Must Love Dukes (22 page)

Devon was shown into the home by an unhappy-looking butler. As they rounded a corner into the library, he saw a plump man puffing on a cheroot and holding a drink in his other hand. The only family resemblance he bore to Lily was perhaps his nose, but, as he had his feet propped by the fire inside the Bixley library, he must be Lord Bixley. The man rose from his armchair in greeting as Devon entered. “Your Grace, I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“No, we haven’t. Call me Thornwood,” Devon offered as he neared.

“Likewise, I’m Bixley. Take a seat.” A confounded look covered his face as he sat back in his chair to eye Devon. “May I ask the reason for your visit so late in the evening?”

Devon sat opposite him as far as possible from the oppressive heat of the fireplace. “I have come to discuss the betrothal agreement involving your sister.”

“Ah, that is the very reason I just arrived in town.” Bixley smiled as he tapped the ash from his cheroot into a potted plant on the table at his side.

“And I am happy you have come. I have only tonight heard of this arrangement.” Devon paused, stretching his sore fingers. What was the best way to discuss this? His brows were drawn together in concern as he continued, “And I would like you to reconsider.”

“Reconsider? Why would I do that?” Bixley leaned back in his chair, drawing smoke into his mouth as he did so. His next words were thick around the chimney of smoke pouring from between his teeth. “My brother has finally arranged a marriage. Everything is set. We’re hosting a betrothal ball under this very roof tomorrow night.”

Devon watched him, knowing the next words he must say. “I would like you to reconsider because…I want to marry your sister.”

“What?” Bixley’s head tilted to study Devon in more detail. “My brother hasn’t mentioned you in any of his letters to me.”

“My interest in your sister has been beneath Mr. Phillips’s notice. Yet I would like to offer for her.” Devon leaned forward, his eyes never swerving from Bixley’s questioning gaze. “She would be happy with me, I believe.”

“Thornwood, this is all well and good, but my brother has already gone into negotiations with Harrow.” Bixley waved a hand in the air. “There is a contract of some sort.”

“Tear it up. I’m sure we can come to some understanding.” Devon was a fine line away from begging the man for Lily’s hand in marriage. He took a steadying breath.

“Thornwood, you’re a man who knows business, are you not?”

“I am.”

“Yes, of course you are. My brother builds ships for you.” He paused to take a sip of his drink. “To put this into terms of business, it wouldn’t be profitable for the family to allow a match with you.”

“Not profitable,” Devon repeated.

“Not with what Harrow is offering in the bargain.”

“I have a dukedom. Surely that is of some value to you.” Devon ran a hand through his hair in agitation. There was some detail in this he was missing.

“Unfortunately for both of us, titles don’t pay the servants’ wages and provide the life to which we are accustomed.”

“What did Harrow offer?”

“You would need to discuss that with my brother. I’m not at liberty to say.”

Devon stood, unable to contain his agitation any longer. This was Lily’s life they were talking about. “You must! For your sister’s future.”

“I’m sorry, but my hands are tied,” Bixley returned with a shake of his head.

“I see.” Devon paused, trying to think of some other argument to sway Bixley, yet there was none. He blinked. “I’ll show myself to the door then,” he stated, shock settling into his limbs as he made his way out.

“Thornwood, I do regret this.”

Devon nodded in reply and left the house. He wasn’t aware of the route he was taking through the city. He never saw the homes he passed. His booted feet fell to the ground with wooden movements. He could only think that with every step, he was moving farther from Lily. Their morning together in the park seemed to have happened in a different lifetime. Today, in this reality, he was going to lose her all over again.

He didn’t realize he had walked all the way home until his hand wrapped around the familiar doorknob. Pulling the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and entered his dimly lit house.

Stomping up the stairs, he gazed at the spot on the wall where he had held her in his arms last year. He never seemed to be able to traverse these stairs without thinking of Lily. After this evening’s disappointment, he would have to rip the damned stairs from the house.

He reached the top, pausing to look at the empty alcove where the settee once sat. His grip tightened on the banister. Why had he thought destroying that piece of furniture would erase her memory? Lily’s hold on him was too tight. It always had been. And now she was beyond his reach.

A growl of anger wrenched from his throat. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around a vase on a side table. Hurling it through the air, he watched it smash against the alcove wall, shattering into tiny pieces on the floor and scattering flowers everywhere. However, it didn’t ease his pain.

Scowling at the roses now strewn across the hall, he took a breath. He would be forced to live with the results of today’s news for the remainder of his life. He felt the flowers squish under his boots as he headed for his bedchamber. Walking into the empty room, he went immediately for the decanter of brandy on the table by the fireplace. He poured one glass, drained it, and poured another.

“Devon dear, I heard something crash,” his mother’s voice sounded from the doorway. “Do we have an intruder?”

“No, Mother. Go back to bed.” He glanced at her as he took another drink before turning back to face the fire.

“Dear, is something wrong?” she asked, moving into the room.

“I’m fine,” he returned, wishing she would leave him be.

“I don’t believe you,” she replied. He heard a soft squeak as she sat on the edge of his bed. “A mother knows these things, dear. There’s no need to pretend otherwise.”

Devon shook his head and walked to the window, looking down on the garden below in the light of the moon. “I’ve lost her,” he muttered. He didn’t think his mother heard him, but it didn’t really matter anyway. What could she say or do to make this problem go away? Nothing mattered anymore.

“Dear, come away from that window. It’s quite drafty in here.” She rose from the bed, walking to the window closest to the door. “Oh my! It’s a wonder you don’t catch your death in here, Devon.”

“It feels fine to me, Mother.” All he wanted was to drink himself into oblivion, collapse on his bed, and end this horrible evening.

“Celia, Mary!” his mother called out into the hallway. Turning back to Devon she explained, “We must bring some more blankets in here until these windows can be repaired properly.”

“My windows are in fine repair.” He turned, leveling a glare at her that was meant to force her to flee.

One of the maids arrived in the doorway, catching his mother’s attention. “Oh, Mary, there you are. Will you get someone to stoke this fire and bring some extra blankets?”

“I don’t need extra blankets,” he grated.

“Dear, there’s a chill in here.” She held her hand out as if to touch the nonexistent chill. “Can’t you feel that?”

“No, I can’t. I’m fine, Mother.”

“But you look pale. Perhaps you need something to eat. Yes.” She turned once again, calling for more maids. “Celia? Celia! Could you bring up a tray with some sandwiches for His Grace?”

“Mother, I’m not hungry.”

“Go sit in the chair by the fire and warm up until your blankets arrive.”

“Mother!” he bellowed.

“Yes, dear?” she answered with an innocent smile as she shoved him into the chair by the fireplace.

“I’m fine. I just want to be left alone,” he pleaded.

“Sitting around this drafty house alone is what got you into this mess.”

“My home is not drafty!” He watched her as she sank into the other chair by the fireplace, her froth of ruffled lavender nightclothes held in place by a dark purple robe cinched around her waist. She didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. He sighed.

“That is not what I meant. If you had courted Miss Phillips in the proper fashion from the beginning, you would not be encountering such difficulties with her today. Ladies like to be called on with flowers and such, you know. Why is she upset with you this time? I set her straight on your gambling. Really, Devon. Betting on horses?” She clucked her tongue in disapproval.

“My difficulties are not with her.” He shifted in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. “The trouble is her brothers.”

“Oh? Perhaps I can assist in some way.”

“I don’t see how that will help, Mother.” He drained the last of the brandy in his glass and stared into its empty depths. “Lily has been promised to Lord Harrow.”

“Harrow? Well, that is dreadful news. The poor dear.”

“Yes.” He set the glass on the table at his side, watching the flames in the fire lap at the coals, consuming them.

“And what are you going to do to stop this travesty from happening?” his mother asked after a moment of silence.

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. “What can I do? She is going to marry another. And not just any other—Harrow. He’s keeping her as some sort of prize. It’s the trade routes to Asia all over again, only this time…” He shook his head. This time he would lose Lily.

“Devon dear, do you wish to marry her?”

“I told Lord Bixley as much tonight,” Devon replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “Yet his hands are tied in the matter.”

“I see. But you want Miss Phillips as your duchess?”

He was surprised at the ease of his answer. “Unfortunately for me, I do.”

“I’ve never known you not to take what you wanted in life,” his mother said with a hopeful smile.

“Take her? Is that the wisdom you are suggesting?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

“I’m not suggesting kidnapping, for goodness’ sake!” She pursed her lips in exasperation. “I’m merely saying that you need to step up to the challenge you are facing and not back down.”

“What if I’m too late?”

“Dear, you are Thornwood. Whenever you decide to arrive, it is always precisely the right time.”

***

Lillian took another sip of tea to shake off the morning fog that had settled on her mind. Her life had changed yet again within the span of a day. She had spent most of the night tangled in her bedclothes, lost in thoughts of Devon’s clandestine dealings with Solomon and a future wed to Harrow. Now, in the light of day, it still didn’t make sense.

Had Devon been playing her for a fool all along? How many times had she mentioned her hatred of her brother to him? At least twice, if not more. She rubbed her temple, forcing some explanation for Devon’s actions to settle there, but nothing occurred to her. He’d allowed her to ramble on, never mentioning he was in business with Solomon. Why would he keep that knowledge from her?
He’s a man entertaining himself in London.
Solomon’s voice sounded in her head. Her heart clenched at the obvious conclusion—Devon, like every other man in her life, had used her.

A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” she said, her voice a scratchy monotone.

“Darling, how are you surviving the day?” Nathaniel asked, poking his head inside her room.

“One sip of tea at a time,” she replied with a grave smile.

“I suppose I shouldn’t mention the dark circles under your eyes?” he asked as he entered.

“They will only enhance my looks for the ball this evening.” She glanced in the mirror to see the dark smudges under her eyes looking very pronounced above her pale cheeks. “Perhaps I should fix my hair to match and scare Harrow away with my appearance.”

“It’s a nice thought, although I don’t think it would work at this point.” Nathaniel sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping one hand around the poster at the foot.

“I suppose not.” She shifted on the chair at her dressing table, staring down into her teacup before she took another sip.

“Lillian, I’m sorry you can’t live here with me,” Nathaniel blurted out as if the idea had been weighing heavily on his mind. “I feel responsible for this mess you’re in.”

She twisted to look him in the eye. “Nathaniel, it’s not your fault. You have your life to live. You can’t have your little sister tagging along after you for the remainder of it.”

“Yes, well, it’s not just that.” He paused, looking down at his hand where it lay on his leg. “You see, Lillian, this house was a gift, as is everything I have, really. A friend gave it to me. He visits occasionally…”

“Oh?” Lillian paused with her teacup halfway to her lips. “Oh! Your gentleman friend.”

“Yes.” His gaze returned to hers. “Anyway, I didn’t feel right allowing you to live here permanently when I…when he…when he and I…”

“Nathaniel, you need not say another word. I don’t blame you for my fate.”

He nodded in acceptance. “I do wish I could help you in some way.” A thoughtful frown covered his face as he continued, “Perhaps I can help.”

“You’ve done enough, Nathaniel.” She continued to speak though her throat seemed to be closing. “There is nothing more to be done. I will attend the ball tonight and accept the future that will be announced there.”

“I will still try, if you don’t mind,” Nathaniel offered, rising from the bed. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t attempt to stop this.”

“Do what you wish.” She attempted to smile up at him as he crossed to the door, but she was sure her lips refused to make more than a grimace. “I will be here trying not to think about all of it.”

“Very well. There is liquor in the dining room to assist you on that score.”

“Thank you. I may have need of it before this is over.”

As he left the room she set her tea down on the dressing table. Comfort within this storm did not reside in her teacup or one of Nathaniel’s liquor bottles. She slid open the drawer before her, pulling free the pocket watch. She squeezed it tight in her hand, yet no sense of peace could be found there either.

Prying her fingers loose from its surface, she looked down at the small fox and smiled. No matter what had transpired in her life due to the watch, she was happy to have it within her grasp today. Her future may be devoid of love, but this was proof that for one small moment in time she’d had love in her life. Her father had loved her. He’d taught her to tell time on this watch while she sat curled by his side. No matter what happened after that, when he became frail and angry over his ailments, she would always have that day—the day she was loved.