The Coachman's Daughter (3 page)

She remembered the other Deme too; still
somewhat spoiled then, having a natural arrogance and confidence, a
wit. She could hardly take her eyes off him. Her reactions came out
in a verbal way once, when he had caught her staring at him. It
evoked his mockery, intended or not. From that point on, she never
showed her weaker feelings to him again. Heaven, was so used to
dealing with the changed man, she needed no greater reason. He
could be a real ass when he was in his cups. Worse, when he was
hung over. Everyone humored him. She bloody refused to.

That woman had been killed in an accident,
she had heard. Somewhere along the way, Deme looked at things
rationally and accepted he had been played for a fool. He had taken
a life. The husband also had been poisoned by her and dueled for
her nonexistent honor.

His recklessness was partly the Wimberly way,
and partly the fact that he never had been kept in check. He had no
reason to. Everything was his for the taking, with no effort at
all.

Chapter Two

Any notion of falling upon his bed and
sleeping was erased once Deme had his bath and coffee. The house,
as usual, was noisy, with boots tromping back and forth—servants
getting the trunks out of the attic. His mother’s pets carrying on.
And when he was bathed, shaved, was standing by an open window with
another strong coffee, the younger siblings were inside the house
too—seemingly yelling to each other from opposite corners of the
mansion.

His apartment doors did shut out some of it,
and after Mossley saw to him, he had sent the valet away for a
moment of peace. In polished boots, black trousers and his usual
white silk shirt, he felt the autumn breeze stir his drying hair.
There were curls already falling over his brow and rustling against
the shoulders of his shirt. The coffee helped that hung-over
feeling, but nothing ever really satisfied him.

Looking out over Wimberly, seeing the beauty
of fall on the cusp, he was planning his evening; billiards with
his brothers, because he realized they were grown men and he had
spent next to no time with them. He would have tea with his Mama,
though that meant having to hold one of her pooches on his lap
usually. When it was late enough, he would find his usual solace in
a bottle of Irish whiskey.

He grunted and left his chambers, too
restless to keep still. Finding an hour of peace in the back room
with one of the books Lord Monty had written in Egypt. He was
engrossed until the clock struck the hour.

Putting the book down, he went to see the
Duchess. Knocking on the back parlor door, a little room she called
her office, he was let in by her maid, who curtsied and them left
them in private.

His mother was in a bright blue day gown. Her
fading blond hair was done up nicely yet she wore her comfortable
old slippers. A striking woman still, she offered her cheek to him
for a kiss.

“You look too pale, Deme. You must rise
earlier, and take bracing walks. I vow that London air does us all
ill.”

He seated himself after kissing her cheek,
and poured them tea. When reaching hers, and she took it, the
rabbit on her lap hopped off and onto his.

“Yes, Madam.” he answered. His black trousers
would have to be brushed of rabbit hair.

One of the cats immediately replaced the
rabbit for her affectionate strokes. Beside her hip, on the brocade
settee was a pair of pooches napping. It was a sight he was used to
by now.

Stroking the feline, she regarded him with
blue eyes that most of her children inherited. “And no brandy this
week, please, my boy. This is our last week with dear Aiden and
James. I would have you spend more time with them.”

“Yes, madam...” Her eyes were watering with
unshed tears. It discomforted him. His mother, for all her
eccentricities was a strong woman. She lived her life to suit
herself, and in their society, that alone took guts. He did not
doubt she loved each of them, but he had never been good with
emotional scenes.

It had taken Deme years to conclude he would
never understand his parent’s relationship. When they were
together, they were one moment arguing, the next doting and petting
on each other. His father showered her with gifts, indulged her,
and here at Wimberly, the both of them raised their children, of
either sex, to live life fully. Games, competitions, swimming in
the lakes, riding, and there was no formalities really. In warmer
months, dining was a buffet, or picnic outside. Each of them had
the best tutors, masters of dance and fencing, and art. However,
between the Duke and Duchess, there was a unique relationship, a
way of communicating that the offspring had learned early to merely
accept as their way.

Demetrius searched for a subject to distract
her from her sadness, and finally asked about the “gathering” his
valet had mentioned whilst he shaved. His mother loved nothing
better than to have a mixed group at Wimberly, usually of different
ages for the younger ones, and some of her friends she had known
since her girlhood. A crony or two of his fathers.

She began talking of it, the plan for a
lovely weekend of rides and cards and informal dancing—in the most
of the time, closed, ballroom. She talked of the menu and friends
that she had invited that were close to James and Adrian, some in
the military too.

He listened and responded, but his mind was
distracted until she mentioned Marston.

“He is hardly a friend of ours, Madam.
Decidedly not in our circle.”

She waved her hand at that. “He will be this
coming season.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve decided he would do for
Lisette.”

Deme nearly spewed his tea. Instead, he set
the cup down carefully. “You must be joking?” His brow cocked. “Why
on earth would you raise Lisette with any spirit, only to match her
with some cold, arrogant, bore, like Marston?”

“He’s not a bore. He is merely less vocal.
More the strong, silent, type.”

Deme sat back and rolled his eyes. “Give
over, mama. I may be in my cups most of the time, but even I know
the family he spawns from. Lisette is an intelligent and passionate
girl; she would go daft with a man like that. You surprise me.”

Those blue eyes met him. “I am many things,
my boy, but blind I am not. I also know from experience, what my
daughter needs.”

“You’ll explain that?”

“Not that I must, but,” She shrugged. “Just
because we have loved and given our children few restraints,
doesn’t mean we are ignorant to the pitfalls of the Wimberly
passions.”

Her own brow rose. She regarded him for
silent seconds, and then further explained, “My upbringing was
strict. Suffocatingly so. I rebelled naturally, and I have been
headstrong most of my adult life. There is a price for such things,
and though I have become wiser through my mistakes, I would spare
Lisette that. If I had met your father before I was presented to
him at the altar, who knows what we may have avoided?”

“Lisette is not you. She cannot live your
life over for you. That’s unfair, Madam.” He got to his feet and
walked to the window. “I presume Lisette has a bit more spirit too,
because she was confined for so long to the sickbed.”

“Yes. I will not force her into anything. I
merely think that Marston will do for her. I know men, Deme. I see
more of him than is on the surface.”

He turned and looked at her, seeing she was
arising, the animals gathering at her feet. Apparently done with
the subject. And—that parting remark was for him too.

At the door of the sitting room, she looked
back at him and said, “Look to yourself, Demetrius. You are to be
the next Duke. Even were you not the heir, you are taking life for
granted. You cannot go back and undo. But there is much to
experience if you want.”

The door closed. He stared at it. He supposed
he underestimated his mother. Yes. He knew he did. Just as he saw
those flashes of concern in his father’s visage at his sober
moments.

Bloody hell. He strode toward the door and
opened it into the hall, then went to find his brothers for a game
of billiards.

He did not want Marston for a bloody in law.
Yes, Marston was much like his best friend Wolford, who was in some
ways his opposite, nevertheless, the few times he had seen Elisha
Roulle in an exclusive hell or at some club, he thought him an
arrogant bastard. Of course, Deme had to also view that in light of
the fact, he had been foxed and about his own diversions and he did
not put himself out for anyone these days. He certainly would not
want Lisette with a man like himself either.

* * * *

Haven strolled aimlessly awhile, thinking she
would go to the manor and speak with Lisette, and make sure she was
not plotting something foolish for escaping Marston when he
arrived. Where she ended up, was walking the stone path around the
south side of the manor house. The air was cooling. Fog would cloud
the grounds in an hour or so. She was approaching the billiard room
when she noticed the French doors were open. Subtle smoke from
cheroots was drifting out with light and the sound of male voices
and laughter.

Walking to the opened doorway, she leaned a
shoulder against it, her brow raised as she counted the Marquis
there with his brothers, playing the game. The handsome younger men
had jackets off, and were in white shirts, sleeves rolled up and
comfortable boots and trousers. Deme wore his usual rakish white
silk shirt, too snug black trousers, and polished boots. She noted
that he kept pushing his hair back out of his face after taking a
shot.

Half listening to a conversation they were
carrying on, the table being ten feet from the doorway, across from
her was the hearth and seating, a table was cluttered with
gentlemen’s magazines,

Looking back at the males, Haven visually
took in their differences. James and Adrian being more brawny, like
the Duke, and Jude (little John) likely would be taller than them
all. James had dark hair, handsome green eyes, and Aiden a mix of
wheat and brown hair. His eyes were aqua blue. Little John was
unique, having the height, broad shoulders, but curly blond hair
that he kept cut short. Of course, there was Deme—with his tall
grace and aristocratic bones and lush hair. They were all of them
extremely blessed with assets.

Haven noted, when after Deme took a shot, he
went not for the decanter but for coffee that rested on a side
table. She could only hope that meant she would get some sleep
tonight. It would be a miracle if he stayed sober, and she doubted
he would, but apparently, he was making an effort for the duration
his brothers were home.

“Haven.” James spotted her after taking a
shot and strode over, hooking his arm around her shoulder, pulling
her inside. “Have you been there long enough to witness Jude
trouncing us all? I fear his head is swelled. You must play next
and teach him humility.”

Amid laughter at that, and James giving her a
squeeze before dropping his arm, she said eyeing a smug-faced Jude,
“Not at all. I shall cheer him on. After all, he was the youngest
for years and you both had the advantage over him.”

“Oh, I say.” Jude chuckled and winked at her.
“You really must wait for me to come of age and marry me now,
Haven.”

It was a long-standing jest among them all,
having romped, played, competed together; they were always
bantering and carrying on some bit of teasing. As they got older,
it of course centered on mock fighting over Haven being their
perfect sort of wife.

Feeling Deme’s eyes on her, seeing he was out
of the game and half sitting on the sturdy table by the windows,
she grinned. “I very well might, seeing as how your brothers will
be dashing young soldiers, I’m sure my competition will be fierce
when it comes to rivals.”

“Nonsense. Unless she can ride and shoot
better than you.” Aiden jested and put his pool cue on the rack. He
lit a cheroot and blew a stream of smoke.

“You will write to me. The both of you.” She
idly rolled one of the balls on the green bias. Her eyes took them
both in, suddenly flooded with wonderful memories, and their warmth
towards her.

“Certainly.” James smiled, looking handsome,
somewhat more mature than she had previously noted. Knowing their
destination, she realized they were all of them grown now, meeting
destiny. Which made her own age and life seem even more
unsettled.

It was during more banter, that Lisette, in
plain skirt and blouse, house slippers, joined them. Her hair down
and rippling from earlier braids, she was coaxed into a game.

Haven joined in, though it was more fun than
real sport, with much teasing from the brothers, and deliberate
distractions to foul a shot either of the females made. The room
rang with laughter. An hour passed before Haven was put out by
Jude.

She continued to root for Lisette, who was
not above pinching or tickling her brothers when they aimed. At
some point though, Haven looked for Deme, and found him now settled
in a chair, more in shadow, his boot heel hooked on the edge of a
footstool. Normally he was foxed when slumped in that position, but
he was obviously still drinking coffee.

His green eyes burned out of the shadows, and
though he was obviously listening, attending, he did not seem to be
amused.

She walked over and leaned on the chair
opposite, regarding him as she muttered under the others, “Are we
boring you, my lord. With our banter. Not up to your usual
sophisticated wit?”

“I’m delightfully entertained.” He drawled
with a dry expression. “Particularly by you, Mulhern. You certainly
have my brothers competing for your attentions.”

“Don’t turn it into something vulgar, your
Lordship.” She straightened and glared at him. “It is sibling
affection only.”