The Heir and the Spare (16 page)

Devon stood, leaning out of the open window in his room, hoping that the chilly night air would clear his head. The outrageous snoring of one of the guests and the chorus of crickets distracted him for a moment, reminding him that he wasn’t actually alone. He just felt that way.

Miss Highhart hadn’t noticed that after she left, he had stepped into the shadows of the hall, intent on following her to ensure she returned to her room safely. It was the least he could do, after that horrible scene. Her words had cut deep.
You must be the other one. You are both exactly the same.
It was the truth, but he didn’t like it.

But he had noticed her standing there and Marksmith whisking her away. He had overheard the scene on the second floor. Or some of it—he had stayed long enough to hear his brother declare that he was only seeking to comfort his betrothed. Devon hadn’t stayed to hear any more.

Eventually, she would figure out that he worked for her father, if she hadn’t already. But in time, she would most likely tell her father that Devon was a liar, that he had deliberately misled her, that he could not be trusted. It wasn’t entirely true—he gave his best to his work, and nothing else.

He would go to London and apologize to Miss Highhart. He would congratulate her on her engagement. He would soothe her hurt feelings and ensure that she would not speak ill of him to her father. And then he would leave England, this time forever.

Marksmith had the good sense to have a full bottle of brandy and two crystal glasses in Phillip’s chamber. Soon enough, the heir skulked in and promptly punched a hole in the wall, damaging his fist as much as his target. To be humiliated like that in front of his guests, whom he was lavishly entertaining when he could not afford to do so, was something he was not accustomed to. It made his insides lurch violently.

Parkhurst knocked, and entered without waiting for a response. In silence the two men poured large amounts of brandy into the glasses and moved to the chairs before the fire.

“Well, that went badly,” Phillip said bluntly.

“It’s not as if your reputation is ruined. Rather, it should enhance the air of danger and mystery that surrounds you,” Parkhurst said, trying to be comforting.

“I need money.”

“Don’t we all. Listen, we’ll just have to find you another heiress. A dumber one. Or at the very least, one without Lady Palmerston as a chaperone.”

They both drank to that.

But Phillip would not be content with just finding another heiress. He would do that, of course. He had to. But Emilia and Lady Palmerston had cut too deep. He wished one could challenge a woman to a duel. Hell, Lady Palmerston would probably take him up on it. He laughed.

“Parkhurst, I just had the funniest thought.” But his friend had fallen asleep in the chair, with his chubby fingers still holding the glass of brandy, now empty. He emitted one long snore. Phillip took the glass from his hand and placed it on a table, then chucked a blanket over his friend and retired to his bed.

In the morning, he would breakfast with his guests and pretend tonight had never happened.

When his father died, as he was bound to do any day now, all of Phillip’s past faults and transgressions would pale beside his new status. In the meantime, he would take off for his hunting lodge in Scotland. Get away from it all, let the gossip die down.

“My dear niece, we need to have a serious discussion.” The two women were tucked into their carriage, which was now rolling down the long tree-flanked drive, traveling away from the house. Emilia did not even have the slightest urge to look out the window.

“Aunt, I must apologize,” she started sincerely.

“Hush. Last night was a near scandal, which shall be the talk of the ton for weeks. I expect there might be damage to your reputation. Some questions as to what actually transpired. Should we see that scoundrel, we will keep our distance.”

“So you are not going to send me back to America?” Emilia asked with a touch of relief. It had occurred to her that morning that her aunt might find her to be more trouble than she was worth and ship her back to her father. It wasn’t as if she really had a reason, or a suitor, to make her stay. Her father might be disappointed if she failed to catch a husband, but he would be more disappointed in her if she didn’t finish her season. And frankly, she would be, too.

“Lord, no, unless you wish to return. Frankly, dear, I find you vastly amusing.”

“I am so pleased you see it that way,” she replied, though she could not agree.

“Good. Enough of that then. As I said, we need to have a serious discussion.”

“I thought we just did.”

“Hmmph. That was a mere formality. Now. I suspect that you were not actually in the library last evening.”

“I was,” Emilia said. Her aunt stared at her, as if her gaze alone could drag the truth out of her. It worked. “For a moment.”

“I suspect you know what I know,” her aunt replied.

“Oh?” Emilia raised her brow. Two could play this game, and she had learned from the master. Her aunt only grinned.

“I am too old to play games. Huntley’s twin was there, staying on the third floor. I assume you are well aware of that. Now tell me what you know.”

“It doesn’t really matter now,” Emilia said.

“It is high time you learned a woman’s secret weapon when dealing with men, Emilia. Lord knows, since we are dealing with two extremely difficult gents, we are going to have to use every weapon at our disposal. First and foremost, we must share information. So tell me everything you know.”

“He is perfectly awful, and I want nothing more to do with him.”

“He’ll be back, Emilia.”

“I doubt that. But nevertheless, I know nothing about him except he is the one that caught me when I fell, and the one I kissed, and the one that I was half in love with. I also know that he didn’t mean any of it. And he is impossible! He kept insisting that I leave.”

“At least this one has a shred of sense and decency. I wager that he will arrive on our doorstep within a few days’ time.”

“I’ll take the wager, since I am sure to win.”

Lady Palmerston muttered something that sounded awfully like “foolish young girls.”

The
first few days after the house party, Emilia had quite a few callers. It was all too clear they only crowded into Lady Palmerston’s drawing room in an attempt to discern what had transpired between Miss Highhart and Lord Huntley. No one spoke of anything else. At balls, Emilia’s dance card was never full anymore. Gentlemen who had previously been charming and flirtatious would not meet her eye. Phillip had not actually ruined her, but he had certainly come close.

By the end of the week, Emilia was miserable. She couldn’t sleep at night, regretting every moment spent in the presence of those twins. She was angry with herself, too. Her aunt had warned her, and she had not listened. She had foolishly attempted to find the good in a thoroughly despicable man, and what had she gotten for it? The prospect of spinsterhood, that’s what. Few men bothered to look her way anymore. The ones who did wanted her fortune badly enough not to care if she was ruined.

George always made it a point to dance with her, though. As if his sterling reputation could improve hers. Lord Knightly, too, stood by her. But there wasn’t enough feeling between them to give her hope that he might propose. And Lord Roxbury flirted with her, but then again, he flirted with everyone. The previous evening, he had whisked the seventy-year-old Dowager Countess of Carlyle onto the floor for a waltz.

One week after that regretful house party, Emilia was sitting in her aunt’s drawing room during the calling hours. Except there were no callers—just hours in which to ponder each and every mistake she had made along the way. When the Alcourt women entered the drawing room, Emilia’s mood sank even lower.

“Imagine that,” Lady Alcourt began, “passing up an opportunity to be a duchess. My daughters would never be so foolish.”

“Of course not, mama,” they echoed, while giving Emilia pitying glances.

“At least now, Miss Highhart, you are known for something other that your red hair and your clumsiness.”

“Thank the Lord,” Emilia muttered under her breath.

“I’m sure you shall manage to marry eventually,” Lady Alcourt continued, apparently oblivious to both Lady Palmerston and Emilia glaring at her. “Nothing as fantastic as a duke, of course. One is never so lucky twice. You might manage a baron.”

“A caller, madam,” Groves interrupted, standing in the doorway.

“Who is it?” Lady Palmerston asked.

“Well, my lady, it seems that the caller, ahem, well, he claims that—” The butler had not managed to finish before the caller in question appeared behind him. Emilia immediately looked away from him, and noticed the Alcourt women were busying themselves pouring second cups of tea. Splendid. News of this new situation would be all over London within the hour. She would really be ruined then.

“Groves, what did I tell you about allowing
that man
into my house?” Lady Palmerston practically growled.

“He claims, madam, that he is
Devon
Kensington,” the butler said, handing Lady Palmerston his card. She looked at it and pursed her lips.

“Lady Palmerston, that is clearly Phillip Kensington. Everyone knows that the other one died years ago,” Miss Alcourt said loudly.

“My brother, Phillip, tells all sorts of lies,” Devon said smoothly, stepping past the butler into the drawing room. In doing so, he ignored his instinct to flee.
Just leave,
his brain suggested.
She’ll be fine. She doesn’t need you.
He forced himself to look her in the eye. No, she certainly didn’t want him. But she did need him, and he could tell it would not be easy to convince her of it.

After that last night of the house party, Devon had packed his bags and left, with a politely worded letter of apology to Miss Highhart in his pocket. But by the time he arrived at his intended destination—the docks, where he would board his ship for America and never look back—he knew he could not. He had always been running, hadn’t he?

When he was a child, he ran away from his brother rather than stay and fight. He wondered how Phillip might have been different if he had stayed to challenge him. After that duel, he dragged his wounded self onto a ship and fled for another continent. And since he had returned to England, he had done nothing but run from London to Cliveden and back again. He didn’t even do so as himself, but disguised as his twin.

He had always told himself it was wiser to avoid confrontation than to waste energy with a fight.

But this time, he had dragged an innocent young woman down with him. He had read the papers, and George had filled him in on the gossip. And he thought of nothing but all the chances he’d had to set things straight, to prevent this entire situation. It was humbling to realize the power of his actions. And Marksmith’s words echoed in his head. He could be a better man.

“Lady Palmerston,” he said in acknowledgment. “Miss Highhart.” He didn’t know the other women, but the way they stared at him with unabashed curiosity made his skin crawl. Nevertheless, he endured the introduction.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Lady Palmerston said sternly, looking him up and down through narrowed blue eyes. They were the same as her niece’s, he noted, but wiser, more shrewd. “Come in, sit. Perhaps even enlighten us as to the purpose of your visit.”

“You and Phillip look remarkably alike,” Lady Alcourt cut in. Since he did not want to state his business in front of the ruffled busybody, he answered her question instead.

“We’re twins,” he said, trying very hard to keep his annoyance out of his voice.

“Oh, that’s right! How silly of me to have forgotten,” she twittered in reply. “I didn’t know you had returned to England. Naturally, I mean, we all thought you were dead.” God, he wished those women would leave.

“Clearly, Lady Alcourt, he is not,” Lady Palmerston said. “It’s a lovely day outside, isn’t it, Kensington?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, wondering what she was up to.

“Perfect weather for a walk in the park, I’d imagine,” she continued. “Lord Roxbury was here earlier, and he spoke of his intention to take a walk in Hyde Park this afternoon. It’s really unfortunate you weren’t here earlier, Miss Alcourt. You would have seen him.”

“It is very nice outside,” Lady Alcourt echoed. “Lord Roxbury, you say? Perhaps a walk in the park would be just the thing. What do you think, girls? Let’s go for a nice stroll, shall we?” Gossip was one thing; catching an earl for one of her daughters was another matter entirely.

“Well done,” Devon said, after the insufferable women left. Lady Palmerston ignored the compliment.

“Since you haven’t been rotting in the ground, Kensington, what have you been doing these past five years?” Lady Palmerston asked.

“I’ve been in America,” he said, with a sideways glance at Emilia. “I am president of operations for Diamond Shipping.” He saw her eyes widen, and then close. “Harold Highhart is my business partner. He had requested that I call on Miss Highhart, to ensure she is well.”

“Well, Emilia, how are you?” Lady Palmerston asked her niece.

“I’m actually not feeling well. Excuse me,” Emilia said. Never once sparing him a glance, she left the room.

“Really, Kensington, what are you doing here?”

“I owe Miss Highhart an apology,” he answered. That was really why he had come here today. To say he was sorry, and that was all.

“You certainly do,” she replied icily. “You also owe her your assistance in reviving her reputation, which has been rather damaged since that house party.”

“I’m no longer taking responsibility for my brother’s actions. I merely wish to apologize for mine.”

“Which, I might point out, you did not succeed in doing today. And that means, Kensington, that I shall see you again. Good day.”