. Before I could offer assistance, however, someone else started shouting rather angrily. Another of the vicar’s daughters was in the tree, with the cat, similarly stuck and displeased with the situation.”

“Oh my,” Rebecca said, raising her free hand to cover her lips, though she looked as though she wished to laugh. “And did you play the hero, Harry?”

“After being rebuked by the girl in the tree for laughing, I did.” Harry dusted off his sleeves, entirely too pleased with himself. Christian had to clear is throat to keep from chuckling.

“Then we will excuse your tardiness,” he said, nodding deeply to the young man. “A hero must be given all due indulgence.”

Harry grinned, and then a maid entered with the tea tray. Rebecca took the responsibility of pouring and serving everyone, and Mr. Devon turned the talk to his son’s studies for a time. Perhaps he was attempting to quell the young man’s good humor by bringing up scholarly pursuits, but Harry’s smile remained.

Christian wondered how the boy had come by such a gift, able to bring comfort to his sister, cheer to the room, all with good manners.

“It’s the Greek that I’ve enjoyed the most,” Harry said when his father inquired which of his studies was of greatest interest to him. “All the old stories and artifacts are interesting, and one has to wonder where the Greeks found the imagination to come up with an entire Parthenon of gods and goddesses. They found someone to pray to for everything—whether it was the fire going out or a war with a neighboring city.”

Rebecca had relaxed considerably after her brother’s arrival, though Christian caught her darting furtive looks in her father’s direction from time to time.

“I think people like to think they are being heard for specific needs. And the Greek gods were so fickle. If you prayed to Zeus for help with keeping warm he very well might strike you with a lightning bolt to put you on fire,” Christian said, attempting levity. Rebecca’s amused smile was his reward.

“True.” Harry sighed dramatically and put his empty plate down on the tray.

Rebecca’s eyes lit up. She simultaneously grabbed Christian’s arm and leaned toward her brother. “Harry,” she said, voice eager, “is there a goddess of hearth and home?”