Page 7 of Miss Devon’s Choice

It rankled, even after more than ten years, to be told so precisely what to do. Christian narrowed his eyes at the paper in his hands. “Miss Devon did not waste any time spreading news of our engagement.”

“Why would she? As a peer, you are something of a prize.” His grandfather’s expression remained neutral, but a flicker of curiosity entered his tone.

“What if—” Christian cut himself off, hastily constructing his argument even as he spoke.

“What if what, Easton?” his grandfather asked, his voice quiet, speculative.

“What if Miss Devon, for all you have discovered of her friends and society’s view of her, proves an unsuitable match?” Christian hated himself for asking. If their engagement was known, breaking it under any circumstances would cast a poor light on the young lady. However, her machinations to ensure all of society knew of her conquest of an earl didn’t sit well with him. He valued discretion and his privacy.

The Earl of Ivyford’s expression changed, relaxing instead of tensing. “If she is unworthy of the Ivyford name, I trust you will discover it while at the house party. I expect regular reports while you are away.” He nodded once, as though that settled matters.

His grandfather resumed eating. The discussion was over, the edict given, and it was for Christian to accept and do as he was bid.

He folded the invitation and put it beside his plate, then forced himself to eat.

Later, in the privacy of his bedchamber, Christian paced. He moved from one end of the room to the other, his steps growing faster along with his agitation.

He hated society. He held the whole world of ballgowns and gossip-hungry gentry and nobility in contempt. How dare they assume they knew anything about his life? Or anything about his motives for taking a bride?

Before sending Christian to England, his father had warned him what the island of misery would be like. “The ton will do all it can to rip a man’s reputation to shreds, to say nothing of its delight in watching a person crumble beneath their censure,” his father said, bitterness lacing his words. “But you cannot stay in Italy. I will not let my son be caught up in this war. Your grandfather has sent for you. You will go.”

He hadn’t come with Christian. His father had sworn never to step foot on his native shores again. He’d died not four months after sending Christian, who was still little more than a boy, away to the country that had claimed his mother’s life and his father’s happiness.

What would his father say about Christian’s reputation? About the gossip and rumor that plagued him nearly from his arrival? Christian closed his eyes and stood still, picturing his father’s sad face, the broken look in his eyes.

Soft fur brushed against Christian’s hand. He looked down at Ajax, grateful for the dog’s keen senses. Christian crouched next to Ajax and ruffled the dog’s ears fondly. Ajax pressed forward, butting his head gently against Christian’s chest.

“Thank you, friend,” Christian said, wrapping his arms around the red-furred creature. “We are away to Kettering in the morning. Let’s hope the kennels there are accommodating.” It would be the height of rudeness to attempt to keep Ajax indoors with him during his stay, but Christian had every intention of exercising the dog daily. Ajax was the only fit companion Christian had and he wasn’t about to leave his friend behind.

Christian would meet his intended bride. He only hoped the woman had enough common sense to understand they must get along, at least before others. Perhaps he might even take the opportunity to tell her, in very clear terms, what his expectations for this marriage would be. He had no desire to be friends. They were two people with a common interest: their standing in society.

This is a business arrangement, Christian reminded himself. Nothing more.

Chapter Three

Rebecca descended from her father’s carriage and stepped into Christine’s arms. Christine, the middle Devon sister, had come to Annesbury Park to greet her. Aunt Jacqueline walked up the stairs, passing Virginia, Rebecca and Christine’s cousin, with barely an acknowledgement of the welcome offered her.

Aunt Jacqueline and Cousin Virginia had an odd relationship for a mother and daughter. Virginia seemed perpetually amused by her mother’s haughtiness, while Aunt Jacqueline barely tolerated other members of humanity.

Christine Gilbert, Rebecca’s second-eldest sister, was demonstrative in her affection to say the least. “Oh, my dear Rebecca, look at you! Are you even taller than you were at Christmas?” Christine stepped back and shook her head. “Half a head higher than me, if you’re an inch.”

Rebecca laughed. “Now you are the little sister, I’m afraid.” Inwardly, Rebecca cringed. She hated being the tallest of her friends. She was as tall as most of the men of her acquaintance. It made her stick out, made it hard to conceal herself in a crowded room. It also made the fashions of the day more absurd on her frame.

“Come in at once. I will accompany you to your room, where you will answer all my questions.” Christine’s words were light, but her eyes had turned serious. She had received Rebecca’s letter, of course.

Virginia greeted Rebecca at the door, smiling warmly. “Welcome, Rebecca. I’m sorry Lucas isn’t here to greet you. He’s out riding with the boys. We expected you a little later.”

The countess moved to give Rebecca an embrace, then whispered, “I sent the invitation. I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Then she stepped back, her expression open and kind. “I have prepared your usual room. The other guests arrive tomorrow.”

Rebecca’s stomach clenched. The invitation was sent, but how had it been received?

Christine started speaking, talking of nothing in particular, and kept up her chatter all the way up both flights of stairs. When they entered the guest room, Hettie was already there, a day dress laid out on the bed waiting for Rebecca.

“Oh, there’s no need for you at present, Hettie,” Christine said, waving the maid away. “I will assist my sister, just as I did when we were children. Why don’t you go take some refreshment? I am certain you must be tired from your journey.”

Hettie hesitated, but Christine’s dismissal could hardly be ignored. The maid curtsied and left, shutting the door behind her.

Christine began babbling again, talking about the vicar’s family and their general good health, and walked to the door. She slipped it open and peered out into the hall, then closed it up again. “She’s gone.”