"A ball! What a spiffing idea, old chap."
Lord Payne was the only person who met Ruan's suggestion that the Deverauxs hold a ball, with any modicum of enthusiasm. Jane looked positively pained at the idea and her brother more than a little bewildered.
"But," Lord Deveraux frowned, "You hate balls. You hate society. You hate being polite to society. I just don't understand your reasons, Everleigh."
"If I am to return to Pemberton hall," Ruan said slowly, searching for a reason that wasn't as embarrassing as telling Deveraux he simply wished to dance with his wife. "I would like to be publicly welcomed by society. I know it's a lot to ask of you, when you have already done so much..."
He trailed off and adopted what he hoped was a piteous look, rather than the irritation he felt. He was used to people agreeing with his ideas straight away, not questioning them. Jane was right, he thought, he was far too used to being an over-entitled Duke.
"What a good idea," Payne's boyish face lit up, as he swallowed Ruan's dreadful reasoning. "After all that ghastly business with the late Duchess it would be a good idea to test the waters before you returned permanently. I say, maybe there'll be a few eligible young ladies for me to peruse --I received another letter from my mother today, warning me that Father is making rumblings about marrying me off."
"I'm afraid my Lord, that I am the only single lady for miles, so I pray you lower your expectations for the night."
Lord Payne glanced at Jane in surprise, her droll tone having elicited a smile from Ruan.
"Well if you are the bar against which all the single ladies of Cornwall are to be compared, then it is set very high indeed, Lady Jane," the young, blonde man said gallantly. Jane flushed, and Ruan thought that she looked rather pleased, until her brother gave a disparaging snort at the notion. Honestly, when had Deveraux become such a boor?
"Then it's settled," Jane valiantly ignored her brother's bad manners, and turned to Ruan with a smile, "Now that Lord Payne knows not to expect a crush of beautiful debutants, we are in agreement. I shall notify the housekeeper to have the ballroom aired out, and I'll set about sending out the invitations."
"Jolly good," Payne smiled at the bespectacled young woman, "I shall help you write them,to save your hand from aching."
"Cornwall society is rather small, my Lord, it shan't take more than an hour. Though thank you for your offer."
Ruan got the impression that Jane was less than entranced by the idea of spending any time alone with Lord Payne, though the young buck seemed to miss the message in her words. "No I'd like to help Jane, and if it won't take long then you could, perhaps, help me to pen a letter to my mother. I need someone who has a good way with words, and I've rather a lot of explaining to do, what with the carriage accident and everything else..."
His voice faded, as the two exited the room, leaving Ruan and Deveraux alone in the library.
"Shall we invite Lord Keyford?" Deveraux's done was deliberately light, for he knew that it was a heavy question. Ruan thought for a moment, before answering. What Lavelle had told him in Southampton had convinced him that Keyford was the man behind the numerous attacks on his person, and perhaps a staid country ball would be the best place to observe his late wife's father?
"Ask him in person," Ruan suggested, relieved when Deveraux nodded in agreement with his idea. "Let him know that I'll be here. If he comes, he comes. If not..."
If not, then perhaps Lord Keyford was the man behind the attacks. Ruan excused himself to take a walk, fetching his coat and hat from his bedchamber, before venturing out into the soft evening air. Jarvis House was a mere five minutes from the village, and Ruan gently strolled along the path, appreciating the peace of the evening, and the sounds of birds and insects in the hedgerow. The church of the parish of St. Jarvis was perched at the top of the hill, which ran down to the village. Like many other buildings in the locale, it was built from Cornish granite, and was surrounded by a slate wall. The churchyard was tidy, with an abundance of speedwells and figworts swaying in the light breeze. Ruan opened the gate, and followed the stone path around to the back of the church, where the graveyard was. Many new headstones had appeared since he had last visited, and he paused to read the names of those who had died in recent years. He felt his chest tighten as he approached Catherine's grave; at the head there was a simple granite headstone, which was inscribed with her name and the date of her death. He hunkered down before the stone, and as he did so he saw two roses had been laid there, quite recently, by the looks of how fresh they were. Ruan lifted one, and examined it curiously. It was a fine, long-stemmed rose, he knew by the quality of it that it must have been grown in a hot-house. It certainly hadn't come from Jarvis House, he thought, remembering his pathetic bunch of posies. Would Lord Keyford have left it? Ruan thought on what he knew of his father in law; Keyford had been a mean, tight individual, who had shown very little love to his only legitimate child during her lifetime. Perhaps, though, her death had filled him with remorse?
Ruan sighed; he would probably never know who had left the roses-- though he could rule out most of the villagers, who would not have the type of money for such sentimental frivolities. He rested his hand on the headstone, and lowered his head to say a short prayer for his late wife. He had not known, when he was two and twenty, what he was taking on when he married Catherine. It had been akin to adopting a child; she was so vulnerable and helpless. He had tried to protect her, both from outside influences and the horrors that inflicted her internally, but he had failed. After her death he had been filled with sorrow, grief and guilt --and the guilt was made worse by the fact that, once some time had passed, he felt a sense of relief. This, more than anything, had convinced him that the rumours about him were true: he was a monster. The only person he had confided this to was Polly, and he had expected to receive a thorough dressing down from the straight talking Northerner. Instead he had found comfort, for she had merely told him that caring for someone --as she did for Emily and he had for Catherine--was not a straightforward business.
"Everything you did, you did because you loved Catherine, and wanted to protect her," she had soothed him. "And you did right by her, at great personal sacrifice to your own needs and wishes. Love is not an easy emotion your Grace; it's a million feelings all rolled into one, good and bad. Caring for Catherine was difficult, there's no harm in admitting that it was not all a bed of roses, for you do yourself a great disservice by pretending that it was."
His knees creaked slightly as he rose, and he began the short journey back to Jarvis House. As he exited the churchyard, he stole a glance down the path that led to the village. He could see the boarding house from here, and the lights blazed merrily in the windows. In Olive, he felt that he might find some redemption, if only she would let him be the husband that he knew he could be.