Perfect Bride (28 page)

“Shortly before his death,” the duchess continued, “he told me he’d given it to a woman he’d been in
volved with. Oh, but I was so angry! But now I know...that woman was Amelia”—she paused— “your mother.”

A half-formed suspicion began to bloom in Dev-on’s mind. She grappled with it, for it was almost too outrageous to believe . . .

“You knew my mother,” she stated faintly.

“Yes, child, I knew her. She attended my nieces one summer—oh, so very long ago! I was very fond of Amelia, you know. And Marcus, well...He had a
way about him, a way that charmed the ladies, but— there is no delicate way to put this, I fear—he was a rascal. A womanizer. I suspected that perhaps Amelia had developed a
tendre
for Marcus. But I didn’t know for certain, until now. Amelia departed very abruptly, you see. One morning she was simply gone. She left behind only a note saying that she must leave. I remember I was so shocked! We never heard from her again. I never really understood why she left...until now.”

The duchess stripped off her gloves. Gnarled fin
gers smoothed Devon’s hair, traced the arch of a slender brow, the gesture not entirely steady. Her fingers beneath her chin, she brought Devon’s gaze to hers.

“You resemble your mother greatly, child. But your eyes—oh, those beautiful, golden eyes”—the duchess’s voice began to shake as surely as her hand—“are purely my son’s.”

Devon felt numb, almost dizzy. She could barely speak for the emotion that crowded her chest. “Your Grace,” she said around the lump in her throat, “surely you do not mean—”

“I do.
I do
. You are Amelia’s child, her child by my son. Her child by my Marcus.” The duchess reached out and gripped Devon’s hands. “You are my grand
daughter,” she whispered. “My God, I am your grandmama!”

The duchess broke down.

So did Devon. With a sob she wrapped her arms around the old woman and clung. Together they wept.

hey were both crying—sobbing actually—and Sebastian had the feeling he could have been a fly on the wall for all that either took note of his pres
ence. Heart-wrenching sobs, happy sobs. For a man with his aversion to tears, it was difficult to tolerate either. Yet watching the pair, he felt a twist of his own heart. It was impossible to remain unmoved.

It was incredible, really. He remembered that day in London when Devon had spouted that her father was from a family finer than his—sweet Lord, it was true! Devon was related to the duchess!

Definitely feeling the odd man out, he stood awk
wardly for a moment. Finally he excused himself— not that either woman noticed—and went to find a servant to ask that tea be brought to the drawing room.

He waited until the tray was ready before entering the drawing room again. Mercifully the sobs had dried out. The duchess sat with Devon’s hand
clasped tight within her own. At his entrance, both glanced over at him.

He smiled slightly. “I took the liberty of ordering tea.” He nodded to the maid to deposit the silver tea service on a small rosewood table. “Devon,” he said lightly, “will you pour?”

She reached to comply. Their fingertips brushed as she passed him a finely etched cup of Wedg
wood china. She drew back as if she’d been burned, then quickly turned her head aside. Sebastian’s mouth turned down. Dammit, why wouldn’t she look at him?

“My granddaughter was just telling me she spent most of her life in St. Giles,” the duchess stated in her forthright manner. “As you can imagine, this day has been one of profound revelations. But I confess, I am confounded to find her in
your
household.”

She glanced between Sebastian and Devon. Devon made a jerky movement. Her mouth opened, but be
fore she could say a word, Sebastian raised a hand to stave off any response she might have made.

“I found her injured in the streets of St. Giles. I took her to my home in London.” Quietly he relayed what had happened.

When he finished, the duchess sat very still. “So you rescued my granddaughter from hooligans,” she said at last. “And you’ve been caring for her all this time.”

Beneath the statement was a disturbing under
tone. Sebastian did not shirk from the old woman’s critical scrutiny, but matched her regard head-on. “No one in London knew of her presence in my home, Your Grace.”

“I trust we may keep it as such?”

Sebastian inclined his head. “You have my word.”

“Excellent,” she pronounced. She rose to her feet. “Devon, my cane, please.”

Devon pressed it in her hand. The duchess wasted no time swinging it toward Alice, who had returned to take the tea tray. “You, there, young woman! Please see to it that Miss St. James’s belongings are packed and taken to my carriage.”

Devon’s lips parted. “Your Grace?” she murmured questioningly.

The duchess must have sensed her dilemma. “Yes, dear, you’re coming with me.” She smiled at Dev-on’s stunned expression. “What! Did you expect me to learn of your existence and then fly off as if it were no consequence?”

“In all honesty, I didn’t know what to expect,” she admitted. “I-I still don’t.” She went on, her voice very low. “I do not mean to question your judgment, Your Grace—”

“Grandmama,” the duchess corrected gently.

“Grandmama,” Devon allowed haltingly. She bit her lip, then suddenly blurted, “May I be blunt?”

The duchess’s eyes were twinkling. “My dear, you’ll soon discover I know no other way.”

“No matter who my father was, the fact remains, I am, and will always be, a bastard. And considering your position in society—”

The duchess was shaking her head. “Say no more, my dear, say no more, for it’s my turn to be blunt. Of course there will be talk. Do I care? No. I’ve no inten
tion of hiding who you are. I fully intend to embrace you as my granddaughter, and if society chooses to turn their back on me, then that is simply their loss. I’m far too old to care what anyone thinks!”

Devon bit her lip. “There’s something else you should know.”

“Out with it then.”

Devon swallowed hard. “My mother loved your son till the day she died,” she confided. The agony in her heart bled through to her voice. “But I...I al
ways hated him for making her love him, and not caring. I-I just thought you should know.”

To her surprise, the duchess’s expression grew pained. “I can accept that, child, for no one knows better than I what a rogue Marcus was. I truly regret what happened to your mother, for I was very fond of her. There is much of her compassion in you, I think. And perhaps there is something you should know as well. For all of his faults, I loved Marcus, loved him as only a mother could. He was my only child and”— her voice grew unsteady—“and you are a part of him...
you
. My granddaughter. My child, I-I am blessed! There is nothing else to say, only that—I should like very much if we should get to know one another.” There were tears in the duchess’s eyes as she stretched out an imploring hand.

Her throat aching, Devon gripped her fingers tightly, touched to the depths of her soul. “I should like that too,” she whispered.

“Then let us be off.” Once again brisk, the duchess hobbled to her feet. She glanced at Sebastian. “Se
bastian, will you see us out?”

Sebastian rose and straightened to his full height. More than ever he felt like an outcast. “Your Grace,” he began.

Her voice cut across his. “I owe you a great debt, Sebastian. But now that I’ve learned of my granddaughter’s existence, I consider myself charged with
her responsibility. Rest assured, I am fully capable of seeing to her care and protection.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Your Grace.” His tone was pleasant but his eyes were snapping. “However, if you please—”

“It’s a long journey to London for an old woman such as I. I should like to reach home before mid
night.” The duchess bid him farewell. “Good-bye, Sebastian.” Ever the commanding lady, she set off toward the entrance hall.

The butler was in place, ready to usher her out. He bowed low as the duchess swept by.

Sebastian bit back a curse. His jaw clamped to
gether hard. He had to forcibly remind himself this was the dowager duchess of Carrington he was deal
ing with. Devon followed her grandmother’s lead toward the door.

“Devon,” he said, his voice very low.

Her shoulders stiffened. He knew she heard him then. Yet still she continued in her grandmother’s wake.

Two long strides brought him apace. His fingers curled into her elbow.

Her pace quickened. “Let me go.”

His grip tightened. He swung her around.

“Devon, please look at me.”

She refused. She focused on the intricate tie of his cravat, the mirrored frame behind him, everywhere but his face.

“My dear?”

The duchess again. Sebastian cursed beneath his breath. His head swung around sharply. The old woman had seen and was glaring at him.

His fingers uncurled. Once released, Devon prac
tically sprang away like a hare released from a trap!

It didn’t set well with Sebastian. It didn’t set well at all. There had been no chance to talk about last night about his feelings—his decision—no chance to talk about anything!

His hands were tied, goddamn it. The duchess was whisking Devon away to London, away from
him
...

And there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it.

It didn’t take long for Sebastian to decide upon his course of action. Within the hour, his carriage was hurtling down the road behind the duchess’s. When he departed Thurston Hall, it was in his mind to plant himself on the duchess’s doorstep, no matter the hour. During the long ride back to London, however, his good sense prevailed. The memory of their emotional meeting had struck a chord in him; he reminded himself they were enti
tled to some time alone together. Thus his impul
siveness was curtailed, but most certainly not his intention.

At precisely three o’clock the next afternoon, Se
bastian crossed Grosvenor Square to the duchess’s residence. Two sharp raps with the brass knocker, and the front door swung wide.

The duchess’s butler, Reginald, a tall, thin-lipped man of spare demeanor, peered at him. Sebastian passed his card into white-gloved fingertips.

“I wish to see Miss St. James.”

That the butler didn’t bat an eye was testament to his training. “This way, my lord.”

He was shown to the vast expanse of the drawing room. He did not sit in the chair where he was di
rected, but paced the room. Indeed, he could have negotiated the length of the room and back with his eyes closed, so well had he memorized the layout. Still no one came. Finally he flipped out his pocket watch and glanced at it.

A quarter past the hour.

What the devil? Had he been forgotten? Tolerance was in short supply today. Impatient, he spun around, fully intending to give the butler a piece of his mind—
The thump of the cane alerted him.

“Good afternoon,” greeted the duchess.

He executed a smart bow. “Your Grace,” he mur
mured. In truth, he wanted to shout his irritation. “How nice to see you again. I fear, however, that Reginald misunderstood. I asked to see your granddaughter.”

“There was no misunderstanding,” the duchess replied evenly. “Devon is resting.”

“Then please have a maid awaken her and tell her I wish to see her. In the meantime, I shall wait.” He ambled to the nearest chair and sat, arranging one booted foot atop the other in negligent ease.

When he glanced up, she stood before him, a fire-breathing dragon if ever he’d seen one.

“This is my house, Sebastian. And I don’t believe I care for your attitude.”

“Then perhaps you should leave the room. In
deed, I prefer it.”

“Young man, I could—” She stopped short and fixed him with a glare.

A black brow arched high. “Yes?” he inquired. Po lite though he sounded, his guard was already up. The battle lines had been drawn. Having not slept a
wink last night, chafing inside at the wait he’d just been forced to endure, he was in a disagreeable mood and didn’t give a fig if she knew it. In fact, per
haps it was
best
if she knew it.

“I am sorely tempted to have Reginald throw you out!”

His brow remained cocked high. “You wouldn’t,” was all he said. “He couldn’t.”

“I should,” she snapped, “and will! If it were not for the fact I’ve always been fond of you—”

“And I of you,” he interjected pleasantly. “But it occurs to me perhaps we should both speak our minds.”

“By all means.” The words were gracious; her tone was not. In fact, the old gal thwacked the cane be
tween her elegantly shod feet.

Sebastian remained undeterred. “Your Grace,” he began, “you are a formidable woman.”

“I’m glad you recognize that!”

“I have no wish to make an enemy of you. How
ever, I am compelled to inform you I am not a hap
less young buck who will allow himself to be herded meekly back into the streets because you so desire. I wish to see Devon. Alone,” he stressed.