The Heir and the Spare (21 page)

“No,” Devon said. “Why do you ask?”

“He’ll be back eventually, I suppose,” Emilia said with a shrug. “I wouldn’t like to get caught off guard. Or make the mistake of confusing you two again.”

“Do you really think you would?” Devon asked.

Emilia thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t. In fact I don’t know why I even mentioned it.”

“The scar, remember?” Devon said.

“Actually, I have a better way of telling you two apart.”

“What way is that?”

“You make my heart beat faster,” she said.

He didn’t respond, except to take her hand. They walked on in an easy silence for a little while. Suddenly Devon stopped, tugging on Emilia’s hand.

“I . . . would like to court you properly. To see if we suit. May I have your permission to court you?”

“Yes,” she said, and exhaled a deep breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

They started walking again. “That wasn’t very romantic, was it?” he asked.

“No,” Emilia said and laughed. “I could lend you some novels that would offer you guidance, if you’d like.”

Devon laughed at that. They discussed books for the rest of the walk. Emilia preferred novels, particularly romantic ones. Devon hated poetry, enjoyed some novels, but was mostly too busy with his work to read for pleasure. He promised to read Jane Austen, one of Emilia’s favorite authors. They held hands the whole time, only letting go when they returned to the others and Lady Palmerston looked pointedly at their entwined hands.

One week later, Devon was going over accounts in the small offices of Diamond Shipping when his assistant interrupted with a note.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but this came by messenger. A bill from a jewelry shop that you visited this morning.”

“I didn’t visit a jeweler this morning,” Devon said, without looking up from his paperwork.

“I know. You were here the whole time. So I thought you might like to see it straightaway, to clear up the matter.”

“Thank you,” Devon said, taking the letter and skimming its contents. Apparently, he had bought a ring for the princely sum of 100 pounds.

Phillip was back in town.

With an annoyed sigh, Devon placed the letter on the pile of things to be tended to later. He had an appointment in ten minutes, which did not leave him enough time to locate his twin, beat him thoroughly, and return the ring.

But it nagged at him. What kind of stupid prank was this? If Phillip was going to make a purchase and send the bill to him, Devon would have expected it to be a horse, or a boat. But jewelry? And bloody expensive jewelry, too. One hundred pounds for a ring. What use would Phillip have for a ring?

“Cancel all my appointments for the day,” Devon told his assistant on his way out the door.

It took him twenty minutes to arrive at the London residence of the Buckingham Dukes, which Phillip had taken over prematurely. There was the usual mix-up with the butler, who had no idea his master even possessed a twin. He couldn’t offer the smallest clue as to Phillip’s whereabouts.

It took him another ten minutes to travel to Lady Palmerston’s. All the while he consoled himself that Emilia could tell them apart. She would not grant Phillip her attention. She wouldn’t mistake them.

The butler opened the door, and upon seeing Devon, muttered, “So there are indeed two of you.”

She should have known better, Emilia thought.

Her aunt had retired to her room with a headache, and Emilia took the opportunity to look over the gossip columns for once, when Groves announced that Devon had arrived. Naturally she wished to see him.

He had called every day for a week since that day in the park. He brought her flowers and, even better, books. So it was an honest mistake for Groves to assume that it was Devon calling when, in fact, it was Phillip.

She knew it was Phillip immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. And then with a wave of her hand, “No, don’t answer. I’d appreciate it if you would just leave.”

“Is that any way to treat your guest?” he asked, leaning on the door frame.

“I would not have agreed to see you had I known it was you. A simple misunderstanding. So please, it’s best if you left.”

“It’s quite convenient being a twin from time to time,” Phillip mused aloud. “Mostly it’s a tremendous bother, but every once in a while, a second identity is useful.”

“Like when you need to call on a person who has no wish to see you?”

“Mmm.” Phillip’s lips curved into a cold smile.

“Like when you need someone to fight a duel for your own indiscretion?” Emilia continued.

“Exactly. Why send in the heir when you have a spare?”

“Something about fighting your own battles, I’d imagine. But really, you must leave now.”

“At least let me state my reason for calling.”

“What is it?” Emilia asked through gritted teeth. She took one step back, as Phillip took another step toward her. Like this, they continued until Emilia bumped into the settee behind her, lost her balance, and fell to a seated position.

To her surprise, Phillip dropped to one knee before her. He reached into his jacket pocket and did not withdraw a weapon, as she feared, but rather a small box. A jewelry box. He opened it and revealed a large yellow diamond surrounded by a dozen smaller white diamonds, all set in gold.

“Marry me.” It was not a question, but a command.

Phillip took her hand, and before she knew what he was about, he had slipped the ring onto her finger.

“Stop that!” Emilia protested. “Let me go.” But he didn’t listen, and he was stronger.

That was when Devon arrived.

Devon did not ask questions, did not even pause to think. It only took him a few steps to cross the distance from the doorway to his twin. Devon grabbed a fistful of Phillip’s coat and hauled him up with his left hand. His right hand delivered exactly one blow to Phillip’s jaw, and it sent him flying, then sprawling on a heap of what had been the small table between the settees.

Devon stood before the mess, hands still clenched into fists and his breath labored. His damned brother couldn’t even give him the satisfaction of receiving all the blows he deserved. Devon turned to Emilia.

Emilia had winced at the crack of Devon’s fist against Phillip’s face. She had flinched again at the sound of a male body splintering wood. And when Devon looked at her, his expression a mixture of rage and pain, she felt a light go out inside of her.

“You said you could tell us apart,” he stated numbly.

“I did, I knew it wasn’t you,” she blurted out. Devon’s gaze moved from her face, to her hand, to the ring. He did not speak, but she could see the conclusion he had leapt to. Devon turned to walk away. “No, you must let me explain. It’s not what you think!” she said, walking after him and twisting the ring on her finger, trying to remove it.

Lady Palmerston had appeared in the doorway by now. “So your work here is finished, Kensington? Now that you have destroyed my drawing room.”

“My apologies,” he stated. “Excuse me.” He brushed past Lady Palmerston and disappeared into the hall, down the stairs, and out of the house.

“No!” Emilia wailed. “You have to let me explain!” But he was gone.

“Groves!” Lady Palmerston shouted. “Get rid of him,” she said motioning to a still-unconscious Phillip. Emilia watched through blurry eyes as two footmen removed him, and a third took care of the remnants of the table.

“Now where are we supposed to set the tea tray?” Lady Palmerston said angrily. “Those damned men have ruined everything.”

And that was when Emilia’s tears started to fall. Her aunt guided her to sit on the settee, took a place beside her, and placed her arm around Emilia’s shoulders. She held her niece until Emilia ran out of tears.

Once
the ring was removed with the assistance of soap and water and was returned to its owner, Emilia retired to her bedchamber and locked the door. She refused to see anyone. Trays of food left outside of her door would disappear for a while, before being returned, barely touched. No sounds were heard from within.

Lady Palmerston, with all the patience she could muster, allowed her niece to remain in her self-imposed exile. But by the next evening, her patience had lost the battle with her concern and curiosity. She knocked loudly on the door. There was no response, but she was prepared for this. Groves stepped forward with a key, unlocked the door, and then got out of her way.

Emilia was asleep, curled up on the bed wearing a chemise and hugging a pillow. Even in slumber she looked sad. If Lady Palmerston hadn’t been certain that Devon Kensington was the only one who could make her feel better again, she might have killed him for devastating Emilia like this. She was contemplating at least severely injuring him when a gentle breeze blew through the partially opened window, rustling sheets of paper on the bed. Lady Palmerston picked up one, and then another, and then another.

Lady Palmerston smiled, picturing Emilia starting one letter, thinking it all wrong, throwing down her pen, pacing about the room, taking out a fresh sheet of paper, and then starting all over, until the paper and her strength ran out.

She recalled Harold’s letter.
Should he and my daughter show an inclination toward each other . . .
She was now certain of her niece’s feelings. She just had to be sure of the man in question. And so she took one of the more finished letters, for Emilia would never know it was missing.

When Lady Palmerston knocked on Emilia’s door the following morning, she was pleased when her niece appeared. Glancing into the room, she noted that the love letters were gone and the fire was roaring.

“Excellent. You have not perished.” Emilia offered a slight smile. “However, I daresay you need a bit of fresh air.” The smile vanished.

“Oh no. I am never leaving the house again,” Emilia said gravely.

“Whyever not?”

“Because I might see him, and it will hurt too much. So much I might die,” Emilia added melodramatically.

Lady Palmerston resisted the urge laugh at her niece’s theatrics.

“I completely understand,” she said instead.

“You do?”

“Of course. But first, why don’t we go to the bookshop. You’ll need something to do in your bedroom for the rest of your life.”

“You’re not going to make me go to parties, or go for walks in the park, or sit for calling hours?”

“Moping in your room is one thing; moping in public is unforgivable. Do get dressed. We are going to the bookshop.”

Hatchards bookshop was the best in London. It also happened to be located directly across the street from the Cavendish Hotel. As the carriage navigated the streets to the intended location, Lady Palmerston grumbled to herself that she had never in her time resorted to such desperate and ridiculous schemes. She was taking the chance that Devon would walk out of his hotel, notice her carriage (it was the only lavender one in London, after all), put two and two together, and walk into Hatchards. It was a long shot; she was well aware of that. Which was why she also sent one of Emilia’s love letters, just to improve her odds.

When Devon had left Lady Palmerston’s the afternoon of his encounter with Phillip, he didn’t know quite what to do. There was all-consuming rage within him, making itself felt in every muscle, nerve, and bone. He debated, for a brief second, returning to the drawing room and beating Phillip so soundly and severely that he might not be physically able to torment him anymore.

But just below the surface of Devon’s rage was a black, aching hole of hurt and disappointment. He had been letting go of the things holding him back, the stupid things that kept him from giving himself to her completely. He hadn’t done so enough, or soon enough. And she had given her hand to someone else.

Devon simply walked that afternoon. He wandered his way out of Mayfair, through Hyde Park, and back to the dank streets of London. He gave a passing notice to the deterioration of the streets, buildings, and people, as he walked into less savory neighborhoods.

Darkness had fallen, and he hadn’t noticed it. But his feet ached, his legs felt like lead, and neither the hurt nor the rage had diminished. He paused for a moment, noticing these things, and also noticing a tavern before him. He entered. He ordered one drink after another. But he couldn’t get enough to erase his feelings.

It only made Devon more determined to do something, anything. Or one thing in particular—ensuring his twin felt exactly as badly as he did.

He found Phillip abed, for it was long past midnight. Devon looked around the room, deciding which blunt, heavy object he wished to use to injure his brother, because he certainly wasn’t going to risk any further damage to his already aching self. The chamber pot? The poker leaning against the mantel? Or the candelabra burning on the bedside table? And as his gaze fell on the last item, he noticed something else.

The ring.

It was not on Emilia’s hand. It had been sent back. She had changed her mind—either about the groom or the ring, he didn’t know. Or she might not have said yes in the first place.

The questions weighed heavily on Devon’s tired mind. Suddenly he didn’t have the strength or inclination to pummel his brother. He pocketed the ring and left.

Two days passed in which Devon tried to lose himself in his work and attempted to avoid thinking of Emilia. Doubts and questions nagged him. All he had to do was ask her, of course.
Did you really say yes? Which one of us do you want?