Devotion (43 page)

Desire now was something uncontrollable. It obsessed her every waking minute.

Her better judgment warned her to leave this minute. Why put herself in the position of watching the man she loved marry another woman?

But he needed her.

Her heart simply would not allow her to say goodbye just yet.

Having paced her room for hours, having walked a hundred times to his door, refusing to allow herself to enter, she quit her room and wandered down the corridors. Perhaps Gertrude would be up. Or Cook. It suddenly occurred to her that she had not eaten the entirety of the day. She felt weak and light-headed.

As she passed a salon, she paused and peered into the room where a solitary candle burned on a table. Obviously, some servant had forgotten to blow it out. She hurried to the candle, and as she bent over to blow it out, raised her eyes to the chair on the far side of the room, and the figure of a man sitting there in the dark recess.

The candle sputtered out.

"
Your
Grace." She bumped the table with her leg. "I hadn't realized you had left your room. You should have called me."

Nothing.

"I'm sorry you were forced to have your dinner alone. I . . . beg your forgiveness for my recent susceptibility to glumness. I fear I've become too conscious of myself—a grievous sin, according to my father. For the last hours I've given a great deal of thought to my motivations, and I suppose it all comes down my wanting your happiness above all else. What happened between us . . . 'twas wonderful, Your
Grace.
I admit I've allowed myself to become . . . overly fond. But is that not the nature of a woman, sir? Alas, I fear we're ruled by heart."

Drawing back her shoulders, she raised her chin. "Regardless, I shall endeavor to stand by you until you've taken your wife. I am committed to you entirely . . . for as long as you want me. There. I've confessed. Now you know that my affections for Your Grace are not strictly motivated by my desire to help my mother, as I earlier declared. I trust you won't make light of me. Then again, I'm well aware of the scores of women who have loved, Your Grace, so I'm certain you're accustomed to such silliness from naive young women."

At last, he spoke softly. "Are you saying that you're in love with His Grace, Miss Ashton?"

"Aye, I am, sir."

The shadowed figure left his chair and came toward her. No stiffness. No limping. No groan of pain. Then he moved into the pale light emanating from the corridor. Maria stared up into his face a long, silent moment before the realization set in.

"Basingstoke," she breathed.

She turned to flee.

He grabbed her arm.

She struggled, briefly, before he managed to usher her to a chair and push her determinedly into it. She covered her face with her hands and wished in that instant to die.

"Your pardon,
m'lord
.
I thought you were Salterdon."

"Obviously."

"I suppose it would do little good to plead with your lordship to disregard all that I've confessed these last few minutes."

"No good at all."

He dragged over another chair and sat down before her, gently took hold of her hands and eased them away from her face. Catching her chin with one finger, he tipped back her head.

"You're not the first young lady to spill out her feelings over my brother to me, so that is neither here nor there. I would know, however . . . if he's done anything to compromise you."

"Compromise,
m'lord
?"

"Has he bedded you, Miss Ashton?"

"No,
m'lord
."

He took a relieved breath and sank back in the chair in a weary manner. "Then that little problem is obviously not what brought me here."

"Sir?"

"I've ridden two days to get here because I couldn't shake the notion that something was wrong.
The curse of being a twin, Miss Ashton.
When some problem plagues my brother, it plagues me as well. Trey is troubled, Miss Ashton. Tell me why."

"I'm not certain I know. He had rallied, then, when the duchess announced that she had continued with plans for his marriage to Lady Laura, and that she and
her father would be arriving immediately, he regressed. He locked himself in his room and threatened to shoot us if we entered. He went so far as to shoot through the wall, causing your grandmother to faint."

"The duchess fainting?
Good God, I would have liked to have seen that. So would half of England for that matter. Imagine the old iron mare succumbing to a fit of vapors."

"Fortunately,
Edgcumbe
was at hand."

"
Edgcumbe
?
Christ." Basingstoke stood and proceeded to pace through the shadows. "What the blazes is
Edgcumbe
doing here?"

"He's trying to convince the duchess to have your brother committed to Royal Oaks in
Menston
."

"Committed!
The devil you say.
Edgcumbe
cannot commit a man of my brother's peerage with no less than twenty witnesses to attest to the fact that without a shadow of doubt he is mentally incapacitated and no longer able to function in a normal or rational manner."

"There are as many witnesses living in this house," she said.

"Are you telling me, Miss Ashton, that my brother is insane?"

"Your brother is the most brilliant man I have ever known,
m'lord
."

"But is he insane, Miss Ashton . . . or simply desperate?"

"Desperate, sir?"

"You tell me my grandmother is going through with plans for his marriage. You tell me that Lady Laura and her father are due to arrive
here . . . ?"

"Tomorrow.
Sir, why would His Grace become
so
desperate as to undermine his own future? Marriage to Lady Laura will secure his financial well-being— which is always what he's wanted, according to the duchess. And it's not as if he's committing to a woman he cares little for. He's very fond of her,
m'lord
."

"Yes," he replied thoughtfully. "He was."

"My greatest fear,
m'lord
, is that because of this rebellion of sorts, your grandmother will finally send him away."

"We can't allow that to happen, Miss Ashton."

"What do you propose we do, sir?"

Silence.
He paced again through the dark, moving into and out of the light through the doorway, giving Maria an occasional glimpse of his profile. He wore a simple white shirt with blousy sleeves, tight riding breeches, and knee boots. Her heart constricted because he was the image of his brother.

"I wonder . . ." he said, "what's caused my grandmother to instigate this marriage so precipitously? That she would toss caution to the wayside—so totally disregard Trey's health and state of mind in order to make certain he marries Laura."

He walked to the doorway, leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and slid his hands into his pockets. When he faced her at last, his countenance was obliterated by the light at his back. He appeared to regard her for a long time before speaking again. "Christ," he said softly, drawing one hand through his hair. "I fear I'm beginning to understand."

Lord
Dunsworthy
and his daughter arrived at ten the next morning, preceded by an hour by an entourage of outriders, servants, butlers, ladies maids, and grooms.

"What shall I do?" fretted the duchess. "I can hardly deny the extent of my son's condition if I'm forced to send
Dunsworthy
and his daughter packing the moment they arrive."

"You're the Duchess of Salterdon, my dear Isabella,"
Edgcumbe
declared with a pompous air. "You may tell them to take a leap off the
Buttertubs
if you so desire."

"You forget that I sent them a letter just days ago professing my grandson's much improved health. You forget that I've contacted numerous associates so they might proceed with all necessary arrangements for the wedding—"

"Isabella, you're becoming flushed. I must insist that you take a deep breath and—"

"For
Godsake
, cease mollycoddling me." She shooed him away as if he were some incessant insect, then she turned on Maria again. "Miss Ashton, you seem to be the only person residing in this house who can communicate with Trey. What have you to say over this behavior?"

"Your Grace, I'm as baffled by it as you. My only thought is that he's yet uncomfortable about facing his bride-to-be in his current condition."

"Poppycock.
Edgcumbe
feels confident that it's only a matter of time before he regains the use of his legs."

"Perhaps, although however confident
Edgcumbe
feels is irrelevant
. '
Tis how His Grace feels which matters."

The duchess's eyes narrowed. "Obviously you're totally ignorant of the ways of the aristocracy, Miss Ashton. Emotionalism has nothing to do with our lives. We're born for a purpose. We live for a purpose. We refuse to die unless that purpose is passed on to the next generation. I'm eighty-five years old, young lady. I haven't a great deal of time left to waste on recalcitrant children. If my grandson proceeds to thwart me, I'll have no other choice but to allow
Edgcumbe
to begin proceedings to commit him to Royal Oaks."

"That won't be necessary, Grandmother."

They turned.

The Duke of Salterdon, dressed impeccably, sat in his chair just inside the doorway.

Only it wasn't the duke, Maria realized after an initial rush of shock.

Basingstoke.

The duchess sat upright.
Edgcumbe
grabbed his monocle, fumbled with it twice before managing to situate it properly in his eye. "Incredible," he muttered.

As Basingstoke rolled the chair into the room the duchess stood, tottered, shoved
Edgcumbe's
hand away when he attempted to steady her, then moved toward her grandson. Stopping before him, she said,
"I
should have known immediately, of course. But then, the two of you were always very good at dupery. This, however, I find in bad taste, Clayton."

"Agreed,"
Edgcumbe
barked. "My good man, your grandmother is delicate—"