A Scandalous Marriage (31 page)

“I thought I had something to live for.”

“You do.” Devon had come to stand in the doorway behind her. She turned Ben so that Lord Kirkeby could see his sweet face. “Look at him. You have the opportunity to influence him. To have an impact on his life.”

“He’s not my blood.”

“Oh, bollocks on your blood!” she said in a swear that would have made Old Edith proud. “Did you
marry
Mrs. Oswald?”

“I couldn’t. I would have, but it would have driven Venetia wild.”

“But did you love her any less because you
weren’t
married? Was her company, her counsel less valuable to you?”

“It’s not the same—”

“It is,” Devon answered. He came into the nursery, shutting the door behind him. “Grandfather, Rex can have the title. All I want is your respect. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“But you lied.”

Devon sighed heavily. “Maybe I was wrong and for that, I ask forgiveness… but the other night at the ball, did you notice what the Carrolltons did after Mrs. Carrollton confessed what she’d done? They left
together.
In spite of everything, including public humiliation, they walked out the door with each other.”

“I bet there were fireworks once they were alone!”

“No, Grandfather. Leah’s family is returning to their country estate where they believe Julian will grow better. They are all still close. You and I, on the other hand, have not been together for years until these last months. I’ve enjoyed it. I liked believing you needed me. When I received word that you were dying, I came back to London not as your heir but as a grandson hoping to reconcile with his family. But it won’t happen, will it? Ever. To my aunt, I’m in the way, and to my grandfather I’m useless because I can’t father a child.” He straightened. “I won’t come back next time. We’ve had a second chance, and one of us was too stubborn to take it. I apologize for not telling you the truth about Ben’s parentage sooner, but it doesn’t matter. He’s my son with or without your blessing.”

Devon placed his hand on the door handle and would have left, except Lord Kirkeby said, “Devon.” He held out his hand. “Ben can’t inherit.”

“I know that,” Devon answered.

His grandfather took a step closer. “You betrayed me.”

“I was angry growing up. Your rejection after the fever was a betrayal.”

“Is there no end to it?”

“Yes.” Devon came forward. “We just stop judging each other. All I ever wanted was your acceptance.

Your approval.”

The words rang in the air. Ben swung his head in the direction of his papa’s voice. He smiled, kicking his feet happily, but the two men were absorbed in their own drama.

Leah sensed that at last Lord Kirkeby understood, but it was still a struggle. Old habits die hard, and he was more stubborn than most.

Then, suddenly, he grabbed his chest in pain. “Dev—” he started before collapsing.

Devon caught him before he hit the floor. “Grandfather? No! Wait, don’t do this. Not now.”

Leah started for the bedroom to send the maid for Dr. Partridge, but Lord Kirkeby weakly called her back. “No. Don’t… get anyone.”

“We must,” Devon said.

Lord Kirkeby shook his head. “Give… a minute.”

“No,” Devon replied emphatically, lifting his grandfather in his arms. He held the man as if he weighed close to nothing, and the image of Devon gently carrying Lord Kirkeby in his arms burned into Leah’s brain.

She hurried to open the door leading to the hallway.

Wills had just come up the stairs to check on the packing. Devon ordered, “Send for Dr. Partridge.

Have him come here immediately.” He carried his grandfather to his room, where he carefully laid him on the bed.

Leah turned Ben over to the maid with instructions for her to find Fiona. She then followed her husband.

Lord Kirkeby was deathly pale. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed tightly together. Devon knelt by the bed, covering his grandfather’s hand with both of his own. “Don’t leave us now,” he whispered. “We still have to finish that argument.”

That comment inspired a small smile on his grandfather’s face.

Venetia appeared in the doorway. “What did you do to him?” she demanded before running in and throwing herself dramatically across the bed. Even Rex appeared. He stood at the edge of the bed, staring. Leah wished she knew what he was thinking. Did he care about the man’s health? Or was he damning him because he might pass away before disinheriting Devon?

Dr. Partridge arrived within fifteen minutes. “He collapsed,” Devon explained.

The doctor nodded. “It was to be expected. He’s been suffering pains off and on, but he didn’t want me to say anything. He weakened his heart when he went into a decline last month. I had feared the ball would be too much for him.”

“It’s Huxhold’s fault,” Venetia declared. “He was with Huxhold when it happened.”

“It could be a number of things,” Dr. Partridge said with good common sense. “Lord Huxhold’s presence was no more a factor than your own would have been, Lady Vainhope.”

Venetia was dissatisfied with that answer. She wanted Devon to be guilty. In a fit of outrage, she marched from the room.

Rex leaned against the bedpost. He waited until Dr. Partridge went downstairs to mix some powders.

“Well, it looks as if you are going to be a marquess, coz. You win again.”

Devon didn’t answer him. Leah understood. What could he say? Rex would have twisted his words to suit his purpose either way.

Dr. Partridge returned, and the bedside vigil of prayers and comfort began. Eventually, Rex wandered off, bored by the sickroom.

Leah sat in a chair next to Devon, who kept guard over his grandfather even after Dr. Partridge had gone off to sleep in a guest room. A yawn escaped before she could stifle it.

It brought his attention to her. “You don’t have to sit with us,” he told her.

“I want to be here.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing her fingers with his thumb, “but think about the baby. Go on to bed. I will be there when I can.”

She hesitated, and then he said the words that made up her mind. “I need to be alone with him, Leah. I need time.”

She nodded, yawning a second time and left. In the bedroom, their trunks were all neatly packed and stacked against a wall, a symbol of the efficiency of the Marshall household.

Leah was so tired that she pulled the pins from her hair, climbed out of her dress, and slept in her undergarments.

Devon prayed. His grandfather couldn’t die. Not when they’d been about to finally reach an understanding.

He placed his hand over his grandfather’s heart. Over a month ago, he’d felt Ben’s heart start beating.

Would he feel his grandfather’s stop?

At half past two, when all was quiet, his grandfather opened his eyes. He released his breath. It rattled in his throat, and Devon feared the very worst.

Slowly, his grandfather rolled his head to face him. “Where were we in our discussion, Huxhold?” he asked. His voice was feathery soft, but he was completely lucid.

Devon reached for his hand. “You gave us a fright.”

“Yes, but I’m not dead yet,” came the labored answer.

For a second, Devon couldn’t speak. Then he said, “I’m sorry.”

The older man’s smile was in his eyes. “No, I’m sorry.” He paused, considering the words before saying heavily, “That was easier than I imagined.”

“It was easier than I imagined, too.”

His grandfather stared up at the canopy over the bed. “Sit with me. I don’t want to die alone.”

His words put a chill in Devon. “Dr. Partridge says you will fully recover,” he lied. “You just need rest.”

“No. This is different.” He drew a breath. Again there was the rattling sound. He searched blindly for Devon’s arm until he found it. “I dreamed.” He paused, his gaze dreamy. “I saw Robin.”

“Father?”

He nodded. “He was with that pretty young wife of his. What was her name?”

“Delia.”

“Yes. Delia. Silly name. I never could remember it.” His gaze slid toward Devon. “I was joking.”

Devon shook his head. “You will never change.”

“Oh, I have.” He rubbed his lips together.

“Here, let me give you a drink.” Devon didn’t wait for an answer but tilted a glass of watered wine to his grandfather’s lips. He drank deeply.

For a time, they were silent. Devon had almost begun to think his grandfather had fallen back to sleep when he spoke.

“Robin is proud of you.”

“In your dream?”

“No. He’s here.”

Devon feared his grandfather was hallucinating. He wondered if he should wake Dr. Partridge, but then his grandfather fixed him with a steady gaze. “He wanted me to tell you that, Devon. That sweet wife is proud too.”

“They are both here?”

“Yes. Along with Arrie. She’s never far from me, Devon. Never far. Don’t let Leah go far from you.”

Tears stung Devon’s eyes. He struggled with them.

His grandfather patted his hand. “I am proud of you too.”

“I should have come sooner. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn.”

“You can’t help it. You’re a Marshall.” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, and then he tensed, a shudder running through his body. He spoke with more urgency now. “Take care… family. All of them.

All.” He closed his eyes.

One moment, his grandfather was in his body, and in the next, his spirit left him. It transpired in the blink of an eye.

Devon looked around the room, wondering if they were all still here. Was his grandfather with them?

He sat quietly. Waiting. His grandfather’s presence had loomed large over his life. What would he do without him?

Then, from down the hall, Devon heard Ben cry. It must be time for his feeding. Or did he know of his great-grandfather’s death?

Devon bent his head and wept.

The marquess of Kirkeby lay in state for four days. The brisk spring day of die funeral boasted rare April sunshine, drawing a huge crowd to pay their respects.

The service was long. Devon and Leah, the new marquess of Kirkeby and his marchioness, were the perfect hosts. The Carrolltons and the Marshalls stood together. Even Julian was present— and sober.

Many noticed that Lady Vainhope appeared pinched and worn out in her black bombazine, but that was to be expected. After all, everyone knew how devoted she was to her father.

For Devon, the most difficult part of the funeral was when he was called forward to throw the first handful of dirt upon the casket. The dirt hitting the lacquered coffin made a hollow sound.

His mind flashed to his boyhood and the ceremony for his parents. He’d been afraid then of being left alone.

Now, he heard his grandfather’s voice assuring him his parents were proud. He knew his grandfather watched.

Venetia stepped up next, but broke down completely before she could perform the ceremony. Rex stepped up for his turn, and then the priest commended their grandfather’s soul to his Maker.

It was time to leave the rest to the gravediggers.

The guests began leaving. Many would return to Montclef for the wake. While they ate and drank, the family would gather in the library to hear the will read, although Mr. Brewster had assured everyone there would be no surprises. Devon was the heir.

Leah had already gone to the coach. Devon fingered to press a coin in the gravediggers’ hands and to spend one last moment saying good-bye to his grandfather.

He was not surprised, though, when Rex approached him.

“You are going to get it all, you know,” Rex said.

Devon shrugged.

“That’s what irritates me about you,” his cousin snapped. “You never appreciated it.”

“Never appreciated what, Rex? What exactly is it you want?”

“Besides the title and the money?”

“You’ll have that someday.”

“I will insist it is stated in writing that Ben cannot inherit,” he responded stiffly.

Devon frowned. “I’m more than happy to do that. I know you won’t believe this, Rex, but my goal was never to cheat you out of what you think you deserve.”

Rex shook his head. “Oh, being a marquess will be nice, but I have a title, I have money. All I ever wanted was Montclef. Now it is yours. Mother and I will both be moving.”

“You want Montclef?” Devon asked with disbelief.

“There is no finer house in all England!”

Devon was dumbfounded. He looked to the coach where Leah stood, waiting. Leah, his life and his mate.

“So all you’ve ever really wanted was Montclef?” he repeated to Rex.

“Is that so surprising?” his cousin answered.

“You can have it.”

“What?” Rex said in disbelief.

“You can have Montclef.”

Rex’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Why would you give it to me?”

Devon searched his own motives and then said, “Because we are cousins. We are family. It will make Venetia happy and give you what you want. That is enough. I will tell Brewster to arrange it this afternoon.”

“But where will you live?”

Devon smiled. “Oh, Leah and I will manage. Don’t worry about us.” He started walking toward his coach and his wife. Now it was Rex who hurried to catch up.

“Will you include a maintenance allowance?”

“That is negotiable,” Devon responded, laughing, and the two of them argued good-naturedly in the coach all the way back to Montclef… but in the end, Devon thought he’d made a very good deal.

Afterword

1817

Leah and Devon built a lovely villa in the country—but not too far from London to be a nuisance. It had every modern convenience.

Devon delighted in learning about new mechanics and better construction. He’d taken such an interest that he also financed a number of housing schemes that turned a pretty penny.

In an amazingly short amount of time, he lost his reputation as a rake. In fact, he was often referred to as a stunning example of a devoted husband, which Devon laughingly said demonstrated just exactly how fickle people were.

But he
was
devoted. Leah believed the love between them grew stronger every day—as did their passion for each other.

She knew for a fact there were
many
good reasons for marrying a rake!