A Scandalous Marriage (18 page)

“See that this coach is returned to Lord Ruskin with my apologies,” Devon told him. “I will settle with him later.”

“Very good, my lord. The rest of the family is with the marquess now.”

“Thank you, Wills.” Devon reached to take Leah’s arm and help her from the coach, telling the butler almost as an afterthought, “And prepare rooms for my wife and me. We will be staying indefinitely.”

If Devon had announced that Napoleon was now king of England, Wills and the footmen would not have been more surprised. Wills was the first to shut his gaping mouth. He bowed to Leah, standing on the walk beside the coach. “Welcome to Montclef, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, deciding the less said, the better.

“And we’ll need a crib in the room,” Devon added absently, seemingly unaware of the impact his words were having on the servants. Instead, his focus was on his grandfather. “This way,” he said to Leah, guiding her through the front door.

His steps echoed on the black and white marble tiles of the front hall. A cantilevered staircase of carved walnut swept down into the hall from the floors above.

A footman stepped forward for Devon’s coat and hat and Leah’s cape. She was doubly thankful for the dress. Her presence was having a more dramatic reaction than she had anticipated, and she hadn’t even met Lady Vainhope or her son yet.

They started up the stairs. Portraits of Marshall ancestors frowned down upon them as they made their way. Everything she saw, from the crystal wall sconces, the shining mirrors, to the thick carpet covering the stairs spoke of wealth. Immense wealth.

The hall at the top of the stairs had rooms off to either side and a set of double doors at the end guarded by a footman. Devon started walking determinedly toward those doors. Leah trailed behind. She caught sight of herself in a brass mirror and shifted Ben in her arms to tuck in a stray tendril of hair.

In moments, she would meet her new family. She prayed she didn’t faint dead away.

The footman bowed and opened the doors. On the other side was a small sitting room and another set of double doors. Four people were gathered there, including Rex, Devon’s cousin, and Rex’s mother, Venetia Trelayne, Lady Vainhope. She turned as the door opened. Arrogant, top lofty, disdainful, she prided herself on being one of society’s sticklers.

Leah had always avoided her and even now attempted to hide behind Devon. She made sure that her son’s sleeping head was safely covered. Fortunately, Lady Vainhope had other things on her mind and did not recognize Leah.

Instead, her hazel green eyes, so much like Devon’s own, skewered him. “So, you decided to make an appearance.”

Devon didn’t respond to the chill in her voice. Instead he said easily, “Good afternoon, Aunt Venetia,”

as if they had just parted company the day before. He nodded to his cousin. “Rex.”

Rex Trelayne was Venetia’s only son and the current Lord Vainhope. Slimmer than Devon, he had the Marshall good looks, although his mouth had his mother’s tight-lipped set of disapproval.

Devon acknowledged a short man with fuzzy red hair. “I’ve made it, Brewster,” he said to his grandfather’s man of business.

“Thank the Lord,” Mr. Brewster said earnestly. “This is Dr. Partridge.” He waved a gray-haired gentleman forward. “You remember him. He has been the marquess’s physician for years.”

“Decades actually,” Dr. Partridge said easily. “It’s good to see you again, Lord Huxhold, in spite of the circumstances.”

“Thank you for all you have done,” Devon said, holding out his hand.

“I wish I could do more,” Dr. Partridge confided gravely.

“What exactly is wrong with him?” Devon asked.

Dr. Partridge frowned. “I can find nothing medically. I thought perhaps it was advanced age. But at seventy-three he is in excellent physical health.”

“You must suspect something,” Devon said.

Brewster answered. “Dr. Partridge speculates that the marquess is willing himself to die.”

“My grandfather? Giving up?” Devon shook his head. “He vowed to outlive us all.”

“That was until Mrs. Oswald died,” Lady Vainhope said stiffly.

“Mrs. Oswald?” Devon repeated her name as if it were unfamiliar.

“His mistress,” she explained in a telling tone.

“Grandfather?” Devon almost laughed.

“It’s no joke, coz,” Rex said. “Grandfather met her less than a year ago. They became fast friends, and when she passed away unexpectedly three weeks ago, he went into a decline. We thought he’d recover, but he’s only grown worse.”

“It’s ridiculous for Father to be so goose-eyed over a woman at his age,” Lady Vainhope said.

“Men are goose-eyed at every age,” Mr. Brewster answered.

“Yes, Mother, especially when the woman is lovely,” Rex agreed, bowing to Leah and making her presence known to everyone in the room.

The compliment caught her off guard. This didn’t seem the time or place, but that didn’t bother Lord Vainhope. He held out his hand. “I am Dev’s cousin, Rex Trelayne, and you are—?”

“My wife,” Devon answered.

The servants’ earlier reactions were mild compared to Rex’s frozen smile or Lady Vainhope’s almost apoplectic fit. “You must be joking!” she managed to sputter out.

“No,” Devon said, apparently taking pleasure in the concise reply. He turned to Dr. Partridge. “I wish to see my grandfather now.”

“Absolutely not,” Lady Vainhope declared. “Not until you explain yourself.”

“Aunt, I haven’t explained myself for twenty years. I’m not starting now. Be so good as to come with us, Dr. Partridge. Brewster, you wait here, and Rex, mind your mother.”

Lady Vainhope stepped in front of the door. “No, I will not allow it. Not until you tell me who this woman is, her family, her background.”

Devon’s eyes took on an unholy light, and Leah feared the worst. She was right. “My wife is the former Leah Carrollton. You know the Carrolltons, don’t you, Aunt? I believe Leah’s grandmother gave you the cut direct once when you had your first season and you haven’t stopped talking of it.”

“Carrollton?” Lady Vainhope choked on the word.

Devon used his aunt’s moment of shock to open the door. “Come, Leah. You, also, Dr. Partridge.”

Lady Vainhope found her voice as Leah slid through the door followed by the bespectacled physician.

“Wait! You can’t take
her
in there! What was that bundle she carried in her arms?” she asked to the room in general.

Devon shut the door, blocking her protests. They stood in the bedroom. It was curtained dark. Several wall sconces and a coal fire in the hearth provided the only light. The air smelled of medicinals and incense.

The maid sitting in a chair by the bed came to her feet and curtsied.

“Did he eat, Elsie?” Dr. Partridge asked.

She picked up a bowl from a tray on the bedside table and lifted the spoon to show that the bowl’s contents were still there. “I couldn’t cajole a spoonful past his lips. Mrs. Oswald could have, but I don’t seem to have the gift.”

Dr. Partridge frowned. In a low voice, he confided to Devon, “He hasn’t eaten well since her death. This is what I mean about willing himself to die.” He raised his voice. “Thank you, Elsie. Take the tray and leave us a moment, please.”

The maid left the room. As the door opened and closed, Leah could still hear Lady Vainhope fussing.

Dr. Partridge crossed to the opposite side of the bed. “Kirkeby, you have visitors.”

The man lying in the middle of the bed did not respond.

Leah had only seen Lord Kirkeby once in her life, but she remembered him as a robust man, almost as tall as Devon, with a headful of silver hair and Lady Vainhope’s pugnacious attitude.

The man in the bed was nothing like that. His skin was now so white that it appeared almost translucent.

His eyes were closed; his hands were folded on top of the bedclothes.

Devon had gone very still. Leah touched his arm, conveying her sympathies.

Ben was starting to wake. His head moved against her shoulder, but then he settled back down.

Dr. Partridge raised his voice. “Kirkeby? Your grandson is here. Don’t you wish to see him?”

Lord Kirkeby moved. First, he lifted a finger, and then he frowned before drawing in a harsh breath. He didn’t open his eyes.

Devon approached the bed. “Grandfather, you sent for me. I am here.”

His grandfather responded to his voice. He stiffened and then ever so slowly opened his eyes.

They were the same hazel green as Devon’s. They weren’t even faded by age, but there were tired lines around them and a deep sadness in their depths. He turned toward the sound of Devon’s voice, and then his eyes lit with interest.

“Robin, my beloved son.”

The air suddenly seemed sucked from the room. Robin had been Devon’s father.

Dr. Partridge frowned. Devon appeared stricken. “Not Robin, Grandfather. It’s Devon, his son.”

“Aye, Devon.” The smile faded from Lord Kirkeby’s face. “You have changed. You look the very image of your father.”

“I am about his age when he died.”

“Yes, Robin is dead,” Lord Kirkeby repeated as if remembering.

Suddenly, Devon reached across the bedspread to clasp his grandfather’s hand. “I’m sorry, Grandfather. I’m sorry I wasn’t more of what you wanted me to be.”

The raw pain and emotion in her husband’s voice alarmed Leah. She had not realized this was inside her confident, carefree Devon. She stepped forward, needing to touch him, to reassure him.

Lord Kirkeby shook his head. “Not… your… fault,” he said wearily. “I… shouldn’t… have… kept…

secrets.”

Devon lowered his head. “I was too full of pride.”

Again, there was a flash of intelligence, of a will to live in his grandfather’s eyes. “I was too.” He paused and then said, “I missed you.”

“I would have come at any time. You had only to send for me.”

“Couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?” Devon asked.

“Wouldn’t,” his grandfather answered. He squeezed Devon’s hand. “Arrie told me I was a fool.” He spoke with difficulty, his voice raspy, weak. “She said I should have called you back years ago, but I didn’t listen to her. She said I’d be sorry.” He drew a deep, labored breath. “The truth… I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I would have. I should have. In fact, I should have been the one to breach the gap between us.”

Lord Kirkeby shushed him with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“But it does,” Devon said. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye.

That single tear moved Leah. It explained more than words what Devon was feeling. A sense of protectiveness rose inside her. Shifting Ben’s weight to one arm, she placed her hand on Devon’s shoulder.

Her movement brought her to Lord Kirkeby’s attention. “Who is this?” he asked.

“My wife.” This time when Devon said those words, they were softer, kinder than when he’d made the same announcement to his aunt.

“You’ve married?” Lord Kirkeby turned his head to take a full, good look at Leah.

“Yes,” Devon responded almost defensively.

His grandfather weakly waved a finger. “I did not mean it that way, Huxhold. I am surprised. I had thought you incapable of settling on just one.”

He’d said the words in jest and, again, there was a glimmer of the man he had once been. “Come closer, girl. Let me see you.”

Leah handed the baby to Devon and dutifully leaned over the bed.

“Lovely,” Lord Kirkeby said admiringly. “What is your name, girl?”

“Leah.” She deliberately left off the Carrollton.

“Huxhold favors blondes. What spell did you weave to capture his notice? I’ve had women ask me that question for years.”

She smiled at his humor and, alluding to their meeting by the pigpen, said, “My lord, the truth is that Devon knocked me off my feet.”

Her words surprised a chuckle out of Devon. “I have something else to show you, Grandfather.” He laid Ben down on the bed and unfolded the fleece blanket.

“What is it?” Lord Kirkeby asked tiredly, staring up at the bed canopy.

“A baby.” Devon said the words as if he were revealing the miracle of the ages.

“A baby?” Lord Kirkeby rolled his head in Devon’s direction. “You, Devon? Boy or girl?” He sounded almost desperate for the answer.

“Boy.”

With an energy Leah had not thought he possessed, Lord Kirkeby’s face broke into a wreath of smiles.

“A boy,” he whispered. Devon nodded.

Something was being communicated between the grandfather and his grandson. Something Leah did not understand.

Lord Kirkeby tried to sit up, the better to see Ben. Both Devon and Dr. Partridge came to his aid, the doctor plumping pillows behind him. “Did you hear that, Partridge?” Lord Kirkeby asked, his voice growing more animated and strong. “Is it possible? Could it be?”

“Anything is possible,” Dr. Partridge said. “We thought at the time that we didn’t know for sure.”

“Let me see the baby,” Lord Kirkeby ordered gruffly. “Hold him up.”

Leah’s every instinct warned her to snatch her baby back, but Devon sat on the bed, blocking her access to Ben. Gently, he raised Ben up for his grandfather to see, holding him under his arms.

Ben was awake. He looked around with a newborn’s distracted air. His bare feet dangled helplessly beneath the hem of his baby dress.

Lord Kirkeby raised his head. He reached out and carefully placed his aged hand on top of Ben’s head.

“He has a full head of hair, just like you did. In fact, he is the very image of you.”

Devon replied, “His name is Benjamin. Benjamin Marshall.”

Lord Kirkeby smiled with fierce pride. “Benjamin.” He dropped his hand to the mattress. His gaze met Devon’s. “They were wrong. They were
all
wrong.”

“Yes.” Devon cradled Ben in his arms.

Lord Kirkeby chuckled. It appeared to Leah that he was growing stronger by the minute even as she was feeling more and more uneasy.

“Rex will not be happy,” Lord Kirkeby said.

“Aunt Venetia will be even more upset,” Devon responded.

“Yes, she will.” Lord Kirkeby relaxed his head back on the pillow. Tears came to his eyes. “But I am pleased. Well pleased. All this time wasted,” he added sadly.