To Marry an Heiress (14 page)

“And he shot them all dead?”

Devon quirked a brow. His wife’s cheeks grew rosy as she avoided his gaze.

“And he’s a hero! He saved the whole town! I think it’s splendid! I wish to travel to Texas when I grow up.”

Devon cleared his throat. Kit had been sent to
Texas because his disreputable ways were distressing his father. He hardly wanted his son behaving in a similar manner.

“Did you know cousin Kit?” Noel asked.

“Of course. He is Lord Ravenleigh’s twin brother. We played together as children, and while he was quite daring, I hardly think he was one to kill a
bunch
of outlaws.”

“But he did,” Gina said quietly. “His exploits are legendary.”

“Another legend, countess?”

She gave him a beguiling smile. “At the center of which you’ll find the truth.”

“I wish we had legends,” Noel said, fairly bouncing his bottom on the bed.

“We do have legends,” Devon said, distressed to realize his son wasn’t aware of them.

“What are they?”

“King Arthur and Robin Hood for starters.”

“I didn’t know they were legends. I thought they were only stories! Do you know them, Gina?” he asked, his eyes wide.

Devon ground his teeth together. They really were going to have to come up with a more appropriate name for her. The informality was beyond bearing. What sort of example was she setting for the heir apparent?

“No, I don’t,” she told Noel.

Noel bounded upright with such enthusiasm that Devon thought he might actually come off the bed.

“I can tell them to you. Shall I?”

The smile she bestowed upon his son as she
combed her fingers through his hair was almost breathtaking. He couldn’t quite comprehend where it had come from. He’d certainly never seen it before.

“How about tomorrow? I think it’s time we all went to sleep now.”

Noel plopped back onto his pillow, and she brought the blankets up to his chin.

“I shall tell you about King Arthur first. And Merlin. He was a sorcerer. He knew magic!”

“He sounds very interesting.” Bending over, she kissed his brow. “I look forward to hearing his tale tomorrow night.”

She stepped back, as she had earlier in Millicent’s room, a subtle movement of her eyes indicating that Devon could give no less to this child than he had to the other.

He strode forward, leaned over, and stilled. His son watched him with eyes the same shade as his. With his toothy grin, he seemed incredibly innocent and remarkably trusting. Trusting his father to ensure he would have a worthy estate to inherit.

Pierce’s reckless gambling had ensured that Devon never could. Resentment rose like bitter bile. He brushed a quick kiss over his heir’s brow. “Sleep well.”

“I will, Father.”

Noel bounced over onto his side. Devon lowered the flame in the lamp before striding from the room. He turned back in time to see Georgina bring the blankets up to Noel’s chin.

She walked slowly from the room, as though she
loathed leaving it. He hadn’t expected her to show such remarkable interest in his children. Although he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, the bargain had revolved around his willingness to give her a child.

She joined him in the hallway. “They’re wonderful children, Devon.”

He agreed wholeheartedly but found himself at a loss for words to express his sentiments. “I’ll escort you to your chambers.”

Her laughter tinkled around the hallway like a thousand bells at Christmas. “That’s not necessary. I’ll admit your house is about as big as the town I grew up in, but I can find my way to my room. Good night.”

She headed for the stairs. He had this uncomfortable need to have her tuck him into bed. With long strides, he caught up to her. “I insist on accompanying you.”

She shrugged and floated down the stairs.

“I find it difficult to believe you’ve never heard of Robin Hood or King Arthur. What sort of schools do they have in Texas?” he asked.

She gave him a sly glance. “I know all about Arthur, Lancelot, and Camelot. Not to mention Robin Hood and Little John.”

“You lied to my son?”

“The truth would have removed the sparkle from his eyes. That’ll happen soon enough as he gets older. Besides, what harm can come from allowing him to have the joy of believing he is the first to share with me stories of magic and good deeds?”

“None, I suppose. Still, I do not wish their lives disrupted overmuch. They have a routine, a schedule. Children need constancy.”

“They need love.”

“Which they have,” he ground out.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and he escorted her through the grand foyer. He grabbed a lamp from a nearby table and followed her into the east wing and up the stairs that led to the next level. A musty odor assailed his nostrils. This part of the house had lain dormant since Margaret’s death.

Without her, he’d had no desire to host parties, to invite guests, to share his life with anyone. He could not remember the last time he had walked these halls.

Georgina came to an abrupt stop beside a door. He tried to envision what the room on the other side looked like, but he had no recollection of it. He was certain he’d seen it at some point in time. When his father had died, he’d taken a careful inventory, so he could determine what, if anything, he could part with.

She opened the door and peered inside. Then she turned to him with a smile. “It seems the servants have been busy. I have a lamp, a low fire, and the bed is turned down.”

“Is there anything else that you require?”

“I need you to forgive my father.”

“That’s not likely to happen.”

“Good night, then.”

She slipped through the door and out of sight. He
briefly wondered if her request meant she had forgiven the deceitful bastard.

He strode back toward his study. He needed a good, stiff drink.

W
earing her nightgown and wrapper, Georgina sat in a chair before the hearth. Even with the fire, the room held a chill that she associated with abandonment. She thought some time had passed since this section of the house had been used.

How appropriate that her husband would exile her here.

She didn’t mind the loneliness. She’d lived with it long enough and thought of it as more of a companion than an enemy. She understood it, could almost reason with it.

She did, however, resent that Devon had no plans to allow her into his life or that of his children.

She was here in this decrepit old house that chilled her to the bone. Yet she could not help but feel that it possessed much potential if she was only willing to look below the surface.

Somewhere in the house, a clock began to chime. She counted each
bong
that echoed between the walls. Twelve. Midnight. The magical hour.

She should tuck herself into bed, as she had Devon’s children. What a delight they were!

Watching Devon, she’d been struck by the various emotions playing over his features. At times he’d seemed almost in awe of his children, as though he was only just discovering they existed. At other times the love reflected in his eyes had caused her chest to ache.

Had her father known he was capable of such intense feeling? Her father had always placed love above all else.

“As long as I have your love, Gina, I’ll die a wealthy man.”

She’d almost forgotten his words. Glancing around her, she sighed. “Ah, Papa, what were you thinking when you started gambling again, knowing that Devon had married me expecting to share your wealth?”

And what was she thinking to remain in this situation when she still possessed a ticket that would provide her with passage back to Galveston? But there was the rub, as they said in these parts. Until she knew for certain that leaving was what she wanted, she’d forever look back and wonder.

Devon was not surprised that he’d awoken earlier in a grumpy mood. He’d not slept soundly. He did not like it one bit that Georgina was making him
doubt his fatherly devotion. His children were happy and well cared for. They went to bed neither hungry nor cold.

He supposed his first thought upon arriving should have been to visit with them. He hadn’t planned to see them right away simply because he trusted his staff to look after his children’s welfare. He’d not needed to reassure himself that they were fine, because he’d had no reason to believe they would be otherwise. He’d had several things on his mind, but in hindsight he grudgingly acknowledged that Gina had made a valid point: Looking in on his children should have been at the top of his list of things to do.

As for tucking the children in at night. Well, again, he trusted Mrs. Tavers to make certain they were comfortable. Perhaps he would speak with her to ensure she shared a story with them before they went to sleep.

They’d certainly seemed to enjoy Georgina’s tale of a fish with the power to turn a maiden into a mermaid. An enchanting legend. As for her tales regarding Kit…

Devon had heard his cousin had taken up enforcing the law in Texas. A strange undertaking for a man who had once taken pleasure in snubbing society’s code. Devon had certainly not heard Kit was having duels with outlaws. He’d have to consult with Christopher regarding that matter.

It was one thing to share time-honored legends with his children. Quite another to fill their heads
with fanciful stories about members of the family.

He had expected Gina to content herself with her wing of the house, a wing that did not hold his children. After they finished eating breakfast, he would have another meeting with her, so he could spell out her duties more precisely.

He walked into the large dining hall and stumbled to a stop. What the deuce was going on here?

A woman in a tattered dress stood at the top of a ladder, cloth in hand, dusting cobwebs. A red triangular scrap of material covered her head and hid her hair. She was swaying her hips with such enthusiasm he feared she might topple off the ladder at any moment.

He didn’t know who she was, couldn’t get a good look at her face, but he knew she wasn’t anyone he’d ever had in his employ before now. Had his wife not understood when he’d explained yesterday that he had no funds with which to pay his servants?

Now she was hiring more?

He spun on his heel and strode from the room. He spied his butler in the foyer. “Winston, locate my wife and inform her that I wish to speak with her in my library immediately.”

“Yes, milord.”

His heart hammering against his chest, Devon stormed into his library and crossed to the window. Jerking the draperies aside, he stared at the forlorn landscape.

Margaret had asked his counsel on every household decision to be made, and here was Gina, after
only one day, hiring servants, upsetting the natural order of things.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

His blood was thrumming through his temples so loudly he hadn’t heard her arrival. “Did you not understand that you were not to hire—”

He spun around and froze, unable to believe his eyes. His wife stood before him in the tattered dress with the red cloth covering her hair and dirt smudged across one cheek and the tip of her nose.

“What the deuce are you wearing on top of your head?”

She snatched off the offending object to reveal the thick rope of her braid coiled around her head.

“A bandanna. Cowboys have a hundred uses for them. And I
did
understand that I wasn’t to hire any servants. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss, because I have quite a list of things I want to accomplish this morning and—”

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

She gave him a gamin smile and waved the cloth in the air like a white flag. “I decided your house could use a little spit and polish.”

He thought the top of his skull might explode. “Madam, my wife neither
spits
nor
polishes
.”

Her smile withered. “This house is huge. You’re short on staff, and those who are here are overworked. I wanted to help out.”

He took a step toward her. He wished she’d rub that damnably distracting dirt off her face so this urge he felt to gently wipe it away himself would
leave him. “You help out, madam, by delegating chores, determining which tasks are essential to the upkeep of the manor—”

“Gina!”

His daughter flew into the room and wound her arms around Gina’s legs. Millicent wore rags and one of those abominable bandannas over her head as well!

She tilted up her smudged face and looked at Gina with evident joy. “I finished duthting the flowers. Now what?”

“Now you may go eat breakfast,” Devon said succinctly.

Millicent snapped her head around, her eyes sparkling like jewels placed before the sun. “Father, I’ve already eaten.”

“The children and I ate our breakfast together this morning,” Georgina told him.

“I see.”

Gina smiled at Millicent and cradled her tiny chin. “Go ask Winston what’s next on the list while I finish speaking with your father.”

“Are you going to give him chores ath well?” Millicent asked.

Gina cut a quick glance his way. “I don’t think so. I imagine he probably has enough to do.”

“I’ll tell Noel what to do when he’s finished with his chores.” Millicent skipped out of the room as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Tell me the heir apparent to Huntingdon is not wearing one of those abominations on his head,” Devon ordered.

“Of course he isn’t.”

“Thank God.” He started to turn away, then jerked back to face her. “You have my children doing manual labor?”

She rolled her eyes. “A little dusting and polishing. I’d hardly call that labor.”

“Madam, there is a hierarchy in England of which you are obviously unaware. An earl’s children
do not
dust. Nor do they dress in rags or cover their hair with scraps of cloth. You will put an end to this nonsense now!”

“They just wanted to help.”

“They can help by remembering their place in society.”

“There’s nothing wrong with hard, honest work.”

“Is that something your father taught you?”

He regretted his words the instant he saw the flash of pain cross her face. She’d loved the man, and he’d not meant to remind her of her recent loss. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know why he was unable to stop himself from gambling away everything he’d worked so hard to obtain. It had happened before, and I’d assumed he’d learned his lesson. I’ll explain to the children that it’s beneath them to help the servants.”

She pivoted and walked from the room, back erect, shoulders squared. He dropped down into the chair behind his massive desk and wondered why she’d left him feeling as though he was the one who’d acted improperly.

In the end Georgina hadn’t explained any such thing to the children. She knew children had a habit of speaking from the heart and not the head, which meant that at any moment, in their innocence, they could blurt out that they were too good to lift a finger to help.

Instead she praised them for the tasks they’d completed and asked if they’d like to escort her on a walk about the grounds while she decided what else needed to be done. But then Mrs. Tavers had appeared, and the children had been whisked away to do their lessons. Therefore Georgina was left to wander the grounds on her own.

And her imagination took flight. She’d never seen such lush greenery. Even though it was obvious gardeners were no longer employed to keep the grounds tidy, the land’s wild disarray possessed an untamed beauty. Devon no doubt would say it had gone to ruin, but she appreciated the naturalness of all that surrounded her.

She enjoyed walking in England. Unlike Texas, where the heat was suffocating and the air often heavy, the weather here was usually pleasant. Even the rain was more of a mist than a deluge.

If her cleaning offended her husband, then perhaps she would garden. Not the lovely roses Lauren’s mother was dedicated to, but something a bit more substantial, something useful. Corn, beets, peas, beans. She could section off some of the land, rig up a plow. Kneeling, she dug her fingers into the
dirt, relishing the texture of good, rich soil.

By the time Devon realized her hobby didn’t revolve around flowers, she’d have vegetables on the table.

She was determined not to be a woman of leisure. Unlike her husband, she was willing to work in order to gain a better life. She saw no merit in idleness.

Here more so than in London, their differences would stand out, but no one would see, so where was the harm?

For the first time since leaving Texas, she’d actually felt deliriously happy. She’d been doing something that made a difference. She’d been able to see the results of her efforts.

Damn him! He had no right to take that feeling of self-worth away from her. She would polish. She would dust. She would scrub. She just wouldn’t do it in the main rooms, where he might happen upon her. But she would do it.

He couldn’t expect her to sit on a pedestal all day. She shook her head. Of course, he expected it, but that didn’t mean she had to oblige him.

She would have to plant her garden away from the house, so he wouldn’t come across it in his wanderings. If he ever left the house. She had no idea what his day entailed. But if he didn’t work, what
did
he do?

He excelled at rowing. His firm muscles indicated he did something more. But what?

In the distance, she caught sight of the stables. Since neighbors were as rare here as they were in
Texas, she assumed those were Huntingdon’s stables. Wonderful. He’d mentioned he had two thousand acres. With a horse at her disposal, she’d be able to locate an out-of-the-way spot for her garden. The possibilities seemed endless.

Fisting her hands around her skirt, she raised it slightly and trudged toward the stables, the tall grasses snatching at her hem. She was grateful she hadn’t worn one of her nicer dresses this morning.

It would be a while before she wore anything fancy. She was in mourning, and she would wear black to reflect her grief—not only for the loss of her father, but for the deprivation of her husband as well.

She’d been a fool to think the physical aspect of their relationship somehow reflected the emotional aspect. Devon had no doubt been reacting to his baser instinct. That he’d been considerate, taking the time to stir her passions to life, had been a blessing. But in his mind he’d probably been no more than a rutting stallion. He could turn her aside with the wave of his hand.

As much as she tried, she couldn’t consider him cruel. He’d expected to receive funds as a result of his marriage to her, not debt.

Bending down, she plucked an errant yellow flower from its mooring in the rich soil. She imagined the field had been awash with color in the spring, but now only this tiny bloom remained, determined, holding on. She didn’t know its name or its origin. She knew bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, and an occasional cactus.

She hadn’t bothered to learn much about England, because she hadn’t planned to stay. She might still leave, once she’d determined the best way to make up for her father’s fiasco.

She figured her father, loving her as he did, probably thought he was doing the man a favor by hitching him to his daughter.

But he hadn’t walked in Devon’s shoes, as she was doing now. Everywhere she looked, she saw his heritage, steeped in tradition. The generations that had come before stared at them from portraits hung on the walls. The manor house carried their fragrance, each adding to the one who’d come before. They’d all slept in the hand-carved beds, sat at the heavy mahogany table, and gazed through the windows at the rolling hills and fertile fields the Crown had bestowed upon them and placed in their keeping.

Her father couldn’t have possibly understood Devon’s desire to do right by those who’d come before him. Until she’d arrived here, she hadn’t understood. She still didn’t. Not really.