Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3) (3 page)

Making a guarded study of the room, it was apparent that the child Merry carried would set like a match to a powder magazine at the present moment. The Merricks were rampant in gruesome speculation and fear of his misconduct with her. Confronted with the proof Merry had shared his bed before marriage, Lucien would assume the ghastly worst of his fear driven imaginings and see Varian in Newgate by morning. Lucien was that angry. Lucien Merrick, for better or worse, had to be dealt with.

“Merry was not agreeable to the marriage,” Varian admitted calmly, as though he were not staring into the narrowing gaze of his own possible destruction. “She married me because she had no option if she didn’t want to cause you all more scandal. It is harmless, Lucien. The whole thing. I have not offended your daughter’s sensibilities in any way. I have not harmed her. I made every effort to see to her welfare and happiness. She is a lovely girl.  Everything you would expect Rhea’s daughter to be. She is not happy because she did not wish to marry. Her mood is a reflection of that, the bite of a situation she can’t bend to her will.  She did her duty, it didn’t sit well with her. Her unhappiness will be a passing state once she comes to realize our relationship as it was will not be altered and she is able to stop worrying about your opinion of her because of this. Our time together was not unpleasant, Lucien. She did not spend her days crying, regardless of how it may appear today.  This marriage will work out quite well for all concerned if you let it.”

“If I let it. An interesting choice of words at this juncture, since you married her without consideration of my will as though my will were something to be disregarded.” Shrewd, intense, Lucien demanded, “Exactly what is your relationship with my daughter? You dance around that part of the tale carefully vague, never being precise.”

It was not a question Varian would have tolerated from any other man. His eyes were open wide, direct and steady as he replied succinctly, “Precisely then, we did not share a bed in a conjugal manner the two day journey here following the ceremony. That should tell you everything. The marriage has not been consummated.  I corrected my indiscretion, Lucien. I did not make it a permanent solution. I did not disregard your will.  It was my hope that by handling the matter in London it would diminish the unkind speculation and quiet the harsh tongues of the ton. I have left it to your will what the future of this marriage will be.”

Varian stared into his glass, alertly watching for Lucien’s reaction to that. He had intentionally not consummated the marriage knowing Lucien would ask Merry if it had been. Lucien would have taken consummation as a second slap in the face and would have responded accordingly. His words seemed to slightly appease the older man.

Ruin was staring Varian in the face, if ever it had stared at any man. If they learned of his child in her now it would definitely unsettle the cart that was presently teetering.

His dark eyes floated unseen around the room assessing where the battle sat, settling nowhere, seeing everything. Damn, it was forbidding scene. Lucien was far from willing to give acceptance to this marriage and most probably inclined to annul. Andrew Merrick had said nothing, but was silently planning where to begin his inquiries. Varian knew that expression. Andrew was in his most dangerous mind set. Philip, however, every bit as angry as his male relatives, hadn’t quite developed in his instincts yet, and was amused by having watched someone else get a dressing down from his father. Camden gave every appearance of being drowsy and disinterested, but was worried with good cause. Varian had involved Camden too deeply in his pursuits as Morgan. It was not inconceivable he could destroy Camden with him in this.

Finishing his drink, Varian set his glass on a table and rose. He’d had enough. “I would like to retire, Lucien. We journeyed over land from London in three days to beat the gossip to you. Regardless of what you think, I have always cared deeply for Rhea. It would have been unkind to have your daughter’s return made known to Rhea in any other manner than it has been. I will leave you to dine in peace with your family and resolve whatever issues you may want to discuss without my presence.”

The two men locked gazes. It was obvious Lucien would have preferred to keep him twisting in the wind longer. Finally, with a reluctance that was like a slap, Lucien rang for his butler. The study door opened and in came Moffat. “Show His Grace to the blue suite next to Lord Andrew’s and see that his carriage is unpacked,” Lucien requested, with straining tolerance. “Prepare a suite for Lord Camden as well, in our guest wing.” Lucien’s sharply unappeased eyes settled on the earl. “You will be staying, won’t you, Camden? Perhaps you can indulge me a few moments more of your time?”

It was an order, not a request, no matter how smoothly put. “Of course, Your Grace. I am your humble servant,” Camden replied cautiously.

Varian left the room, and as dangerously undecided as things stood, he was leaving the room in better position than he’d hoped for when the discussion had first started. He’d survived the second battle. Not tossed into Newgate. Not tossed out the door. The family wing. The family wing and close proximity to Merry. Better than he’d hoped for.

~~~

Merry sat in the middle of her own satinwood bed, bathed in a stream of sunlight made soft by the glass of the mullioned windows, and picked at tray of rice soup and publisher’s pudding. The airy bedchamber was exactly as she remembered from a year ago. The furnishings were gracefully lined and inlaid with delicately carved designs of ivory and gold. The fabrics and walls were gaily adorned of angels and flowers of blue, white, salmon and pink. It was the same as it had been her entire life.  Every detail. Only she was different.

Noting the frequently slanted glances of the two young serving girls, Merry focused her gaze on her bowl, uncomfortable beneath the inquisitiveness of the staff. She had returned a married woman and a duchess, no less. Even the lowest placed member of the Merrick staff took pride in her success in marriage. They now called her ‘Your Grace’ with glowing approval and dropped quick curtsies even in their rush of welcoming her home.

Watching the luggage be unpacked, Merry was surprised by its vast quantity and what it contained; what it did not contain were Varian’s possessions. She watched the maids as they busily went about taking garments never before seen by her into the adjoining dressing room to rest with all the things that had been there a year ago.

Where had they come from? The garments were new, dozens of dresses, more elegant and proper than the wardrobe she had acquired during their travels, with every accessory and adornment. Dresses. Shoes. Shifts and nightgowns. They were perfection. How had Varian managed it in three days of travel? And where was he? Where was her husband?

Merry looked down at her wide wedding band, setting it to turn on her slim finger, feeling ill-at-ease in this room from her childhood surrounded by her family. Could they see she was different? Did they realize she was not the same girl who had left them?

Watching the graceful movements of her mother, Merry realized she was not the only one not behaving herself.  Her mother was committed to trying to be in good spirits, though she was tentative in that and clearly worried.  Kate was sitting beside Merry on the bed, no longer bothering to continue in her lively chatter since in private there was no point in pretending the events in the drawing room hadn’t left her scared for Merry. Only Netta, her dour faced maid since childhood, still called her ‘lass’, unchanged by Merry’s new status and marriage, and seemed a constant and unchanged presence in the room.

Netta reached to the bottom of the first trunk, and struggled to lift upward a heavy box wrapped in green velvet. She brought it to the bed and set the case before Merry. “What would ye be having me do with this, lass?” Netta asked while pulling free the soft cover to expose the expensive polished wood case with the elaborate crest inlaid in gold on its lid.

Merry fixed her eyes on the box and couldn’t kill the compulsion to lightly trace the outline of Varian’s coat of arms. Though it was several times larger, it was identical to the box she had found in the bottom of Varian’s sea chest her second day aboard his ship. That made the lump strangle in her throat, as she recalled the portrait of Ann, the faded bud and his fury over her invasion there. Jerking back her hand and fighting to keep her torment from her face, she could not escape the chide that reminded her while she may be Varian’s wife, he had married her only because of loyalty to her mother.

That she didn’t know what the box contained, why Varian had tucked it into her belongings, and what Varian intended by this remarkably correct sham only added to her misery. All those months in his bed and he had always loved another woman. How could she have failed to realize that?

Rhea’s voice roused Merry from her tormenting thoughts. “Ah, the Deverell family crest,” she announced knowingly. “What have you there, my dear? A wedding gift from Varian?”

It was more than a casual question. It was clear her mother had asked so she could watch Merry’s reply.  She had no idea what was in the case. Both Rhea and Netta were waiting expectantly for her to lift the lid, and reluctantly Merry undid the gold latch and opened the box. Both women gasped. Merry was silent. The box contained an enormous assortment of jewelry, of every type and every style, abounding with different types of precious stones. It was a vast and impressive collection of gems. The famous Deverell sapphires sparkled boldly from the center.

Even the serving girls and Kate were drawn to exclaim over the extravagant treasures. Merry wanted to wretch. The jewelry meant nothing to her. It was part of this farce she was forced to suffer through.  It had not been presented to her by her husband, but slipped into her garments without ceremony by a servant. Correct. Impersonal. She was Varian’s wife. She was nothing to him.

“Oh my, His Grace has given ye a bridal gift to outdo a king,” Netta stated with a nod of approval.

Battling tears, Merry snapped, “Give it to Moffat and have him return it to His Grace. My wedding band is the only jewelry I require. I don’t want his gift.” The bitterness in her voice was like a hoard of wasps in the room biting them all. Why had she let that childishly bitter remark slip pass her lips?  She avoided the strange looks caused by her words as she slapped the lid shut.

Grumbling and stern faced, Netta admonished, “I will not have my lass insult His Grace and shame her family with such foolishness. It will be in yer dressing room until ye are of a more pleasant mood.”

“Netta is right, my dear. Varian is a proud man. You don’t want to insult him by returning his bridal gift to you.” Rhea studied her daughter’s face before cupping Merry’s cheek. “You look wonderful, Merry. Color in your cheeks and fit, however you do look sad. What is wrong, my dear?”

Merry managed a small smile, lovely and artfully diverting. Lifting her wide eyes to her mother, Merry said, “I am not sad at all, Mama. I am overjoyed to be home. I missed you all so much. But I am ashamed of the worry I caused you.”

“Ah, an understandable corollary, my dear,” Rhea said.

She sank down on the bed beside Merry. Her well-honed instincts told her that her daughter was no longer innocent, regardless of the details Lucien had told her of his meeting with Varian. She was Varian’s wife in all ways and had been certainly for more than three days. The change was there in her, in her ability and impulse to hide her feelings, even from her mother. In the knowing sensuality in which she carried her body, before an uncalled-for result of such stunning beauty, now with total feminine awareness. In that look of bitter sadness in her eyes, the type only a man could give to a woman.

It was all there, plain for anyone to see if they had the want to see it. Her daughter was no longer innocent in heart or body. She was a woman and Varian’s wife. All of Lucien’s temper and displeasure could not undo this. The question was, what should Rhea do about this?

The separate bedrooms was an absurdity. Was that why her daughter was so sad? It was only natural for a new bride to want to be with her husband. What was Lucien thinking?  How could he have missed the change in Merry? Was it wise to explain all this to Lucien given his current temper, as unexpectedly severe as it had been?

Was Lucien’s fury why Varian, a man she knew to be truthful, had not been entirely truthful with Lucien in the study? Was it so tempers could cool all around? He had always been a patient man. A good man. A wise man. How had he made Merry so sad? And what was wrong with her daughter? Something was wrong. Heartache was stamped across her face.

Lucien had been here earlier, getting the details of Merry’s version of her disappearance from Rhea. As odd as was, for some reason Varian had not consummated the marriage. It would have serve them better if he had. Even Lucien could not escape the necessity to allow this marriage to stand if Varian had taken Merry to his bed. That he hadn’t left Lucien believing in the possibility of annulment. Possibility without
tiny
complications.

Lucien wanted an annulment and would make discreet inquiries toward the possibility of being granted one. It was just his anger, the result of his thinking of Merry only as his daughter and a little girl.  She was twenty and a married woman. Lucien’s want of an annulment would pass with understanding of that. Even as stubborn as Lucien was, he would see in time Merry was no longer his little girl. And with Merry, seeing her thus, it was a potentially troublesome complication that there was indeed a possibility of
tiny complications
. It was too late for an annulment.

Smoothing wayward ebony curls from Merry’s face, Rhea began in a careful manner wanting to make reason of this, “Merry, I would hope that you feel you can be honest with me in all things, regardless of your father’s difficulty with this. He is a father, his point of view at times different and stronger and less practical. Before we finish unpacking, my dear, if there is a reason you would like not to be in this room, let me know, and I will move you. You are a married woman, Merry. This is the room of a little girl. If you don’t belong here, tell me so I may fix it. I will move you to your husband and stop your father’s want to meddle in this.”