Beloved (21 page)

Devlin picked up a white box and opened it to reveal an emerald bracelet. “Whoever sent this knows how well such strong color
becomes you,” he said, smiling at her. “May I put this on for you?”

Suspicion wheedled its way into Ella’s mind. She extended her left hand and snuffed out the thought. Ridiculous. Devlin North
wasn’t a man likely to be attracted to Ella as anything more than a family friend. On the other hand … Excitement fluttered
in her breast. Perhaps Saber…

Devlin concentrated on fastening the bracelet and held her wrist toward sunlight streaming through the window. “See how it
shines?” His attention shifted from the bracelet to her eyes. “But beside you, it is pale. I’m certain the man who sent this
would say as much. If he were here, that is. And I know he wants nothing more than to be here with you.”

Ella couldn’t find words.

His fingers lingered on her wrist, hovered over the deep green stones of the bracelet, slipped around to hold her hand. “Of
course, he knows he is with you whenever you spare a thought for his gifts—and his regard for you.” The tips of Devlin’s fingers
caressed Ella’s palm.

Blanche’s enormous yellow skirts swayed, and she sighed loudly.

“No messages?” Devlin said, releasing Ella as if he loathed to do so. “No evidence of the admirer’s identity?”

A single admirer? Why would Devlin assume all the gifts were from one man? “No messages at all.” Unless Devlin knew that only
one man was responsible for the deluge of expensive tokens.

Fleetingly, he touched the point of her chin. “When I first saw you—at the lodge at Castle Kirkcaldy—you were a beauty. I
told Struan and Justine as much. You have only become more so. And you are a delight, to boot, Ella Rossmara. Any man would
count himself blessed to have you for his own.”

Thoroughly embarrassed, Ella fussed with one of the vases of spring blossoms. Papa had been disquieted by Devlin’s attentions
to her at that time. But surely Devlin wasn’t, by these obscure means… No, he couldn’t be.

“Nothing to say, little Ella?” He pulled a red tulip from the vase. “Someone knows your affinity for simple things. Simple,
elegant things.”

Ella studied his face. “You think so?”

“Oh, yes.” Slowly, his eyes moved from the tulip to her face. “Someone wants to see you surrounded by simple elegance. An
emerald bracelet of impeccable design, cream roses in crystal vases, an ivory fan with diamonds where only you will be the
one to see them—earbobs of pearls and diamonds that will be warmed by your skin. The man has studied you well, Ella.”

“More than one man, I should say,” Blanche said excitedly. Great-Grandmama said, “Hush,” in a voice that brooked no argument.

Devlin ignored them both. He rested the head of the tulip against Ella’s cheek. “Have you noted how the petals of a tulip
resemble velvet?”

She nodded, unable to move. “This one is red velvet. The texture of your lips, but not as subtle in color.” Openly, he studied
her mouth. “Not as subtle at all,” he murmured, his own lips remaining parted.

Momentarily mesmerized, Ella heard her sharp intake of breath. “The gifts are quite lovely,” she said faintly. The box containing
the earbobs had been closed by the time he entered the room and the ivory fan was upstairs in her bedchamber….

She was imagining nothing. A woman would have to be made of wood not to feel the passion in Devlin’s words—in his actions.
He was wooing her!

“I do hope you have made the right decision in this,” Margot told Saber. “Perhaps you should reconsider,
mon chi.
”

Saber tucked her arm through his elbow and climbed the steps to the front door of the Stonehaven Mansion in Hanover Square.
“You trusted me to get you out of India, Margot. You have trusted my every decision since those dreadful days. Do you suddenly
doubt me now?” Regardless of his dear friend’s opinion, there could be no turning back.

“I trust you in all things,” Margot said quietly. “You are the best of men, Saber. The most honorable and kind. Without you
I should have been branded a bigamist and cast out entirely.”

“Don’t think of it now,” he told her, patting her hand. “That is all behind you. And it is—as I so often tell you—it is hardly
your fault that you were a young girl taken in by a man who promised you a wonderful life.”

“A man who married me when he was already married and—”

She broke off as the door opened to reveal the Stonehavens’ squat butler.

Crabley’s mashed little nose wrinkled and his shiny black eyes took in first Margot, then Saber before he said, “Come one,
come all,” in his peculiarly toneless voice, and stood back for them to enter.

He led the way to a closed door, knocked, and went in. “Lord Avenall,” he announced, “and …” His wave toward Margot was delivered
with a flourish before he departed without waiting to hear her identity.

Margot gave an astonished laugh.

Saber was more astonished to see Devlin seated with Ella on a gold brocade chaise. A woman in yellow whom he had never met
sat in a chair near the chaise.

Devlin leaped to his feet and strode across the room. “Saber! This is a surprise!”

“Evidently,” Saber muttered.

Devlin drew down his arched brows. “I came to pay my respects to Ella and her family.” He inclined his head significantly,
and Saber followed the motion to an array of stunning bouquets set upon a gilt console between two windows. “Struan and Justine
are out visiting. The dowager duchess is here, but she’s gone to rest.”

“Overwhelmed by so much coming and going,” the woman in yellow said fatuously. “I’m the dowager’s companion, Blanche Bastible.
I’m also the Marquess of Stonehaven’s mother-in-law.”

At that Saber spared the woman an interested look. “Grace’s mother?”

A large bosom rose beneath the yellow gown. “Such a trial,” she said. “Daughters. One cannot rely upon them to provide for
one’s comfort in times of difficulty. Such a cruel stroke that I should have been granted only a daughter, when a son would
have known how to ensure that his mother never worried for a moment of her days.”

Saber remembered the story of Blanche Wren Bastible and how she had all but forced her daughter into marrying Arran to secure
her own good fortune. Good fortune had truly come in the form of the eventual outcome of Grace’s stormy courtship—if that
was the correct term for what had been described—with Arran.

“I am Countess Perruche,” Margot said suddenly. She nodded at Blanche but went directly to sit beside Ella. “We met briefly
at the charming soiree at the Eagletons’? There was no opportunity to get to know each other.”

If Ella was delighted to meet Margot, she disguised her happiness well. “A memorable evening,” she said, looking not at Margot
but at Saber. “Unforgettable.”

He absorbed the jolt that struck him in places best forgotten at this moment. “Indeed,” he agreed stiffly. “I wanted you to
meet Margot. She is a very dear friend of mine.”

“Is she?” The chill was unmistakable. “We met in India,” Margot told Ella. “Saber was so very kind to me.”

Ella’s face became marble cold. “Saber can be very kind, it seems.” She threaded her fingers through pleats in her deep-green
dress. “I’m lucky today. First Devlin. Then you, Saber. So much attention.”

There was something in her voice, something completely unlike her. Annoyance, perhaps? Suspicion? He favored Devlin with a
long, contemplative stare. His friend had made no mention of any intention to visit Ella.

“A girl making her first entry into Society should receive much attention,” Margot said, twinkling as only Margot could twinkle.
Today she was utterly charming in a blue-gray promenade dress and wide-brimmed, matching bonnet. “Of course, in France things
were not so—er—not so simple is perhaps the word I search for. I married my husband, Count Perruche, and went to India. But
that is my story, and it is not interesting, I assure you.”

Blanche Bastible’s avid attention irritated Saber. “We are detaining you, Mrs. Bastible. I’m sure my grandmother must depend
very heavily upon you. Please don’t let us keep you from her.”

“Oh, you aren’t,” she said, her round blue eyes very wide. “Please check on her,” Ella said flatly. “The countess will be
an excellent chaperon, won’t you, Countess?”

“You must call me Margot. Of course you must go to the dowager, Mrs. Bastible. It has been a pleasure to meet you.”

Blanche opened her mouth, obviously about to protest, but shut it again and left the room without another word.

When the door had closed, Saber said, “I’m here for the reason we discussed, Ella,” and detested the formality in his voice.
“I have decided—and Margot has kindly agreed—that with her in attendance there will be no question regarding my attentions
to you at upcoming functions.”

He saw the immediate glitter in Ella’s eyes. She quickly looked at her hands in her lap.

“Isn’t Saber clever?” Margot said at once, covering Ella’s hands but flashing a warning glance at Saber. “He does always think
of all things. He has persuaded me that if he is apparently escorting me, his attendance upon you will be seen as nothing
more than appropriate family concern.”

“I see,” Ella said. She extended a slender wrist upon which a bracelet—the bracelet he had selected—of emeralds winked. “I
love this, don’t you? Devlin was kind enough to put it on for me.”

Saber cleared his throat. “A lovely thing, indeed.” He scowled at Devlin. Had he come here and overplayed his hand? Did Ella
suspect her tributes had come from Saber? “Looks as if you’ve already gathered a gaggle of admirers, young Ella.”

“Does it?” She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “A gaggle, do you think? Or perhaps just one very determined man?”

Devlin became exceedingly interested in carvings along the mantel.

“What would make you think one man had sent so many gifts?” Saber asked, staring at Devlin’s back.

Ella said, “Oh, the notion has been suggested.”

Damn Devlin’s eyes. He’d overstepped himself this time. “May I see what you have been given?” Margot asked, getting up and
offering her hand to Ella with the natural friendliness Saber so admired in the woman. “Come, I will not deny that I do adore
pretty things.”

Ella allowed herself to be led to a collection of jewelry boxes on the table with the flowers. Margot was soon exclaiming
over the contents.

Saber went to stand at Devlin’s side and said, “Why did you come here?”

Devlin straightened, but did not look at Saber. “To pay a friendly visit on Ella.”

“What would make her think so many different gifts might come from one man?” Saber asked softly.

“Can’t imagine.”

“You can’t imagine? It couldn’t be that you decided to turn my little plans around, could it?”

“No idea what you mean.”

Saber itched to force Devlin to turn around. “Are you sure you haven’t…? Well, have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Don’t be obscure with me, man. Did you say to Ella that … Did you?”

At last Devlin gave his full, apparently puzzled attention to Saber. “You’re not making much sense, old man. Did I? You’ll
have to do better than that.”

Saber felt Ella glance at him and lowered his voice even further. “Did you
say
anything? To her.”

“Oh.” Comprehension spread over Devlin’s face. “You mean … Oh, you can’t mean that.”

“Did you say I sent all these things? Did you decide you know better than I what is good for her—and for me?”

“Damn it all, Saber,” Devlin exclaimed under his breath. “I don’t like your tone. Or your suggestion. A man spends his valuable
time trying to help a fellow out. Only to be accused of mischief? I say, that’s rum.”

Saber’s spine stung. “Well… Oh, forget I made any such suggestion. I’m on edge.”

“So you may be. But there’s no call to start doubting your friends. As it happens, I don’t agree with your decision on this
matter. But I wouldn’t go against your wishes, old chap. Good God, I’m not your father, am I?”

“Hardly.”

Margot was chattering louder and louder while Ella openly, and curiously, watched Saber and Devlin.

The arrival of Justine, a newspaper clutched in one hand, was a welcome diversion. Radiant in pale mauve, Saber’s cousin puffed
with obvious excitement. “Struan has gone on to attend to some business with his solicitor. I came back to be here for your
appointment with the modiste, Ella.” She smiled around, nodding recognition at Margot. “We’re about to have Ella’s gown made
for her first ball.”

Ella muttered something indistinct. “But I must share this with you,” Justine said, unfolding the paper. “I am simply amazed.
Lord Wokingham’s puffed off his intentions to marry … Guess who? Come along—guess, all of you.”

Her question was met with slowly shaken heads. “Oh, come along,” Justine said, her smile broadening. “Make a teeny guess.
But make it a wild one.”

“Mama!” Ella chuckled. “This isn’t like you. Tell us at once.”

“Oh, all right.
Precious Able.
That very garrulous girl. The clergyman’s daughter. Can you imagine such a thing?”

“No,” Ella said. “Surely you mean Pomeroy Wokingham.” Saber shared Ella’s wish to hear that they could forget Pomeroy’s suit.
“Read it again, Justine. It can’t be old Wokingham.”

“Well, it is,” Justine said, sounding aggrieved. “Says as much right here. Greville, Lord Wokingham, to Miss Precious Able,
daughter of, et cetera. There, you can’t have it plainer than that, can you?”

Crabley, entering once more with measured steps, interrupted the conversation. “Come one, come all,” he droned, bearing a
box before him. The box was fashioned of beaten silver and shaped like a large heart. “Another delivery. Don’t have to say
who it’s for, do I?”

Silently, Ella received the box. “Open it!” Margot bobbed. “Quickly. This is so exciting.” The hinged lid lifted to reveal
iced confections, each decorated with a sugar flower.

“Oh,” Margot said, awed. “How extravagantly wonderful.” Justine folded her newspaper. “You are already a toast, Ella.”

Saber watched Ella closely and all but exclaimed when she took a small card from inside the rich box. “You didn’t actually
put a message in?” he whispered to Devlin. “What name did you use?”