Chapter 7

 

“Wherein even a devil can’t drown a fluffy little kitten.”

The next day, Dev found the kitchens deserted. A note on the table instructed him that there was bread, cheese, and ham in the pantry, and that he should help himself. From the terse tone of the note he gathered that Miss Kendall had written it. Mrs Baxter, Miss Kendall, and John had gone to market and would not be back until that evening.

Dev rubbed at his beard in irritation. There was little enough to amuse him here but at least getting under Miss Kendall’s skin afforded him some entertainment. Without her prickly presence, or Mrs Baxter fattening him up like a Christmas turkey, he felt rather at a loose end.

By half past ten he was going out of his mind with boredom and things got so bad he decided he’d try to read a book. Dev hated to sit still for more than half an hour at a time in normal circumstances, too much nervous energy fizzing beneath his skin to allow such peaceful repose. As a gentleman he might have eschewed work in all its forms, but that was not to say he was idle. He rode and fenced, boxed and socialised, drank too much, slept too little, and spent too much time in the company of scandalous women.

If he was being honest, he’d have to admit that he had never felt better than he had the past few days. Now that his bruises were healing and his head had stopped thudding, he felt rested. His liver was certainly thanking him as it seemed there was little in the way of strong liquor in the house. The dark circles had gone from under his eyes, and the jaded, rather dissipated look he’d noticed growing marked in his face over the past few years was fading with good food and a proper night’s sleep.

In fact, he felt disgustingly healthy and in need of something physical to do. He was damned if would risk running into Mr Baxter, though. The man looked at him as if he were a malevolent spirit and made peculiar signs with his hands when he thought Dev wasn’t looking. Dev was certain they were meant to ward off evil. Not that he cared what the mad old fellow thought of him, but he was damned if he’d endure another lecture from the Bible. It reminded him too much of his father’s words for comfort.

So, a book it was. With a resigned sigh he pushed open the study door, as the few books the house seemed to possess lived here, and was roundly cursed as he set foot in the room.

“Damnation! Didn’t I say I was not to be disturbed when I was working?” Kit looked up from a desk littered with screwed up pieces of paper, a tattered quill in his ink-stained hands. “Oh,” he said, as he saw Dev standing in the doorway. “It’s you.”

That didn’t seem to be a positive statement, but Dev was never one to be put off by rudeness. In fact, he viewed it as a challenge. That being the case, he closed the door behind him and hovered, craning his neck to look over Kit’s work.

“Can I help you with something?” Kit demanded, gathering his papers up and stuffing the crumpled pieces in the bin.

“Not a thing,” Dev replied, smiling.

Kit sighed and narrowed his eyes at him. “Look, I don’t like you, you don’t like me. So, do us both a favour and bugger off. I’ve got work to do.”

Dev chuckled and wondered just how much trouble the twins had gotten into as children with their outspoken natures.

“So, you’re a poet?” said he asked, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms.

“I am,” Kit said tersely. “What are you?”

There was a suspicious glint in his eye, but Dev grinned at him and shrugged.

“A gentleman,” he replied, his tone affable.

Kit snorted, a disparaging sound that Dev would normally have taken exception to, but he was riling the fellow on purpose, and he didn’t want to get thrown out for breaking his host’s nose.

“Your notion of a gentleman and mine are not necessarily the same,” Kit said, smiling through his teeth in a manner that made a parody of his polite tone.

“I have no doubt of that,” Dev replied, accentuating his cut glass accent.

“Just stay away from my sister,” Kit growled, the sudden fury in his voice taking Dev a little by surprise. Surely, he didn’t think…?

“Miss Kendall?” Dev repeated, all at once a little on his guard.

“Of course, Miss Kendall!” Kit exploded, throwing down his quill so that ink splattered several clean sheets of paper. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, like you’d eat her in one bite.”

Dev gaped at the man, wondering if he was touched in his upper works. Perhaps there had been a little flirtation but … “Are you mad? Or just deluded? I mean I’ve heard of poets having vivid imaginations but really!”

“Oh, don’t come the innocent with me.” Kit got to his feet in one smooth movement, shoving back his chair and moving from behind the desk. “I know your type, with your looks and your money. You think any woman is yours for the taking and you don’t care what becomes of them when you grow tired and move on.” The young man got up, stalking closer, his expression furious now. “Well, not my sister.”

Dev had to admit he was rather impressed. He’d thought the young man a spineless sort—intellectuals often were, in his experience—and to see him defend his sister, albeit for no good reason, raised him in Dev’s estimation.

Nonetheless.

Dev drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. They were not far off in height, but Kit’s uncertain health had deprived him of the breadth that Dev carried with ease.

“Your sister cannot stand the sight of me,” Dev said, biting out the words in a precise manner, as if he was explaining to someone with a mental impairment. “And I assure you the feeling is mutual. The idea that there is anything of… of a… romantic nature is quite frankly ludicrous.”

Kit took a step closer, his voice low and angry now. “Damn you, David, or whatever your name is. I see the way you watch each other. The air is so thick when the two of you are in a room you could cut it like cheese.”

Dev opened his mouth, but Kit didn’t let him speak.

“She’s had a tough time, sacrificed everything for the rest of the family, and she has no more notion of men than a kitten of a lion. She’s innocent, and I intend to keep it that way, so keep away.”

Dev gaped as Kit snatched his work from the desk and stalked from the room, slamming the door as he went.

Well, that had been unexpected.

Miss Kendall had been watching him? A frisson of excitement ran down Dev’s spine, which he rather suspected had not been the outcome her twin had been hoping for.

If he was honest with himself—a rarity, it was true—her virtue was something of a lure. That surprised him more than anything else. Virgins had held no interest for him. Far better an experienced woman who knew what she was about than having to teach someone what was what. Far too much hassle.

Yet being the first to ever kiss those lush lips… would she taste as tart as her sharp tongue suggested, or sweet?

The frisson grew stronger, prickling over his skin, desire heating his blood as the idea took hold.

Damn it. No.

Dev clenched his fists and let out a breath. He was a bastard all right, and turning this family out on their ear to save his own sorry hide was something he was quite prepared to do, though he admitted that the tiny sliver of guilt was just a little heavier than it had been. Yet if it was between himself lying dead in a ditch and the Kendall family being upended and moved, then they could damn well start packing.

Seducing Miss Kendall before they were evicted, however? No. There were limits to his villainy, though it surprised him to discover it. That was a line he would not cross.

***

Dev wandered the farm after his confrontation with young Mr Kendall, eager to rid himself of the restless sensation burning beneath his skin. He needed something to do and he needed it fast. Ogden had been correct. He’d never taken the slightest bit of interest in the running of his estate or any tenants living upon it. He could see the farm was in good order. Many of the pigs they reared were out to pannage, foraging the moors and woodland but the farrowing sows were kept in the piggery and were fat and healthy. There were also a good number of chickens, geese, turkeys and ducks, as well as a cow and at least a dozen goats. The house itself was sturdy and in excellent repair, with signs of recent work to the slate roof visible. Apart from one paddock which needed attention, all the fences were strong and, even to his inexperienced eye, the cultivated fields were well tended. He didn’t have the faintest idea if they were growing wheat or barley but to his uneducated gaze it looked good. It was a rare thing, in this part of the world, to have land fit for anything but grazing. He suspected many years of hard graft had brought them to this point.

Pleased that he’d inspected the place whilst evading the dour companionship of Mr Baxter, Dev walked on further. The sun was high now, burning the back of his neck. He strode away from the farm and up the hill that lay behind, enjoying stretching his muscles. The terrain became rockier and he climbed, pausing for a moment to admire the view as the countryside stretched on into the infinite, or so it appeared from this vantage point. It was a harsh and rugged beauty, not the soft greens and rolling hills he’d found further south when he’d travelled the country.

Dev drew in a breath, wondering why the landscape spoke to him today when it had felt so unwelcoming before. Could he find a home of sorts in this isolated landscape rather than constantly escaping to London? Another question reared its head. Did he care about the fate of the Devlin name after all?

He’d been so certain he wanted to grind his prestigious name into the dust, to cast their history to the four winds and laugh as he did it. His father had been so damn proud that it had seemed a fitting tribute. Yet now, at the eleventh hour, his resolution wavered.

Was he such a child that he would continue to destroy his own life, his ancient heritage, just to spite a man who was no longer around to see him do it?

He’d always thought so, but now….

Dev hesitated, thinking it over for once instead of just carrying on with the promise he’d made himself so many years ago. He wondered what Miss Kendall would think of such a destructive vow and snorted as he conjured her disgusted expression. Good Lord, she’d give him a dressing down for wasting such an opportunity. She’d not do anything so careless and criminal as to throw away a moment of her life.

No, she’d fight for it, tooth and nail.

Unbidden, the image of her dark eyes softening came to him; her mouth forming a smile just for him, shy and sweet instead of a thin line of displeasure. He allowed the image to grow as he imagined taking her in his arms, taking her lips….

God damn it!

Irritated, he carried on climbing up the hill.

***

By the time Dev had returned to the farm, he was hot, sweaty, and not in the best of humours. Although he’d walked far enough to take the edge off his desire for physical exertion, the image of Miss Kendall, pliant and willing in his arms, was difficult to shake.

So, it was with a less than enthusiastic reception he greeted little Jane as she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his legs and wailing like a small but determined banshee.

“Whatever is that racket for?” he demanded, looking down in horror as the little girl stared up at him, fat tears streaming from her big brown eyes.

“Please, Mr David, please, please don’t let him do it.”

“Let who do what?” Dev said, perplexed as the child reached for his hand and tugged him forward.

She was strong for a tiny slip of a thing and kept a tenacious grip on his fingers as she pulled him in her wake.

“There!” she said, with a theatrical flourish the great actor Kean himself would have approved of as she pointed the finger like an infuriated soothsayer.

He almost expected a crack of thunder to sound overhead, such was the desperate energy vibrating from her slender frame. Instead he saw Mr Baxter dangling a tiny grey kitten over the open mouth of an old grain sack.

“He’s going to murder them, Mr David!” she wailed, clutching at his arm now and sobbing as though her heart would break.

Oh, for the love of everything holy….

A pitiful mewling sound reached Dev’s ears and he knew he was sunk. Though he’d deny it if asked and ignored anything small and fluffy on principle, buried down deep he had to acknowledge that he had a soft spot for animals. His parents had never allowed him a dog as a child. His mother’s nerves would not endure barking, and she disliked cats. The only animals that his father kept were useful hunting dogs that would likely bite your finger off given half a chance, and horses, naturally.

Pets were an indulgence that the late viscount had not approved of, concerned that they would scratch the polished wood floors and ruin the furniture. No amount of pleading on Dev’s part as a boy had changed his mind.

He had once kept a kitten for a short while, unbeknownst to his father. A wild thing it had been, taken from the stables and hidden with care. The feral creatures could roam the stables at will as they kept the mice down and out of the feed. His father had discovered the poor creature and drowned it.

“Now then, Miss Jane,” Mr Baxter said, dropping the kitten into the sack and closing his fist around the opening. “We’ve been through this. They got no mama, no one to feed them. They can’t survive on their own and it’s crueller by far to let the poor mites starve.”

“I got no mama either!” Little Jane shot back at him, and Dev found himself rather impressed by the strength of her argument. She was clearly of Miss Kendall’s blood. “Shall you put me in the sack and drown me too?”

Mr Baxter rubbed a weary hand over his face. “Don’t you twist my words now,” the fellow said, looking increasingly put upon. “You had Miss Kendall and Mr Kit, not to mention me and Mrs Baxter. Plenty of folk to look after you!”

“I can look after the kittens! I can!” she shouted, stamping her foot in fury. “Tell him, Mr David.”

Imploring, she turned glittering, guileless eyes upon him and Dev cursed under his breath.

“Well, couldn’t she?” he asked Mr Baxter, rubbing the back of his neck and wishing the lot of them at Hades, kittens and all.

Mr Baxter returned a scathing expression. “That young’un could sleep through a thunderstorm that would rattle the brain in your head. There’s no way on earth she’ll wake to feed kittens, and I ain’t doing it, that’s for good and certain.” The man placed on gnarled hand on his hip, the squirming sack still writhing in the other.

Jane wrapped her arms around Dev’s thigh and began to cry. Not the theatrical, wailing sobs she’d started with, rather the quiet, pitiful weeping of a child who knew she had no power in a world run by adults.

Hell and damnation.

“Give me the sack,” Dev said, wondering if he’d gone completely off his head. If anyone ever heard about this….

Mr Baxter stared at him, dumbfounded. “If you think you can bully me into—”

“Just give me the damn sack,” Dev roared, fed-up to the back teeth of the whole affair by now. “I’ll feed the blasted creatures.”

Mr Baxter held the sack out to him, his expression so puzzled it was almost comical, as Dev snatched it from his grasp and stalked into the house.

Jane followed at his heels like a lamb, as Dev muttered obscenities under his breath and ignored the expression of stunned adoration shining in her large, brown eyes.

***

“I don’t believe you.”

Charity stared at Mr Baxter, who seemed torn between quiet bewilderment and consternation.

“Go and look then!” he retorted, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “I tell you now, the two of them are in the barn, feeding the wretched things our cream!”

Pausing for long enough to cast the man a doubtful expression, Charity hurried off. This she needed to see.

They’d done their business in record time at the market and had made good time getting back too, so were home rather earlier than expected. She suspected it was for this reason alone that she caught them.

David had placed the kittens in the in the tack room so they could close the door and keep any of the barn toms out. He made a sort of nest by fluffing up straw and corralling the kittens in by piling more sheaves around them. David sat in the straw, heedless of the damage to his fine boots, and held a tiny grey bundle of fluff in his large hands, while Jane encouraged the kitten to suckle from a twisted bit of muslin dipped in cream.

“That’s it,” David said, his voice quiet and encouraging, though whether he was speaking to the kitten or Jane she wasn’t sure.

“It’s drinking at last,” Jane said, excitement in her eyes as she cast him a look of admiration. “This one is much weaker than the others, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” David replied, smiling at the kitten. “It will work like this until it’s stronger, then you can feed it from a teaspoon.”

Charity felt something lurch in her chest at that smile. Drat the man. Why did he have to go and be kind to defenceless animals? It was so much easier to hate someone who treated his horse with contempt or kicked puppies. Not that she was sorry he’d rescued the kittens. She’d tried her best to harden her heart over the years—farming was not for the tender hearted, that was for certain—but she could no more have drowned the kittens than Jane could… which was likely why Mr Baxter had waited until she’d gone out to deal with them.

She shifted from behind the barn wall, craning her neck to get a better view.

“Oh, Mr David, you are clever,” Jane gushed, clinging to his strong arm with her small hands. “How did you know what to do?”

Charity watched as the man hesitated before he answered. “I had a kitten once, when I was around your age,” he said.

“Oh,” Jane sighed and snuggled up to him, and Charity could now see that the four other kittens were asleep in his lap. She bit her lip against the exclamation that burned on her tongue. “That explains it. What was it called?”

“Dinah,” he replied, stroking the tiny kitten’s head with one large finger before placing it with its brothers and sisters. “She was black, with one white paw.”

“Awww,” Jane said, giggling, her dark curls falling over the sleeve of his shirt. “Mr David?”

“Yes?”

She rested her head against his heavy arm, staring up at him in such a way that Charity felt a lump rise to her throat. “Thank you so much for rescuing them for me.”

David frowned, then sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck and looking as uncomfortable as any man could. “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly.

Jane beamed at him and then looked up as John’s voice echoed around the yard.

“Oh, John’s home! I must tell him what you did.”

Before he could protest, Jane ran from the barn, hurrying past Charity without noticing she was there.