Innocence in Regency Society: The Mysterious Miss M / Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress. Diane Gaston

      ‘What do you mean “sympathy”?’ Ned sounded ready to punch him again.

      ‘I meant nothing.’ He meant he was sorry she had not conceived a child, but this was not the time to address Ned on that subject. He had no notion how the wind blew for his brother on that score.

      ‘Who was the woman you were with? Do you have a lightskirt who costs you?’

      Good God. Did Ned wish another jab in the nob? ‘She is an acquaintance who does not deserve your insults.’ Devlin would say no more. He merely wished to get away from his brother. ‘Ned, we have said more than is prudent. I will beg your leave.’

      ‘Indeed? We have resolved nothing.’ Ned looked like a stranger. No, he looked like their father, not at all like his adored older brother.

      ‘It doesn’t matter. I will wait for my money to come due.’ He walked to the door.

      Ned’s mouth set into a thin, grim line. ‘When your money comes due, it will be half the amount.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Half the amount.’ The Marquess studied his papers before glancing up at Devlin. ‘You need to search for a wife. Perhaps penury will serve as an incentive.’

      Devlin fought the rage that erupted inside him. How would he care for Madeleine? How would he feed little Linette? ‘Damn you, Ned. You have no idea what this means.’

      ‘Remember who is the head of the family, little brother.’

      ‘I’ll not forget.’ He spoke through his teeth.

      Devlin hurried out of the library and almost ran into his sister-in-law, who was walking back and forth in the hall.

      ‘Devlin, what happened? Why were you fighting?’ she whispered, her voice filled with anxiety.

      He stroked her arm. ‘A brothers’ quarrel, nothing more. Do not worry, sister.’

      She looked unconvinced. He gave her a long reassuring hug and let her weep against his shoulder a little. ‘It was entirely my fault, Serena. You know how I can provoke Ned. Do not cry.’

      The library door opened. An icy voice such as Devlin had never heard said, ‘Unhand my wife and take your leave.’

       Chapter Seven

       M isery assailed Devlin as he walked through the doorway of Ned’s town house. He’d made a mess of things. What a colossal fool, provoking his brother, though he could not precisely remember what he had said to set Ned off. They had disagreed reasonably for a short time. How had he ended up punching Ned in the nose, for deuce’s sake?

      Worse than bloodying the nose of the Marquess of Heronvale was jeopardising Madeleine’s future and that of her child. How would he care for them now?

      What a damned coil. What a fool and idiot.

      He set a slow pace in the direction of St James’s Street.

      He ought to have conserved his money, not rented the bigger apartment, not purchased as many lengths of fabric for Sophie, as many toys for Linette. He should not have purchased an entire wardrobe for Madeleine when she argued for only two or three dresses. Most of all, he should not have lost his temper with his brother. He should have remained calm. He should have rehearsed several cogent arguments why his brother should advance him the money. Instead, he’d allowed Ned to goad him until they came to blows.

      He might laugh at rousing emotion in his brother, if only the result had not been the halving of his funds. Ned’s calm, dispassionate control, so comforting to him as a child, irritated him as a man. To think he used to shake with fear when Ned and Percy pummelled each other with their fists, Ned as out of control as Devlin so often was. It had been like watching the foundations at Heronvale crack and crumble.

      This time it was his own would-be estate that crumbled—Edgeworth, twenty miles from Heronvale and ten from Percy’s estate. His father had aimed to keep them close, tied to the land that he’d purchased from neighbours who let their property slip through their fingers.

      ‘Land, my boy.’ Devlin could hear his father’s firm voice, his fist pounding the dinner table. ‘If a man has land, he has a future.’ His father would gesture to Devlin’s plate. ‘Land gives you good food and drink to fill your belly. Mind, you have never been hungry in my house.’

      True, but Devlin had known hunger on the Peninsula where supplies were often low, and he had known thirst when wounded at Waterloo, waiting twelve hours in the mud to be found.

      Devlin was ready for the land his father bequeathed him. Ready for work. He longed for hard physical labour. He yearned to work next to the men in the fields, as he had fought beside their brothers. Wouldn’t that give Ned apoplexy!

      Devlin stopped in the middle of the pavement and rubbed his brow. What good did it do to think of Edgeworth? He needed to think of Madeleine.

      It would not be at all difficult to find positions for Bart and Sophie somewhere in the family. Percy, especially, had a kind heart for a person in need. Indeed, anyone would be fortunate to hire Bart. And, if he knew Bart, the man would care well for Sophie. As for himself, he could plague Ned by visiting one sister after another, never complying with the Heronvale dictates. What prime sport that would be.

      But what about Madeleine and Linette? He would go to the devil and drag Ned with him before he’d allow Madeleine to return to the only profession she knew and her daughter with her. Damn, he needed money to save her from that fate. Enough money for her to live comfortably and to rear Linette.

      Devlin’s mind spun round and round. The only thing he knew with a certainty was that he was a damned fool and had failed the people who depended upon him.

      Failed Madeleine.

      Too soon he neared the lodgings. With a heavy heart, he turned the knob of the front door.

      Madeleine stole a surreptitious glance at Devlin during dinner later that evening. He was unduly quiet. Something troubled him, and she did not know what. Did she even have the right to inquire?

      If he were like other men, she would not care what problems he had. But he was not like other men. Would another man be so kind to her daughter? When it had been time for Linette to go to bed, it had to be Devlin to carry her up and tuck her in. For a moment she worried about leaving Linette to a man’s care, but that was foolish. Devlin would not harm her.

      Indeed, he should not be so kind. It made her feel she could depend on him. It was dangerous to depend upon anyone. They fooled you, then tricked you into doing what they willed.

      She cast her gaze on Devlin again, and made an attempt at conversation. ‘Did you have a pleasant visit with your brother?’

      He glanced up and paused so long she thought he would not answer. ‘I spent an agreeable interval with my sister-in-law.’

      What did that mean?

      ‘Scrapped with your brother, did you?’ Bart snorted. ‘That explains your black looks.’

      Devlin did not banter back at Bart as was usual. Instead, he rubbed his forehead and stared down at his plate. Madeleine frowned. Bart should leave off scolding this time. Something was indeed wrong.

      Sophie, her usual wary expression on her face, popped up to gather the dirty dishes. She had a cat’s sense for danger.

      Little had been eaten from Devlin’s plate. ‘Leave the dishes a bit, Sophie. I wish to speak to all of you.’

      Madeleine’s pulse accelerated. No good news could be forthcoming.

      ‘Let us clear the dishes first,’ Madeleine suggested. ‘It will be more comfortable.’ And it would delay the inevitable.

      Devlin released a breath. ‘Very well, remove the dishes, but return promptly, if you please.’