The Heir and the Spare (20 page)

“And things had changed since the last time I called,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“Indeed,” she replied.

“I wanted to be able to answer honestly,” Devon continued.

“How admirable of you.”

“I did want to see you as well,” he said. “You are wondering why, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Yes,” she said, slightly smiling.

“I don’t really have a reason,” he said, “other than I can’t stop thinking of you.”

“Oh.”
Oh.
He was leaning closer to her now, and one half of her heart urged her to lean in to meet him halfway. The other half reminded her of her aunt on the other side of the door and all the consequences of kissing gentlemen.

“So how are you, Emilia?” She lifted her gaze away from the sight of his hand holding hers, and looked into his eyes. Dark, soulful, and wondering. She blinked.

“I am confused,” she answered.

“That makes two of us,” he replied, looking away.

“Tell my father that I am fine. Really.”

“Emilia, I—”

“Terribly sorry,” Lady Palmerston said as she strolled into the room. “An urgent matter required my attention.”

“I hope I may see you again,” Devon finished.

“Leaving so soon?” Lady Palmerston asked, taking a seat in her usual chair.

“As much as I would like to stay, I do have business matters to attend to.”

As soon as he had left, Emilia turned to her aunt. “How could you leave me alone with him? It could have been Phillip for all we know.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

“No. But that is beside the point.”

“So you can tell them apart now?”

“Well, yes. But . . .”

“Phillip is not in town, anyway,” her aunt replied. “And you may thank me for giving you a moment alone with the handsome man you fancy. Now tell me all about it.”

“But I thought you had been listening from the hall.”

“I was. But though I can eavesdrop on conversations, I cannot read minds.”

Emilia did not hear a word from Devon, nor did she see him at all for three days. The absence did, however, go some way to resolving her confusion. If she craved him, his attentions, his simple presence, surely that counted for something, right?

On the evening of third day of utter silence, Emilia and her aunt attended the Somerset Ball. It was a splendid affair and had drawn quite a crowd, certainly more than the ballroom could comfortably accommodate. Emilia and her aunt stood, fans waving, at the edge of the ballroom. When Emilia accepted dances, she stumbled through them, missing steps and stepping on toes. She was distracted. She was looking for Devon.

She had no reason to think he would be there, but still, she caught herself hoping he would appear. She was not the only one. Lady Somerset, having learned of the younger Kensington twin’s return from the dead, had issued him, and Phillip, an invitation in hopes that one, or both, would attend and add some drama to the evening, thus making her ball all the more memorable. The hostess sought Emilia out to question her on the twins’ whereabouts, since by now it was well known that she had some sort of strange relationship with one or both of them. Emilia disappointed Lady Somerset by having no information to offer her.

Indeed, that was all anyone and everyone asked her about all evening. She sought a moment of respite in the ladies’ retiring room with Annabelle.

“I think I am falling for Devon,” Emilia confided.

“Please don’t take offense, Emilia, but that is very old news,” her friend responded, turning away from the mirror.

“I know. But I am falling for him, and he is not here, and everyone keeps asking me about him. It’s torturous.”

“Don’t you wish it was acceptable for us to call upon a bachelor? It would significantly cut down on the agonies of waiting,” Annabelle said. “I remember when George was first courting me, and days would go by between visits. I would think he had lost interest in me, but then he would return a few days later, and wonder why I was upset. I eventually came to the conclusion that men process the passing of time differently than women.”

“Perhaps. But whoever said ‘’Tis the waking that kills us’ was wrong. It’s the waiting.”

“I’m sure we could arrange something,” Annabelle offered with a sly smile.

“We could,” Emilia said, “but I want him to see me because he wants to, not because he is forced to. Like at your dinner party.”

“That was splendid, wasn’t it? I can’t believe your aunt allowed you to be alone with him. Lucky you.”

“She did it again, the other day when he called.”

“Really? I wish she had been my chaperone,” Annabelle muttered.

“But in neither instance did he try to kiss me. What is so wrong with me that two confirmed scoundrels won’t take liberties with my person?”

Annabelle giggled. “I’m sorry, Emilia, I know it’s not funny, and that to you, it is quite devastating, but . . .”

“No, you’re right.” Emilia sighed with defeat. “If it weren’t happening to me, I would find it vastly amusing as well.”

“Lady Stillmore, that was quite an entertaining dinner party the other night. I must thank you for assisting me in my slightly negligent chaperoning,” Lady Palmerston stated after their charges had gone off to the ladies’ retiring room.

“Think nothing of it. ’Tis my favorite pastime. Unfortunately,we still have work to do. Or are we not going to encourage this match?”

“I think we ought to. Emilia’s father suggested I encourage them. And Devon has proven himself to me, since I have left him alone with Emilia twice now, and he hasn’t made any overtures to her.”

“How are you certain?”

“I was eavesdropping, naturally. That, and Emilia seemed vexed after he left. She did not have the look of a girl who had been kissed.”

“Perhaps he is not interested in her after all.”

“You’ve seen them together. Clearly there is something between them. I fear that the situation with Phillip has been difficult for them both. They simply must have opportunities to move past it. And I shall do everything in my power to aid them in that endeavor,” Lady Palmerston said.

“And I had the most difficult time deciding between hyacinths or tulips for the wedding breakfast,” Lady Stillmore said, upon seeing the girls approach them.

“What a horrid dilemma. How did you ever decide?” Lady Palmerston asked, without missing a beat.

Annabelle and Emilia rolled their eyes at each other, not fooled in the slightest.

“Hello, ladies,” Winsworth said, joining the group. “I hope I’m not interrupting your gossiping.”

“Us? Gossip?” Lady Stillmore responded.

“Never,” Lady Palmerston added.

When the laughter subsided, George asked Annabelle to dance.

He pulled his fiancée close as the opening strains of a waltz sounded. He deftly maneuvered them through the throngs of dancers.

“George, darling, why isn’t Devon here tonight?”

“Would you believe me if I said he wasn’t invited?” George replied, slightly distracted and thinking that far too many people had been invited to socialize in too small a place.

“No,” Annabelle answered. “Is he avoiding Emilia?”

“I don’t think so, but I haven’t spoken to him since the dinner party,” George answered, turning them to avoid the massive girth of Lord Derby.
Such men should not be dancing,
he thought.

“That was very well done of you,” Annabelle said. “What will our next scheme be?”

“We are not enacting any more schemes.”

“But he hasn’t called on her in three days. And you noticed as well as I did that there is something between them that must be encouraged.”

“He knows where to find her.”

“You’re right,” Annabelle said, smiling slightly. “We’ll be in the park tomorrow, by the fountain, at say, one o’clock. You two can meet us there, accidentally on purpose.”

After the ball, George instructed his driver to take him to the Cavendish Hotel. He did wish his friend to be happy, and Miss Highhart, too.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not hosting a ball in my suite this evening,” Devon deadpanned when he answered the knock at the door sporting an open shirt, breeches, and very disheveled hair.

“Good. One per evening is quite enough.”

“Come in. Have a drink,” Devon said, brandy already in hand. He refilled his glass and poured a full one for George. They sat in leather chairs before a dwindling fire.

“I owe you an apology for the other night,” George started. “I had only meant for you and Miss Highhart to have a chance to talk. It was foolish of me to think that those chaperones would not figure things out, and resort to scheming and—”

“It’s fine,” Devon said, cutting him off. “I managed to get through the evening without becoming betrothed.” There was no emotion in his voice to belie any feelings on the matter. George pressed further.

“I also mean to warn you that they have it in their heads to encourage you and Miss Highhart.”

Devon shrugged and took another sip of his drink.

“Are you drunk?” George asked.

“Not yet.”

“Might I ask why you intend to drink yourself into a stupor?”

Devon pushed his hair back with his fingers. “There are too many obstacles. First, there is the matter of my damned twin. She was angry that I had deceived her.”

“I must agree with her on that one,” George said, lifting an eyebrow at the annoyed look Devon shot him.

“And what if Phillip is the one she really wants? He’s an ass, but he’s an ass who will soon be a duke.”

“You forget that she rejected him before she even knew about you.”

“And then there is the awkward matter of her father, and that we are in business together.”

“It sounds as if you should be talking to Miss Highhart about this. Something you could do tomorrow. In the park. Around one o’clock.”

“Something tells me the chaperones are not the only ones meddling and encouraging.”

“What are friends for? All you have to do is show up, and try not to say something stupid.”

To
be fair, Devon thought, he did not have much knowledge or experience with matters of love.

His father had never shown any love for him. His own twin despised him. Perhaps, if their mother had not died giving birth to them, there might have been some love in their big old house. His father never spoke of her. Never. From what Devon understood, his father saw wives as a bother, and he never took another one. After all, he already had his heir and a spare.

He wasn’t even sure love was the word, the feeling, for what he felt for Emilia. All he knew was that he had an insatiable craving for her. The only time it went away was when he was with her, but the moment he left the room, he needed, wanted, more. He had tried to stay away, hoping time would erase the strength of his desire. That had not worked either.

It was more than simple lust. He didn’t just want her under him in bed, but beside him when he awoke in the morning, there across from him at the breakfast table, and at luncheon and dinner as well. He wanted to be right there beside her, ready to catch her the next time she stumbled.

It was time he went to meet Miss Highhart.

Emilia donned an amber-colored walking dress with small bronze buttons up the front. She pulled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck and then put on a bonnet, tying the white ribbons loosely, since she hated the way it chafed when tied tightly.

It was a short walk from her aunt’s town house to the designated meeting place with Annabelle in the park. The air was warm without being hot, the sun was shining, and a few clouds drifted serenely through the sky, mobilized by a gentle breeze. Emilia and her aunt walked in a comfortable silence, enjoying the beautiful day.

The Stillmore women were waiting by the fountain, talking to some acquaintances Emilia did not recognize. Upon joining the group, Emilia linked arms with Annabelle and set off for a stroll down one of the wide, tree-lined paths, leaving behind the chaperones sitting on one of the many benches along the walk.

“It’s such a gorgeous day. A walk in the park is just the thing,” Annabelle said.

“I’m glad for the invitation, and the excuse to avoid calling hours.”

“Why would you wish to avoid them? ’Tis the highlight of a young lady’s day.”

“Because he’ll call, and it will be excruciatingly awkward. Or he will not call, and it will be devastating.”

“You must get engaged soon and put an end to all this agony,” Annabelle said. “Although, planning a wedding isn’t exactly easy on one’s nerves either.”

Emilia smiled at that, and Annabelle rambled on, describing her dress, the menu, and seating arrangements for the wedding breakfast.

“Speaking of which,” Annabelle said. “There is my betrothed now.”

George was not alone. Devon was with him, and even with the distance between them, she knew it was him because of the way her temperature seemed to have spiked, and because her heart did a little flip-flop.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Annabelle said brightly to the gentlemen. “George,” she continued, “there is a pressing wedding concern that we must address without delay. Let’s go talk to my mother about it.”

“Indeed,” George declared, taking Annabelle’s arm. They walked off without so much as a backward glance, leaving Devon and Emilia standing speechless. And alone together.

“They’re not very subtle,” he said.

“Not in the slightest,” Emilia said with a laugh. They started walking side by side down the path. “You were not at the Somerset Ball last night.”

“No. Did I miss anything?”

“Everyone was asking after you. And Phillip.”

“That must have been tedious. I’m sorry.”

“Have you heard from him? He simply disappeared after the house party.”