Kathryn Smith (27 page)

Not daring to take his gaze off the spooky old man, for fear he might prove to be an apparition or a dream of some kind, Devlin backed into the aisle.

“Thank you for the tea.”

The priest nodded. “Thank you for the company.”

Devlin put a few more pews between them before finally turning his back. When he stepped out into the night it seemed oddly cold, as though the temperature had dropped drastically since he’d stepped inside. It seemed darker as well, even though he knew dawn could be only a few hours off.

He walked quickly, hailing a hack as soon as he stumbled upon one. He was in a hurry to get home and didn’t relish making the walk back, not when he had wandered so far.

Blythe was still sleeping when he entered their room. She rolled onto her back, a soft snore escaping her lips as his boots fell to the floor with a thump that made him wince. Still, she did not wake.

He sat down in the chair by the window and took the Baker from its case. He was just about to start cleaning it when his wife spoke.

“Are you all right?”

Was he? “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“Only if you come back to bed too.”

He glanced down at the rifle in his hands. It had been there so often for him in the past, it didn’t feel right to walk away from it now, but there was a real person waiting to give him
comfort, a woman who had already changed his life in a thousand immeasurable ways.

The decision was surprisingly easy to make. He put the Baker away and stood. Quickly, he stripped down to the skin and slipped into bed beside Blythe’s warmth. At least the sheets didn’t feel damp anymore.

Blythe shifted toward him, rolling onto her side and curving against him. “You are cold,” she mumbled, draping her arm over him regardless.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

He allowed her to snuggle against him, all heat and soft skin. The feel of her in his arms and the sound of her even breathing gently lulled him into slumber. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was to ask whether he could forgive himself for his sins. The answer was simple.

Not if those sins cost him Blythe, he couldn’t. He’d never forgive himself for that.

B
lythe didn’t know if the dream Devlin had the night before was to blame or if something else had happened. All she knew was that the next morning, her husband was even quieter than usual. He seemed to have withdrawn further into himself, as though trying to work through some great internal struggle. A struggle that she was not privy to, even though she was his wife.

At least he kissed her before leaving the house after breakfast. He said he had to go see Brahm and she didn’t ask why, even though she wanted to. He would tell her when he was ready. She had to trust in that.

Where had he gone last night? What had happened to him while he was out? Was this secret outing the reason for the change in his behavior? He hadn’t told her where he’d gone, and when she asked he’d been deliberately vague. She trusted him. She thought he trusted her as well, so why keep his whereabouts the night before hidden?

Perhaps it was too early to expect him to divulge his secrets. Did she not have things she kept from him? No, not really. She wasn’t exactly a secretive kind of person. She had a
tendency to let everything out rather than hold it inside for too long.

Which was why she was very frightened of this growing intimacy with Devlin. Soon she was going to blurt out her feelings, and then she would have to wait in horrible silence for his reply. She could only hope that when the time came he would return her sentiments. Having her heart rejected by another man would be just too awful, especially now that she was beginning to discover what love really was.

So she would keep those feelings to herself and wait until she had a better understanding of Devlin’s emotions before blurting them out. She could not bear having her love tossed back in her face again. It would be even more painful and humiliating than when Carny rejected her.

It seemed the height of irony when at that moment, the housekeeper announced that the man responsible for her caution had come to call.

Blythe found him in the drawing room, looking entirely too comfortable on one of Varya’s plushly padded sofas. He was the picture of perfect gentlemanly elegance—smoothly shaven, impeccably dressed, his hair immaculately groomed. At one time she would have sighed in rapture at the sight of him; now she simply smiled. The smile wasn’t for his benefit either; it was because of the realization that she actually liked her men—her
man
—a lot less polished.

“It is a little early for you, is it not?” she inquired with a smile as she entered the room.

Carny stood, his gray coat and buff pantaloons a perfect complement to the pale blue and cream decor. He belonged in such a setting, with the delicate French furniture, gilt picture frames, and elaborate Axminster carpet.

“I confess I dragged myself from slumber this morning with the express purpose of calling on you.”

Now that she drew closer, she could see the lines of fatigue
on his face, but they were from more than simply rising early. Carny looked tired and weary—bone weary.

“A compliment indeed,” she replied easily, knowing how he liked his sleep. “Please sit. I shall ring for tea. You look as though you could use a cup.” Not the most polite of greetings, she knew, but if she couldn’t be so blunt with Carny she might as well not speak at all.

He reclaimed his seat on the sofa. He was so sure of himself. Her Devlin always seemed afraid of breaking such spindly furniture.

Her Devlin.

Seating herself on a cream brocade chair on the opposite side of the low tea table, Blythe made small talk until their refreshment arrived. Once the door had shut behind the maid she poured them each a cup of tea and fixed her companion with a direct gaze.

“Why are you here so early, Carny?” She kept her tone soft, not bothering to mask her concern. He might have broken her heart once, but even that couldn’t change the fact that beneath it all, Blythe still cared about him as one friend cares for another.

He looked mildly affronted. “There is no law against paying a friend a morning call, is there?”

“In the entirety of our acquaintance, I’ve scarcely seen you twice before ten in the morning. What is it?”

He stared at her strangely, a kind of wonder in his expression that both pleased and alarmed her. “Marriage agrees with you, Blythe. You’ve the look of a happy woman.”

A well-pleasured one, he meant. Blythe fought a blush. “I am happy. Devlin is everything I have ever wanted.”

Carny’s smile was rueful. “Certainly much better than what you could have ended up with.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, gracing him with a similar smile.

“Carny, we have been through a rough two years, but I would
like to think we can put that behind us and be the friends we once were.”

He nodded. “I would like that.”

Setting her cup and saucer on the table, Blythe leaned forward, her hands folded on her knees. “Then tell me what it is that is distressing you. You have not been yourself of late.”

“It—” He stopped and took a large swallow from his cup. His countenance was that of a scared man. “It is my marriage.”

“Your marriage?” Blythe knew from Teresa that she and Carny were having some troubles, but she assumed they had worked themselves out. If Carny was prepared to discuss them, however, they were much, much more serious than Blythe had first believed, and obviously had not been solved.

He also set his cup on the table. He looked so tired, so old. “Teresa has been acting so strangely.”

Did she leave bed in the middle of the night and come back cold and smelling of coal smoke and outdoors as Devlin had? Did she harbor more trust for a rifle than Carny? Blythe was willing to bet the answer was no.

“Strangely how?” She seemed well enough to Blythe, her unhappiness aside.

Carny sighed and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “One minute she is happy, the next she is crying. She is always on the verge of the vexation.”

Well, that didn’t sound all that odd. Blythe spent several days out of each month feeling much the same herself.

“She has become obsessed with having a child,” he continued, obvious worry in his eyes. “I try to tell her it will be all right, that it doesn’t matter if we have to wait—it doesn’t matter if it happens at all—but she gets so
upset.
”

This wasn’t something Blythe should be hearing. This was a personal matter between husband and wife, and yet she couldn’t turn Carny away when he so obviously needed someone to listen.

“Perhaps she takes your words as disinterestedness,” she suggested, knowing full well that was how Teresa took her husband’s attitude. “Perhaps she needs to hear how you feel about having a child; perhaps she needs you to be upset as well.”

He raised a brow. “I never thought of that.”

“
Are
you upset as well?”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips. “Of course I am. What man does not wish for a son, a child of his own? I want a child very much, but I do not want Teresa to think I blame her.”

It was Blythe’s turn to arch a brow. “Do you?”

He glanced away. “I blame myself.”

“Must either of you be to blame? Sometimes these things just happen.” Vaguely, she wondered about Devlin and herself. Would they have children? The thought warmed her almost as much as it frightened her. That was why she had approached Varya for ways of preventing pregnancy. It wasn’t that she didn’t want children; she just wasn’t ready yet. She wanted to give herself and Devlin time to get to know each other before they started a family.

“The problem must lie with one of us,” Carny argued with a petulant tone. “One of us is defective.”

Blythe refilled both their cups, shooting him a sharp glance as she did so. “No wonder Teresa is vexed! Defective, indeed. One is not defined by one’s ability to produce offspring, Carny. If we were, three quarters of England would be a sorry lot.”

He chuckled at that. “I knew coming to see you would make me feel better.” He raised his cup. “You are delightfully blunt, my friend.”

She stirred her tea. “Perhaps what you and Teresa need to do is just stop worrying about it so much. Think of other things. Take a trip abroad, do something you both will enjoy.”

“Perhaps you are right. And what are you going to do?” He relaxed into the sofa, lazily crossing his leg. “Are you and Dev ever going to take a wedding trip?”

Blythe had forgotten how good Carny was at changing the subject when he wanted to be. “Perhaps someday. Once the renovations are finished we are going to return to Rosewood. That is more than enough for me. I do not care if we ever leave Devonshire.”

Carny smiled warmly. “I can see Devlin wanting to put down some roots, and you—you have never once wanted to lift yours. The two of you will never come to town, will you?”

“Not if we do not have to, no.”

He gestured at her with his cup. “I will expect weekly reports.”

Blythe grinned. “Even if they are about nothing more interesting than the crops and the movement of the tides?”

“Even if.”

“Then you shall have them.” She took a drink. “And I will expect you and Teresa to keep me informed of all the good gossip.”

They made small talk for the remainder of their visit until Carny announced that he had to be on his way.

“Thank you so much for listening, dear Blythe,” he said as she walked him to the door. “I believe I shall take your advice and try to keep my wife’s mind occupied with other matters.”

“I wish you success.”

He kissed her cheek before taking his hat and gloves from Piotr, Varya’s manservant, and took his leave. Blythe watched him go with a light heart. It was nice to have Carny as her friend again. She had forgotten how much she missed him. And thank heaven he was more himself again. His own marital strife was undoubtedly the cause behind some of his strange behavior where she and Devlin were concerned. She hoped he and Teresa would work everything out between them.

Blythe wasn’t back in the drawing room ten minutes before Piotr announced another caller. It was Teresa.

“You had better bring more tea please, Piotr,” Blythe said
with a sigh as she sank down onto the sofa. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

She also had a feeling that she was about to become better acquainted with the Carnover marriage than she wanted to be.

It was going to be a long morning.

“Someone needs to pound some sense into that head of yours.”

Devlin started at his brother’s exasperated tone. What the devil had gotten into Brahm?

“It is not like you to wallow in self-pity, Dev.” Brahm thumped his cane on the carpet for emphasis. “That is my domain.”

“I am
not
wallowing.”

“Christ, you make
me
want to drink! You cannot possibly be so stupid that you do not realize what you are doing.”

Devlin had no idea what he was doing, but he didn’t want Brahm to know that. He also didn’t like knowing he made his brother want to get foxed. He shrugged. There was nothing he could say that Brahm wouldn’t find fault with.

“It was two years ago.” Brahm rose to his feet, and for one fearful second, Devlin thought his brother was going to head for the liquor cabinet.

Brahm began pacing a small section of the drawing room carpet instead. His lame leg dragged slightly. “For years prior to that day you killed many men from a distance.”

Devlin’s stomach roiled. How thick was the blood on his hands? Too thick to be forgiven, unless the old priest was right. “Do not remind me.”

His brother paused. “I do not have to remind you. You never let yourself forget. Yes, you killed men, other soldiers like yourself, who knew very well there was a chance they might die. If you had not killed them, they might very well have killed you.”

“That might have been for the best.”

Brahm’s cane thwacked against his leg—hard. A jolt of pain ran all the way up to Devlin’s hip. “Do not say such things! What would your wife say if she heard you speak such nonsense! Would you rather be dead than have her?”

No. He’d rather live with the guilt of all the blood he’d spilled than spend one day without Blythe’s light shining upon him.

He rubbed his leg where his brother had hit it, but he wouldn’t let Brahm know he was right. “What I did was wrong.”

Brahm’s scowl was unsympathetic. “You did what you have always done—what you had to do. Now I dearly wish you would stop whining about it! Everyone has done things they regret, little brother. It is part of living.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve never killed anyone!”

Brahm fixed him with a dark and hard gaze. “You have no idea what I have done. You ran away for ten years, remember?”

Devlin’s temper sparked, and he understood how Blythe must have felt when he accused her of hiding in the country. “I did not run away. I left a place where I was not wanted in the first place.”

A scowl creased Brahm’s brow. “Not wanted? You truly are an idiot if you believe that. Every day you were gone I feared the letter that would tell us of your death. Every night I prayed for you.”

“Every night you weren’t passed out drunk, you mean.” Devlin hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but the words came out of their own accord. Hell, maybe he had run away.

Brahm did not recoil, even though he must have been stung. His rugged features were tight with emotion. “Do not think you were not wanted. You were wanted every damn day.”

Devlin could ask if his parents wanted him, but that wasn’t what he had come to discuss, and he didn’t want this to grow into a fight between him and Brahm. He didn’t like arguing with Brahm.

“Do you really think I pity myself?”

Brahm nodded. “I know self-pity when I see it. The priest was right. You need to forgive yourself. No one else can do it for you.”

Had Brahm forgiven himself for the part he played in their father’s death? Had he forgiven himself for all the offenses he’d committed while foxed that earned him the disdain of the
ton
?

“How do I do that?” He couldn’t keep the desperation from his voice. “How do I make it all right?”

“It may never be all right,” Brahm replied, sitting down again. “But you can learn to accept it. I think the first step would be telling Blythe.”