Chapter 17

 

“Wherein hopes are swept away by the storm, but not entirely extinguished.”

Dev waited three days.

Three days of utter misery.

He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, could not even settle to go over his accounts and see if things were as black as Ogden had led him to believe.

Three days of watching the horizon, praying he would see her coming up the drive, even if it was only to tell him what a despicable human being he was.

He was ready to agree with her.

He could only hope three days was enough to have calmed her a little. Enough so she might see him, at least. Yet he knew what fiery, stubborn creatures the Kendall family were. It was their strength and their weakness, and he was by no means optimistic at what his reception would be.

Dev dressed with care, choosing to look his best but avoiding anything that would highlight the differences in their station any more than he had to. They all knew people would think he’d married far beneath him if Charity ever consented to be his wife. Such a thing would only stick in her throat, proud and independent creature that she was. Even if she deigned to forgive him—something of which he had no great expectation—he didn’t expect her to fall into his arms. He’d have to fight for her.

For the first time in his life, though, he had something to fight for.

He’d never cared for the title, not beyond the fact it could get him what he wanted when he wanted it. What people thought about him was something he’d never lost any sleep over, and he wasn’t about to start now. He’d marry Charity if it was the last thing he did. If it took him years of begging for forgiveness. Anyone with an opinion on the matter could go to the devil for all he cared.

When he crested the brow of the hill and saw Brasted Farm glowering at him in the morning light, the ache in his chest only intensified. They’d all be up by now. The milking would have been done by this time, the animals fed, and eggs collected. Mr Baxter would be sweeping the yard, Charity heading out to gather whatever was ready in the garden. In half an hour or so, they’d all return to the kitchen for breakfast.

The longing to join them struck at his heart.

He’d realised now, he’d been lonely his whole life, but never had it hurt this much. It had been normal, something he’d learned to endure, never aware how debilitating the pain was as he’d never known any different. Now, he understood how hollow it made him, as if his heart had been carved out until it rang like a bell, tolling his emptiness to the world. He’d not known how different life could be then but now he did, and the loss of it clawed at his throat.

“Courage, man,” he muttered, gathering up the reins and urging his horse on.

When he saw Mrs Baxter, John, and Jane sitting on a stile waiting for him a good mile from the house, he knew he’d not see her. Not today. His heart dropped but he mustered a cautious smile, wondering what reception awaited him.

They stood as he drew nearer, and he saw Jane take Mrs Baxter’s hand. The worry in the little girl’s eyes only made his heart ache harder.

“Lord Devlin,” Mrs Baxter said, her tone so formal he wanted to howl.

“Please, don’t call me that, Batty,” he said, wondering how he got the words past the tightness in his throat.

She snorted and gave him a hard look. “And what am I to call you then?”

Dev shrugged, not knowing how to reply. “My friends call me Dev.”

Mrs Baxter raised an eyebrow at him and he swallowed. He dismounted and walked towards them.

“Hello, Jane,” he said, wondering if she hated him too now.

“Hello, Mr Da—” she began, and then blushed, hiding against Mrs Baxter’s skirts.

“Hello, John.”

John stared at him, his jaw rigid, his expression one of contained misery.

“She’ll not see you,” Mrs Baxter said, her tone weary now. “I saw you riding up and… well, I came to tell you to steer clear. Kit’s fit to be tied. The temper he’s in right now I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot you. I’ve never seen him so angry in all my days, and that’s the truth.”

Dev nodded, unable to speak. There was something clogging his throat and anything he might have said, any message he might have asked her to convey, would remain unspoken as he dared not open his mouth. Instead he reached into his pocket and took out the letter he’d stowed there. In fact, it wasn’t a letter at all, but he’d hoped it might mean more to Charity than anything he could say. He’d also hoped to put it in her hands but… At least Mrs Baxter would see she got it.

She took it from him and nodded. Dev turned back to his horse, needing to go before his composure crumbled before them.

He was reaching for the reins when John ran up to him and threw his arms around his waist. Dev got to his knees, holding the boy tight as Jane joined him, her little arms thrown about his neck as she cried. He hugged them both to him, wondering how his heart could stand it, how he could survive the guilt of the damage he’d wrought.

“I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry,” Dev said, unable to stop his own tears spilling over in the face of the hurt he’d caused.

“I told them you weren’t a bad man,” Jane said through her tears. “I told them, but they said I was too little, that I didn’t understand, but I do.” She stamped her foot and Dev could only feel humbled by her defence of him. He certainly didn’t deserve it. “You’re not a bad man.” She looked up, trepidation in dark eyes so like her sister’s. “Are you?”

Dev wondered how in God’s name he could answer that with any truth. He glanced up at Mrs Baxter, who was watching him, her expression intent.

“I’ve done some bad things, Jane,” he said, his voice thick. “Things that have hurt your family very much but… but I’m trying my best to make amends. I… I want to change, more than anything.” He looked up at Mrs Baxter as he spoke. “I’d do anything to put things right. It’s the only thing I want. The only thing that matters.”

Mrs Baxter nodded her understanding and he hoped perhaps she realised he meant it with all his heart.

“Come along, children,” she said, her voice soft. “Lord Devlin must go now, and I have to get the breakfast done.”

Jane kissed his cheek and let go of him with reluctance. “Will we ever see you again?” she asked, her voice trembling as Dev’s throat threatened to close completely it ached so much.

“I hope so, Jane,” he said, forcing the words out. “More than anything.”

She gave a forlorn nod and moved to take the hand Mrs Baxter held out to her.

Only John remained at his side, white faced with the effort not to cry.

“Chin up, John,” he said, trying to take his own advice. “Down but not out, eh, lad?”

John gave a taut nod and held his hand out to him. Dev shook it, knowing he wanted to behave like a young man, but his own emotions were too raw, too close to the surface and he pulled him back for a hug.

“Look after your sister for me,” he said, before letting the boy go, pretending he didn’t see the tears that were staining his cheeks.

“Run back to the house now,” Mrs Baxter urged them. “I’ll be along in just a moment.”

She waited until they were out of earshot before turning back to him, giving Dev a moment to compose himself before he faced her again.

“You love her,” she said, watching his face, looking at him as though she could ferret out his darkest secrets if she only stared hard enough.

Dev nodded. “I do, with all my heart.”

Mrs Baxter sucked in a breath and then let it out, shaking her head. “What a tangled web we weave,” she muttered giving him a dark look.

He returned a weak smile, at a loss for anything further to say.

“You’d marry her?” she demanded, folding her arms, eyes narrowed as she continued to scrutinise him.

“In a heartbeat. If she’d have me.”

He watched as she pursed her lips and then gave a decisive nod. “Right you are, then.”

She turned to walk away, and Dev felt his heart kick in his chest.

“What do you mean?” he demanded, striding after her.

She turned back to him and gave him a tut of impatience. “I’ll do what I can, is what I mean,” she said, warmth in her eyes despite the tartness of her words.

“You will?” Dev replied, stunned and incredulous that she would take his side.

He held his breath as she reached out and patted his cheek. “I always did have a soft spot for a rogue,” she said, smiling at him with something that looked almost like fondness in her expression. “But don’t hold your breath,” she warned, her words severe now. “There was never a more stubborn family to walk the earth than the Kendalls, I tell you now. I’ll talk her around if it takes me till my dying breath, but I don’t say it won’t.”

Dev gave a startled laugh and before he could think about it he put his arms around her and hugged her. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He received a brief hug in return and let her go to see the astonishing sight of Mrs Baxter blushing. “Hmph,” she said, fussing with her apron and giving him a haughty sniff. “Don’t thank me yet, you devil. But don’t give up either, eh?”

Dev nodded, more grateful to her than to anyone in his life before.

“Never,” he said, meaning it.

Mrs Baxter smiled at him and made a shooing motion, so he mounted up and rode away, pausing for one last look at the farm before he turned his back and headed back to the hall.

***

Charity sighed, staring at the rain pattering against the kitchen window. The weather had turned as though her misery had chased the sun from the skies and would never shine again.

It was almost a month since her discovery of David’s identity.

Her jaw clenched, though her anger had long since dissipated. Her pride still smarted and her heart… she could not begin to speak of her heart. Suffice to say it was raw and bloody, cowering in a dark corner like a wounded creature, snarling at anyone who got close.

“Are you going to shell those beans or try to frighten them out of their pods?” Mrs Baxter demanded as Charity looked up.

She rearranged her features, realising she had indeed been scowling at them and hadn’t moved an inch for the last twenty minutes.

“You read that letter of his yet?” Mrs Baxter asked, a shrewd look in her eyes as she brought a basket of potatoes to the table and sat down opposite her.

Charity ignored the question. They both knew the answer. What Mrs Baxter didn’t know was that she stared at the damn thing every night before she went to bed for at least an hour. The truth was she was frightened to open it, frightened to discover what it was he’d said to her. What would it change? If he begged for her forgiveness and told her he loved her it wouldn’t change a thing, because no matter what his feelings, he was a viscount.

Viscounts did not marry women with hands like a navvy and a temper hot enough to scorch the sun. They might keep such a woman as a mistress, but not a wife.

If the letter he’d given Mrs Baxter so much as hinted that was something he hoped for… her heart could not endure that too.

A tempting little voice in her ear asked, what if he wants to marry you?, but even that was hopeless. As much as she wanted to trust in the loving expression she remembered in his eyes, as much as she wanted to forgive him for the lies and the deceit and all the harm he’d done… it was a ridiculous idea.

She imagined herself as the Viscountess Devlin and the flush crept up her neck as she imagined next what his friends would say of her. He’d be a laughingstock. He’d grow to hate and resent her as he was cut from society for having had the audacity to flout convention.

So, it really didn’t matter what his letter said. He could be every bit the scoundrel she had accused him of being at the height of her fury, or he could be the kind and loving man she suspected might linger beneath that cool exterior. Either way, there was no future for them.

Better she held onto her hurt and learned to hate him again. At least then she could protect what remained of her heart for, if she knew that he loved her as she had loved him, the knowledge would eat away at her for the rest of her days.

She sighed again, jumping as Mrs Baxter cursed and threw down the knife she was peeling the spuds with.

“That’s it!” the woman said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I can’t take another day of this.”

She hurried out of the kitchen and Charity watched, open mouthed as she headed for the stairs.

“What… what are you doing?” she demanded, getting to her feet so fast she almost knocked her chair over. She righted it and hurried to the hallway, looking up to see Mrs Baxter as she opened Charity’s bedroom door.

“Oh!” Charity cried in horror, snatching at her skirts and running up the stairs two at a time. “Batty! Batty, don’t you dare!” she screeched, heart pounding as she rounded the corner. She almost knocked Kit flat as he emerged from his room, hair awry as it often was when he was writing.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” he shouted, infuriated. “I’m trying to work!”

“Oh, do mind out, Kit!” she snapped, pushing him from her path and running to her own room as her brother swore and stomped after her.

She got to the door just as Mrs Baxter tore the seal open on the envelope.

“That’s private!” she cried, disbelieving that the woman would go so far.

That she’d taken David’s… Devlin’s… ugh… his side, was obvious. She’d been making remarks and dropping less than subtle hints for weeks, all of which Charity had ignored.

“I don’t care,” Mrs Baxter threw back at her. “I can’t watch you throw away a fine man like that because you’re too pig-headed to even see what he wrote to you!”

“Batty, please,” Charity begged, unable to find the words to explain that it wasn’t stubbornness on her part, not this time. It was self-preservation.

It was too late though.

Batty’s eyes scanned the paper and she gasped, sitting down on the edge of Charity’s bed with her hand over her heart.

“What?” Charity demanded, sick to her stomach with apprehension.

Mrs Baxter seemed shocked so… what the hell had he said? She snatched the paper from her hands, knowing she would have to read it now.

She was trembling so hard she couldn’t hold the paper still and it took her several attempts to understand what she was reading. Her breath snagged in her throat and she covered her mouth at the sob that threatened to escape.

“What the devil did the wretch say to you now?” Kit demanded, his eyes alight with fury. “If that bastard has upset you again, I swear to God—”

“Language, Kit!” Mrs Baxter snapped.

Kit glared at her but held his tongue. “Will someone be so kind as to tell me what the bloo—what on earth is going on?”

“He’s given it to me, Kit,” Charity said, her voice faint as she looked up at her twin. “The farm, the land… all of it. It isn’t a letter, it’s the deed to Brasted Farm, in my name.”

Kit stared at her, opening and closing his mouth as her words sunk in.

“Oh,” he said, sitting down beside Batty as his anger leached away. “Well, that is… unexpected.”

They’d known Lord Devlin had stopped the sale, having heard Squire Thompson had agreed to buy the old Sampson farm instead, some ten miles from Brasted. As Kit had said, though, it was the least the devil could do. The relief of not being made homeless had been negated by their hurt and fury at the way he had deceived them.

And yet now….

Charity stared at the deed in her hand and swallowed, emotions pushing at her throat, demanding release.

“Well then, Miss,” Mrs Baxter said, folding her arms and fixing her with a rather piercing expression. “What now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Charity said, and burst into tears.