The Devil to Pay (31 page)

“I still like the horsewhip option,” muttered Kemble to the carafe of sherry. “That, and a fast ferry to France will solve most of Sidonie’s problems.”

“Perhaps she likes it here?” suggested Devellyn evenly. “I hate to say it, Kem, but your sister is not altogether indifferent to me.”

Kem was still glowering, but he was obviously giving in. “I shall likely be ruined by this, you know,” he snarled. “Christ, I’ll be publicly acknowledged as a member of the Hilliard family! My anonymity will be gone. My underworld contacts won’t wish to know me. How is a man to do business under such circumstances?”

Devellyn eyed him for a moment. “Speaking of anonymity,” he said, “I’d best ask you about that name. Kemble. Where the devil did you get it?”

“Off a theater marquee when I was fourteen,” snapped Kemble. “You’ll pardon me if I’d no wish to go on being a Bauchet, or worse, a Hilliard.”

Devellyn thumped him companionably between the shoulder blades. “I know just what you mean, old chap,” he muttered. “The bloody name’s been like a deadweight round my neck.”

Kemble shot him a sour, sidelong glance, then swilled down the last of his wine, as if dressing for a ball required fortification.

“Good God!” Devellyn stared at the hand which grasped the glass stem. “Caught those knuckles in a vise, did you?”

Kemble stared down at his bruised joints, gingerly fisting his hand. “No, not a vise,” he said coolly. “I just made some new acquaintances last night in St. James’s.”

“Yes, good old Pud and Bud,” said Maurice Giroux with another disdainful sniff. “Charming young men. We’ll be having them to dine any day now.”

Kemble sneered. “Pug and Budley,” he corrected. “And the only thing they’ll be dining on is beef tea and mashed turnips. Now, I suppose I must go dress and prepare to throw away life as I know it. But you, Devellyn, are going to pay for this.”

“Well, think of it as a sort of compromise, old chap,” said Devellyn, following him from the room. “You will recall that there is a dukedom floating round in this family. One which should have been yours, and one which I don’t particularly want.”

“Yes, well, it hasn’t exactly been keeping me up at night,” said Kemble, striding down the passageway.

“Still, it would be best if we could keep the title safely hanging from our branch of the family tree, would it not?”

Kemble whirled around to face him. “My branch of this tree snapped off long ago,” he said coldly. “And I assure you, Devellyn, that there is nothing we need compromise about.”

“I think there is,” he said. “After Sidonie marries me, we’ll all be blended together rather indelibly, won’t we? And eventually, all will be set to rights in a manner of speaking, since the dukedom will eventually pass to your nephew.”

“I don’t
have
a nephew,” said Kemble stiffly.

Devellyn threw an arm around his shoulders. “A dreadful oversight on your part, Cuz,” he said. “But one which I am working hard to correct.”

A long, heavy silence held sway over the passageway. “Be glad, Devellyn, that my right fist is bruised,” Kemble finally answered. “Be very, very glad.”

Sidonie was already dreading her promise to Devellyn when she found herself queued up in the crowd at the Duke of Gravenel’s door. With its solid marble steps and the elegant fanlight spanning its width, it was an entrance she recognized all too well. As a child, she’d stared at it every time they had driven through Grosvenor Square and wondered why she and George weren’t good enough to live there.

She and Lady Kirton passed beneath the fanlight, and a haughty footman lifted Sidonie’s cloak from her shoulders. A thin, black-garbed butler bowed and smiled superciliously as she passed. Then Lady Kirton laid a hand upon her arm and gave it a supportive squeeze. Sidonie plastered a smile on her face and kept moving into the crush. And then she saw them. The Duke and Duchess of Gravenel.

Aleric’s mother was a pale, fine-boned creature dressed in a froth of pink lace, which should have looked silly on a woman of her years. Instead, it looked exquisite. She saw Sidonie standing with Lady Kirton, and her eyes widened. “Oh, my dear girl!” she exclaimed, reaching for her as if they were the best of friends. “Look, my love! Here is Cousin Sidonie.”

No one watching would have guessed it was their first meeting. The duchess pulled Sidonie close and kissed both her cheeks, an action which did not go unheeded by the elderly tabbies who waited behind Lady Kirton. And then Sidonie was standing before the Duke of Gravenel, a tall, angular man who little resembled his son. There was no warmth in his eyes, but merely an odd smile playing at one corner of his mouth.

“Dear Cousin Sidonie!” he murmured, lifting her knuckles almost to his lips. “What a surprise.”

“I daresay,” she managed.

He gave her a dry smile. Somehow, Sidonie curtseyed and moved on without falling flat on her face. But she could feel the duke’s eyes burning into her as she plunged into the crowd. Clearly, he was humoring his wife’s wishes.

Inside the ballroom, there was no one she knew well and only a few who looked familiar. She had mingled with London’s upper crust before, yes. But this was an altogether different stratum of society. This was the highest of the
haute.
The bluest of England’s blood. She was grateful Lady Kirton had insisted they arrive together.

Just then, a dark, broad-shouldered gentleman brushed by, catching the countess’s elbow. He turned as if to beg her pardon. “Why, Isabel!” he exclaimed. “How lovely to see you! Two balls in one season? A record for you, isn’t it?”

Lady Kirton exchanged pleasantries, then smoothly turned the topic. “Oh, I have neglected to introduce my friend!” she chirped. “Madame Saint-Godard is Gravenel’s cousin, recently returned from abroad, and a generous patron of the Nazareth Society. Sidonie, this is Sir James Seese, who sits on our board of governors.”

A patron of the Nazareth Society?
Well, that was one way to put it.

But the handsome man was bowing and asking her to dance. Lady Kirton tilted her head in the direction of the ballroom floor and widened her eyes. Sidonie smiled and took the proffered hand.

As they danced, Sidonie looked about for Devellyn. He was late. When the music ended, Sir James returned her to Lady Kirton, who promptly clipped another gentleman with her elbow. This one was introduced and sent to fetch champagne. Young gentlemen, tall gentlemen, fat, bald, and handsome gentlemen. Lady Kirton knew them all. Some she attracted with a wave or a crooked finger. And all of them seemed happy to do her ladyship’s bidding.

“That elbow will be black-and-blue by tomorrow if you keep it up,” Sidonie muttered to the countess as another handsome gentleman drifted away.

“Oh, I shan’t need to!” said Lady Kirton, her sharp eyes running over the crowd. “Look at the glances being tossed our way. Soon
they
will come to us. Followed by their wives, their mistresses, and their mammas. Society cannot abide a mystery, and my dear, you are an enigma of the first water.”

Sidonie’s heart sank. “I feel like an imposter,” she confessed. “The duke’s cousin, indeed! People are already wondering why they never heard of me.”

The countess shrugged. “Gravenel has been out of society for many years, and you have been abroad,” she countered. “And you are, in point of fact, his cousin.”

“Yet His Grace just met me tonight,” Sidonie murmured. “I feel as if I’ve been foisted upon him.”

But Lady Kirton was still on her tiptoes, studying the throng. “He will do as his wife wishes,” she murmured. “Gravenel’s pride has got him nowhere. Look, is that not your brother with him now? Just there, through the corridor by the card room?”

Stunned, Sidonie turned. Relief flooded through her. George had come after all! He stood with both hands behind his back, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he conversed with Gravenel. He was dressed exquisitely, as always. Tonight he wore a severely cut formal coat of darkest black, and an ivory silk waistcoat which looked to have cost a fortune. The duke was speaking to him in hushed tones, but neither looked angry or even particularly unfriendly.

But George’s gaze remained distant. He seemed to be answering a number of questions. Poor George. He was a deeply private person. It would have been his last wish to turn up at an event of this nature. He had come for her, of course. Gravenel could hardly embrace one of them but not the other.

Still, there would be the inevitable whispers about their background, about their illegitimacy, and their mother’s lifestyle. They would say that Sidonie was little more than a glorified governess and that her brother was worse. He was
in trade.
And all of this, for what? So that she could make an entrée into Gravenel’s world?

No. So that she could be with the man she loved. Suddenly, Gravenel set a hand on George’s shoulder as if saying a warm good night, then headed into the ballroom. He waded through the crowd, pausing to accept the good wishes of several who hailed him. Eventually, he reached Sidonie and bowed.

“I would ask you to dance, Cousin,” he said. “But my doctor tells me I may not. Will you stroll through the gardens instead?”

A hundred pairs of eyes burnt into her as she left the ballroom on the duke’s arm. By now, her identity would be on everyone’s lips. Soon they were beyond the view of the ballroom. Gravenel carried himself with an air of authority, and yet she had the sense that he was much diminished. His color was not good, and he walked very slowly. At the end of the portico, Gravenel paused for breath. “They have told you, I suppose, that I am not very well?”

Sidonie was shocked. “No, Your Grace,” she answered. “I am sorry.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Ah, well,” he said. “Only the good die young. I am seventy today, by the way.”

Apparently, he shared his son’s self-deprecating sense of humor. “Your doctors can do nothing?”

He shook his head, his eyes still surveying the lamplit garden. “Oh, I shall cling to the wreckage for another few months—perhaps even a year or two,” he said, his tone oddly detached. “But eventually, everyone dies.”

“I am sorry,” she said again. “Aleric had not informed me.”

The duke’s gaze turned inward. “But she must have told him,” he mused. “My wife, I mean. She must have. Else he’d never have come.”

“Aleric has arrived?” Sidonie felt a rush of happiness. “I had not seen him.”

“His mother is forcing him to squire her around the ballroom, I collect,” said Gravenel. “He is champing at the bit, of course, and wishing to rush to your side, but his mother has reminded him of decorum.”

She could sense neither approval nor censure in his tone. Behind them, the sounds of gaiety drifted on the night air. The tinkle of laughter and of glassware. The strains of a violin being tuned. “So they say I am dying,” he said, crooking one gray eyebrow. “And my wife asks but one last thing of me. That Aleric and I reconcile. When I am gone, she shall have no one else to lean on, she claims. She wishes peace between us all.”

“It sounds as if she cares deeply for you both,” said Sidonie.

“My son and I are but strangers to one another now,” he said flatly. “It is how we have preferred it.”

Sidonie was not at all sure that was how Aleric preferred it, but she bit back the retort.

His breathing had steadied now. He offered his arm again, and together, they went down the three steps into the gardens. “Has my son asked your hand in marriage, Madame Saint-Godard?” he asked bluntly. “My wife believes so.”

She saw no point in denying it. “Yes. He has.”

“I see,” said the duke. “Then he has, at the very least, treated you honorably.”

Sidonie felt a spike of anger. “I have never known Aleric to act dishonorably.”

“Some might disagree,” said the duke matter-of-factly. “Will you say yes?”

For a moment, there was no sound but the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet. “I am not sure,” she finally answered.

He looked at her oddly. “You think him poor marriage material?”

“To the contrary,” she murmured.

“Well, they do say a rake reformed makes the best husband,” the duke mused. “You do not love him?”

Sidonie was on the verge of telling him none of it was his business. “I love him very much,” she answered. “But I am a widow, and used to having my way. I am also mindful of what society might say.”

He stopped and looked at her in some surprise. “The circumstances of your birth are, of course, unfortunate,” he answered rather coldly. “But the shame is your father’s. If you and Aleric wed, it will doubtless provide a fortnight of fodder for the scandalmongers. But we Hilliards are beyond being destroyed by scandal.”

Sidonie did not like his tone. “Old gossip hardly matters,” she answered. “Perhaps you ought to continue this conversation with Aleric. Give him your blessing, or if you cannot, then give him your advice. Your duty is to him.”

Sidonie intended to walk away, but the duke caught her by the shoulder. She saw sorrow in his eyes. “I did not mean to fail my son,
madame,
if that is what you suggest,” he answered. “Did I do so? Perhaps. But we have gone on this way for so many years. One wonders if there is any point trying to turn back.”

“There is always a point,” Sidonie responded. “As long as one draws the breath of life, there is a point. You have your son, sir. You have but to go to him and say your piece, whatever it is. Some parents do not have that choice.”

Sidonie wanted to feel sorry for him, but it was difficult. She had seen in Aleric’s eyes what this man’s pride had done to him, and a part of her wanted to scream the truth at him. But in the end, she had not the heart. In the end, she simply turned and walked away.

Lady Kirton, of course, was waiting just inside the French doors which opened onto the ballroom. Sir James had returned to her side. When she saw Sidonie and the duke, she came toward them with a smile, but her face fell instantly. “Your Grace, you look most unwell,” she murmured.

“I am unwell,” he returned. “As my doctor delights in reminding me every day.”

“This walking has been too much.” She scolded him with her eyes. “You must go into your study and rest. You know, Frederick, what the doctor says! Ten minutes with your feet up, every hour, on the hour.”

Gravenel obliged her by pulling out his pocket watch. “Very well,” he grumbled. “But I’d promised Elizabeth I’d spend a few minutes with my dotty old aunt.”

“Oh, is Admeta here?”

“I fear so,” he said. “Brought that blasted dog, too. Wearing a red velvet waistcoat.”

“Admeta?” echoed Lady Kirton. “In a waistcoat?”

“The dog, Isabel. The dog.”

Lady Kirton tapped the pocket watch the duke still held open. “Dispense with Aunt Admeta. Then into the study immediately!”

The duke departed, and almost instantaneously, Lady Kirton said, “Heavens, the social scene is quite wearing, is it not? I believe I shall go and rest my feet, too. Sir James, will you give Sidonie your arm until I return?”

“It would be an honor,” he answered. But Lady Kirton was already leaving.

With his mother’s hand lying lightly on his arm, Devellyn strolled through the ballroom without really seeing the faces in the crowd. He greeted people perfunctorily. Answered questions mechanically. He felt trapped again, a stranger in his own skin.

It had been a long time since he had been inside the house on Grosvenor Square. Not since Greg’s death, and the dark, fearful days which had preceded it, when his father had remained constantly at Greg’s bedside. To comfort herself, his mother had begun to pray, often for hours at a stretch. Devellyn had sought comfort, too, but his had come from a bottle. Both of them, however, had ended up on their knees, and to no avail. They had lived like shadowy wraiths, all three, waiting on this side of eternity for what looked more inevitable with each passing day.

And then inevitability became reality, and Greg was gone. His brother. His best friend. And left behind was only his mother, softly weeping, and his father, eyes burning with blame. His father’s rage had been uncontrollable, his accusations ugly. And all too true. He had held Aleric solely accountable, and he still did.

Tonight, Gravenel had greeted George Kemble—a distant, illegitimate cousin whom he’d never met—with more warmth than he had his heir. Aleric had warranted nothing but the severest of bows. In response, his mother had welcomed him with too much enthusiasm and begun to fluff at his neckcloth and prattle on banally, as if doing so might keep others from noticing that Gravenel had all but cut his own son. Again.

Aleric smiled and shook the hand of the man to whom his mother was speaking. He exchanged another mechanical greeting. Suddenly, someone grasped his other arm with a grip that was very firm.

“I beg your pardon, Elizabeth,” said Lady Kirton. “May I borrow your son a moment? I need a bit of air.”

His mother’s smile froze. “Isabel, are you unwell?”

Lady Kirton was fanning herself dramatically. “Nothing a few moments’ rest won’t cure.”

Aleric was suspicious, but so grateful to be leaving the crowd behind, he little cared where Lady Kirton took him. She led him in the direction of his father’s study, walking rather briskly for a plump, elderly woman on the verge of asphyxiation.

Inside, the room was little changed from his boyhood. He was still absorbing the memories when Lady Kirton went to a leather settee by the windows, and settled down as if she meant to be a while. Recalled to his duty, Aleric went at once to open a window, but she waved him away. “A ruse, young man! Just a ruse.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I thought as much.”

“Aleric,” she said peremptorily, “I wish to speak with you.”

Devellyn folded his hands behind his back, and gripped them very tightly. “I’m not much given to chitchat, ma’am.”

The countess waved a hand dismissively. “I shall do the talking,” she assured him. “You need do nothing more than grunt a few answers at me.”

He looked at her askance. “I make no promises, ma’am.”

Lady Kirton was undeterred. “I like your Madame Saint-Godard,” she said. “Your mother thinks you quite taken with her. It is true, is it not?”

Devellyn considered refusing to answer on principle. But what was the point? “It is true,” he said.

She looked at him a little slyly. “Do you mean to marry the girl, Aleric?”

He was silent for a moment. He had already thought better of his rash notion to simply announce their betrothal, and wished ardently that he’d never mentioned it to Alasdair. “I think we can all agree I’m not much of a catch, ma’am,” he finally said. “But yes, I have asked her.”

Lady Kirton relaxed a little. “And she has said…?”

Devellyn gave a slight, stiff bow. “The lady is considering my offer,” he answered. “I cannot say what will happen.”

Lady Kirton seemed to carefully consider her next words. “How well, Aleric, do you know Madame Saint-Godard?”

Devellyn stiffened. “Well enough, ma’am. Let us leave it at that.”

“But do you know her…her habits and pursuits?” the countess pressed. “Her leanings on, er, social issues? The things she cares deeply about?”

What the devil was the old tabby getting at? Then he remembered Sidonie’s words.
“Lady Kirton—I think she knows, or suspects.”

Devellyn looked at the countess very directly. “I know everything, ma’am,” he said. “Everything a husband has a right to know. There is no chance I might come to learn of something in her past which would alter my feelings for her. They are immutable.”

Lady Kirton waved her hand again. “Oh, I do not doubt the depth of your affection, Aleric. You have always been a most devoted sort of young man to those you love. I am speaking more of…of her volunteer work.”

“Her
volunteer
work?”

Lady Kirton widened her eyes innocently. “Yes, she—er, she has some, does she not?”

Devellyn could no longer repress a grin. “Like a church guild, or a ladies’ aid society?” he suggested. “Come to think of it, she did once mention she liked sewing for the poor. Or perhaps it was knitting. She seemed uncertain.”

Lady Kirton looked at him chidingly. “Aleric, Madame Saint-Godard has been playing a dangerous game. I think you may have guessed what.”

“Ah, that!” he said. “I wondered if you might get round to it. Rest assured that Sidonie’s ‘volunteer work’ will soon come to an end.”

“Did she agree to that?” asked the countess sharply.

Devellyn hesitated. “Not in so many words,” he admitted. “But she will.”

Lady Kirton looked somewhat relieved. “Ah, you will see to it, then!” she said. “Thank God. Aleric, I think you must marry her at once. I have told your mother so, and Elizabeth says—”

Good Lord! “My
mother says—?”

“Aleric,” said the countess. “We none of us have any time to lose. If you truly love her, I think you must marry by special license as soon as possible. Your mother agrees.”

Aleric grunted. “Thinks no one else will have me, eh?”

Lady Kirton shook her head. “No, no, it is not that at all,” she assured him. Then she dropped her voice dramatically. “Aleric, a man came to the Nazareth Society some ten days ago. A police sergeant.”

Devellyn’s heart leapt into his throat.

“He was asking questions, my dear,” she went on. “Questions about a woman in black who had been seen at the society. A lucky bit of happenstance, perhaps, but…?”

“Good God!” he whispered. “Sergeant Sisk?”

“You know him?” asked Lady Kirton. “I met him once myself—one meets all kinds in my sort of work—and he is well-known to certain friends of mine. Aleric, he is tenacious.”

An awful chill had settled over Devellyn. “Good God,” he said again.

Lady Kirton reached for his hand. “Aleric,” she said, squeezing it. “How well do you know Sidonie’s brother?”

“Well enough to be disliked,” he answered. “But he tolerates me.”

“This police sergeant, he is an acquaintance of Mr. Kemble’s,” she said, her voice a whisper now. “I know this from past experience. Perhaps you ought to tell him about Sisk?
Could
you? Kemble, you see, is a man who can get things taken care of. Make problems go away. If you know what I mean.”

Judging from the bruised knuckles George Kemble was sporting, Devellyn knew precisely what she meant. Kemble was not a large man, but he was lean and quick, with eyes which were just a little vicious. And the marks on his knuckles had been distinctly patterned, a pattern that but one man in fifty would have recognized. Devellyn did, and he’d have laid odds Kemble had been wearing a bit of brass around his knuckles when he’d pummeled Sidonie’s attackers halfway into the here-after. And that wasn’t the sort of thing most chaps carried around in their coat pockets.

In the stillness of the study, Devellyn nodded. “I shall talk to him,” he agreed. “And if—”

His words were forestalled by the sound of the study door swinging open. Devellyn looked up to see his father silhouetted in the doorway. He jerked at once to his feet, all rational thought leaving him.

Lady Kirton, too, had risen. “Your Grace!” she said pleasantly. “Well! I was just on my way out.” And with that, the countess headed straight for the door, forcing Gravenel to either step fully in or fully out.

He stepped fully in.

Devellyn started to follow Lady Kirton, but his father held up a hand. “Stay, please.”

Devellyn halted.

His father closed the door, then began to drift deeper into the room. “A frightful crush, is it not?” he said almost absently. “I believe society has missed your mother.”

“She is an excellent hostess,” said Devellyn.

His father went to his desk and slid open a drawer. “Cheroot?” he offered, withdrawing two.

Devellyn eyed them skeptically. “Are you allowed to smoke, sir?”

His father laughed. “By whom? The doctor? Your mother?”

Devellyn did not answer.

After a long, expectant moment, his father sighed, reopened the drawer, and tossed them back in again. He moved from behind the desk and stood silently for a moment, his gaze distant. He was not the man he used to be, Devellyn saw. Not physically, at any rate. His skin was ashen, and the flesh had thinned from his face.

“Did I fail you, Aleric?” he asked out of nowhere. “Tell me. Have I failed as both a father and a husband?”

A dreadful silence held sway. “I beg your pardon?”

His father shook his head, and sat down on the sofa, propping his elbows on his knees and hunching forward as if exhausted. “I see it, you know, in her face,” he said. “Every bloody day. Elizabeth blames me for all this. Even for Greg’s death.”

Mystified, Devellyn started to the sofa. “Father, I—”

“Oh, yes,” he said, as if countering an argument. “For
Greg.
If I had been more strict. If I had forced you both into university. If I had cut off your allowances when you first began to run wild.
If, if, if!
If I’d been a better father, perhaps all this grief—or some of it—could have been avoided. That is what she thinks.”

“I cannot say that you have failed me,” said Devellyn. “Perhaps, Father, I have failed myself.”

His father sat silently for many moments, but Devellyn could hear the breath wheezing in and out of his lungs. “The longer you stayed away,” he finally whispered, “the easier it was to blame you.”

Devellyn hesitated before answering. “You are speaking of Greg’s death, are you not?” he said softly. “With all respect, sir, you blamed me from the beginning.”

“Did I?” he muttered. “Yes, yes, I know I did. Elizabeth tells me so. But I cannot now remember those terrible days. Neither before nor after. It is the unconscious mind’s way, you know, of shielding us. But I am not sure if I am being shielded from the tragedy of Greg’s death, or…or something else altogether.”

“What else is there?” asked Devellyn quietly.

For a time, the silence was filled with nothing but the sound of his father’s labored breathing. “My appalling behavior afterward,” he finally whispered. “My—my insanity, I daresay, for that’s what it now seems. Blind insanity. My God, Aleric, you cannot know how I have suffered.”

Devellyn’s jaw was set so firmly, he feared it might crack. “I think I do, sir,” he said tightly. “I have lost my brother and my best friend. I have had most of my family torn from me. But I’ve borne the blame as best I could. I was left with no choice.”

“Ah, you were so young!” The duke shook his head. “So inexperienced in the ways of the world.”

Devellyn shook his head. “Not so very young, sir. And not as inexperienced as you would like to think.”

His father made a strange sound, something between a sob and a cough. “But you were my child,” he said between gritted teeth.
“My child.
Elizabeth kept reminding me of that, you know. But I could bring myself to do nothing. Nothing.”

“What do you mean, sir? What was there—or
is
there—to do? Greg is gone. The awful deed is done.”

His father opened his hands expansively. “I do not know,” he wheezed. “Apologize to you? Take a swing at you? Grieve with you? Pray? Scream? Tear out my hair by the roots?” His breath was sawing in and out of his chest now.

“Sir, I think you ought not overset yourself,” Devellyn whispered. “It cannot be good for you.”

His father did not seem to hear him. “You say that you have lost, too, Aleric,” he rasped. “And that is so. God help me, it is so. You lost a brother. And a father, too, I daresay.
But I lost two children.
And I did not know how to find that which was lost. I still…do not know.”

Devellyn’s voice was almost fragile in the silence. “What, Father, do you want me to do? What do you want me to say?”

The answer came with more strength than he would have expected. “I want you to come home, Aleric,” said his father. “To Stoneleigh. At least for a little while.”