The Aristocrat's Lady. Mary Moore

sighed in frustration. “Are you sure you wish me to go on with this?” she queried.

      “By all means, I assure you I am riveted.” “My mother’s parents were not happy with the match. They did not like that she was ‘buried’ in the country away from all her friends and the diversity of Society. But Mama had been spoiled from birth, so she could not be gainsaid. She immersed herself with father’s people and, for the most part, has always been quite content there.”

      She let out a breath, happy that he had his information. However, he was not quite finished.

      “I assume their happiness increased tenfold with the birth of their baby daughter?”

      “Your sarcasm leaves little to be desired, my lord.” She pretended hurt feelings, but he saw the amusement in the appearance of one lone dimple.

      “I was not being sarcastic, and I thought we agreed on Devlin.”

      She hurried on before he could speak again. “My parents had a heart for children.” They had already planned a school for the little ones of the local gentry and the tenants who could spare them.

      “My father was the most giving of men—of his time, his money, even just his ear—and I loved helping him tend the estate. It was a wonderful childhood. Unfortunately my mother’s parents were killed in a carriage accident soon after I was born.” She did not go to her dark place at these words. He wondered at it. But her eyes crinkled with her smile and she said, “Ten years later we were surprised by the birth of Chelsea.”

      Devlin felt the old questions coming to the surface as they sometimes did when he was with his grandmother.

      How could she believe a loving God would take her grandparents in a carriage accident so suddenly when they had only just begun to enjoy being a family? He wanted to ask her because somehow he thought she could explain it to him in a way his own grandmother could not. They were almost back in Berkeley Square, and somehow he knew it would be an intense conversation; perhaps it would be better saved for a later date.

      She had already been speaking again during his thoughts. “… yes, you may groan at the word. I am quite the bluestocking!”

      How very different she was from anyone he had ever met! All the more because she had no way of knowing that being well-read was not disparaging in his eyes. And despite her horrified whisper, he knew she really did not care whether she had horrified him or not. He could not come up with the proper rejoinder before she started again.

      “But the Bible has always been my favorite book. I love the idea that man could, with God’s help, achieve the wisdom of Solomon. Indeed, that is how my horse got his name!”

      He somehow felt her every nuance, that she felt pleased when he understood when she was serious and when she was teasing.

      “There is not much more to tell, to be honest. The rest is a little hard for me to talk about. My father got sick when I was seventeen, and he never recovered. I treasure the last few weeks I had with him.” She kept talking, but he noticed the lone tear that ran down her cheek. “Of course Mama was devastated, and though Chelsea could not quite grasp what was happening, she knew her world was changing. It was one of the darkest periods of my life.”

      Devlin was completely silent, allowing her time to get her composure. He also dimly locked away in the back of his mind her statement that it had been one of the worst events of her life. Confound it! Were there more? Had this “accident” been even harder for her? He suddenly thought he might never get to know the lovely young woman buried under the protective layers she had constructed. And it disturbed his peace of mind. He wanted to know it.

      “We had to move to the dowager house, of course. It was not an easy time, but it has become the norm for us now. The new earl is not married, and enjoys Town life, so he is not much at home. He is happy to allow me and Mama to continue our attention to the estate and its tenants.” She gave a relieved smile. “May we now end this retrospective of my life once and for all?”

      He laughed and hinted that, on the contrary, he had only just begun.

      They had arrived back at the house, and he took her hand to help her down. They stepped into the foyer and divested their coats and hats to Geeves. “Stop, stop, I vow you are as tenacious as a hound during the hunt. I refuse to waste one more minute discussing such things.” Why did he feel there was so much she was not telling him?

      “At dinner, sir, turnabout will be fair play. You shall have to tell me all about your life! My mundane existence can be of no possible further interest to you.”

      But mundane would never be a word used to describe her life if he was any judge. He sensed a reserve in her; she skirted around areas he would have delved further into. He did not know why he was genuinely interested in knowing more, he only knew that he was!

      Chapter Four

      She was true to her word during dinner, and most of the conversation had centered on his life. He believed he had handled it adeptly. His conscience nudged him, reminding him of things he had purposely omitted, that he had not shown the integrity they had agreed upon. He tried to determine if omission equaled lying and he decidedly convinced himself it did not.

      Lady Beaumont hurried them both upstairs to freshen up before dinner, and as he came back down, he paused, not knowing precisely the direction he should go. He heard a haunting melody coming from a room to his right and he took the liberty of going in. Lady Beaumont stood in front of the fire, warming her hands while Lady Nicole sat behind the pianoforte, her eyes closed, playing a piece he had never heard before. He watched her play with so much feeling. He was mesmerized!

      “I hope I have not kept you waiting long.” He watched as Nicole rose from the piano bench, quite flushed, then he addressed her mother. “I have been listening to your daughter’s playing with much pleasure. She is quite accomplished.”

      Lady Beaumont thanked him prettily and herded them to the informal dining room like a mother hen.

      The “informal” dining room was charming, and Devlin knew without a doubt this must be Nicole’s favorite room. It was at the back of the house and the outside wall was constructed completely of French doors. He could see that lights had been set up along the veranda that glistened, as well, in the garden beyond the balcony. He deduced that the sun must flood this room with light and warmth in the mornings, and he thought his grandmother, too, would love it.

      Nicole began to tease him almost immediately about his childhood and he believed the conversation went well, that he made his life sound perfectly normal. He told her about growing up at DeVale Priory, “a cavernous pile of bricks that my parents enjoyed boasting of.” He admitted to a sort of loneliness in being an only child, but he flattered himself that he made it sound quite mundane. He finished his story with the simple fact that his childhood had centered on riding lessons and tutors.

      When Nicole asked about his parents, he related facts, though admittedly not in the greatest of detail. He candidly told her he had seen little of his parents when he was young. They were very powerful in London’s social throng, so they lived there much of the year.

      He so much wanted to tell her more, and tried to determine if he would have, were they alone. He found himself feeling uncommonly comfortable with her, and he felt strange tendencies to talk about things he had never shared with anyone else. Truth to tell, knowing her gift for listening intently, he deduced that she was able to fill in many of the gaps on her own but she did not gush with sympathy. There was no doubt she felt it; she just knew how to contain it.

      He smiled to himself as she said, “My lord, I should like to hear more about your grandmother. I do so hope she is feeling … better.”

      The little minx! She still did not believe he possessed a grandmother, and she thought she was trapping him in front of her mother!

      “Mama, may we remain a little longer? When we get to the drawing room, Chelsea will be there and all coherent conversation will certainly