The Devil to Pay (32 page)

“To come home?” Devellyn’s voice was laced with doubt. “Father, I…I do not know. Are you sure, sir, that this is what you want?”

His father tried to smile. “Does it matter what I want?” he asked. “A dying man has not the luxury of time, Aleric. I have a wrong to right and a wife to appease. An injury to heal—one which I thoughtlessly inflicted on my family.”

Devellyn did not know what to say. For so long, he had prayed for his father to extend even the thinnest of olive branches. But this was not just a branch. It was at least half the tree. Still, he hesitated. The timing could not have been worse. He had Sidonie to think about. He wasn’t about to leave her alone and unprotected with this chap Sisk on her heels. Besides, matters had to be settled between them, and soon, or he was going to go mad.

But his father spoke again, and this time, his voice was almost dreamy. “There is, you know, that old stone cottage by the lake,” he said pensively. “I do not know about such things, but your mother tells me it is very romantic. Last year, she even redecorated it.”

Devellyn was not following. “The cottage near the boathouse, sir?” he answered. “Yes, it’s charming.”

His father’s eyes slowly met his. “It is the perfect spot, your mother says, for a honeymoon.” He stopped, and cleared his throat roughly. “We thought—or your mother suggested—that you and your Sidonie might wish to spend a part of your wedding trip there.”

Devellyn was reeling now. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “But Sidonie has not said yes.”

“She will,” he said. “I’ve driven her to it, I think.”

“I beg your pardon?”

His father stood, but with considerable effort. “Sidonie will say yes, Aleric. And then she will say that I want what I do not deserve,” he whispered. “And it might be true. I want what I have told Elizabeth over and over that I did not want. Because my pride would not let me say otherwise.”

“What, Father?”

“I want my family back before I die,” he whispered. “And perhaps, if God is very forgiving, a grandchild.”

Devellyn pondered it for a moment.
Did
his father deserve it? Well, had Greg deserved to die? Had Devellyn deserved to be punished for it? Tonight, a chap in St. James might get plowed down by an eastbound mail coach, whilst one street over, another would be pocketing a few hundred pounds of ill-got gain at Crockford’s hazard table. And neither of them would deserve their fate. The truth was, people rarely got what was coming to them in this life. That was for the next life, one which Devellyn held no sway over. But he held at least a little sway over this one.

He opened his arms. And his father stepped into them.

Still, it did not yet feel right to embrace one another. Perhaps it would, eventually. Or perhaps not. They would simply have to muddle through and see what came of it all. Devellyn thumped his father soundly on the back. “I think you ought to sit back down, sir,” he said. “And put your feet up.”

“I must look at death’s door,” he grumbled, sounding suddenly like the father Devellyn remembered. “Half the people in the ballroom have told me that tonight.” But he was stretching out on the sofa even as he grumbled, and propping his shoes up on the arm.

Devellyn had seized a pillow from a nearby chair, and was trying to slide it under his father’s heels when the duke spoke again. “As to the ballroom,” he said, his voice pensive. “Elizabeth wishes us to make a pretty speech during supper, thanking everyone for their good wishes, and so forth.”

“An excellent notion,” said Devellyn, sitting down in the chair.

“And there is something else, Aleric, which I think ought to be said,” he continued. “If, that is, you will agree?”

Devellyn was taken aback. “Why, I don’t know, sir,” he said. “I can’t think it’s any business of mine what is said.”

“Ah, then you would think wrongly,” said the duke, folding his hands over his belly. “Be so good, Aleric, as to ring the bell.”

“Yes, of course,” said Devellyn, coming at once to his feet. “What is it, sir, that you require?”

“Dear old Cousin George,” said His Grace. “Tell the footman who answers to fetch him.”

Sidonie was relieved when Aleric came to claim her for the supper dance. He was a welcome sight, wading through the throng, a whole head higher than the rest of the crowd. After the stressful evening she’d suffered, Sidonie had to resist the impulse to throw her arms around his neck and rest her head against the wide, strong wall of his chest. Still, the girlish, giddy smile on her face did not go unnoticed, she was sure.

After the dance, they were joined by Sir Alasdair MacLachlan, who had not partnered anyone, and was at loose ends for supper. He graciously offered Lady Kirton his arm, and together, the four of them went in. The gentlemen left, returning with plates overflowing with crimped salmon, prawns in cream sauce, and chilled asparagus. Sir Alasdair proceeded to entertain them quite charmingly throughout the meal. Devellyn sat quietly, but once or twice, his hand crept beneath the table and into Sidonie’s lap to give her own fingers a reassuring squeeze. Strangely, however, he scarcely ate a bite.

“Are you all right?” she whispered, when Lady Kirton and Sir Alasdair left to investigate the sweets on a table across the room.

“Well enough,” he said, looking pale. “Come outside. Let’s get some air.”

He drew her away from the table and back through the empty ballroom. The portico doors were still open, and he continued on until he reached the very edge, as if he wished to get as far from the house as possible, without actually leaving it. He drew her gently to him, and circled his arms around her shoulders.

Sidonie rubbed her cheek against his lapel. “Did you see him?” she asked. “Was he…polite?”

She sighed with relief when she felt him nod. “He is sorry, Sidonie,” he whispered, pausing to swallow hard. “I believe that he is. And we talked. A bit, anyway. And I don’t know what will come of it, or how we will go on, but at least it is a start.”

She smiled up at him, and his lips settled over hers, soft as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. “I love you, Sidonie,” he said certainly. “I love you so much.” Suddenly, he pulled away from her, and shoved his hand in his pocket. “Look here, I have something for you. A wedding gift, of sorts.”

She frowned a little as he extracted a thick fold of paper. He opened it, and gave it to her. Sidonie skimmed it, then stared at him dumbly. “A deed?” she murmured. “To a
house?
But I have a house. Aleric, I—I don’t understand.”

Devellyn beamed at her boyishly. “Not just any house, Sidonie,” he said, proudly pointing at the address. “A whorehouse.”

“You bought—” She paused to swallow hard. “You bought me a—a house of prostitution as a wedding gift—?”

His eyes widened with alarm. “Just look at the address, Sidonie,” he protested. “See? It’s the one by Gutter Lane. The house near the Cross Keys Inn.”

She looked at him, dumbfounded. “Oh, my God.”

His grin returned. “I told you, Sid, to think big,” he said. “Now the house is yours. If you don’t like what it is, then you may make it into something else.”

“Why, I hardly know what to make of any of this!” she murmured, returning her gaze to the deed.

“Sidonie, don’t you see?” he answered impatiently. “If you will just marry me, you will have the means and influence to change things on a grander scale. Perhaps—well, I am no good judge of such things, but perhaps the house ought to be—oh, I don’t know—I was thinking of a tea shop?”

She looked at him incredulously. “A
tea
shop?”

“With some rooms to let above?” he suggested eagerly. “It is, after all, quite a large house. A tea shop, a coffeehouse, or an inn. Whatever. Any of those things would provide honest work for those women. They would no longer be trapped, and they would not need the Black Angel to avenge them. Ask Lady Kirton to help. She has vast experience in such charitable endeavors.”

Sidonie stood on her toes, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Oh, Aleric, I love you,” she said. “I love you with my whole heart. Not the fluttery, silly sort of love the poets speak of, either. It is something deeper and more all-encompassing than that.”

He cupped her face in his broad palm. “Sidonie,” he whispered. “You will marry me, will you not? Give up this dangerous life and have a very long and dull one with me instead. I know I do not deserve you, but I swear I’ll try to be worthy if you’ll have me. Indeed, it seems my mother is already planning the honeymoon.”

“You must be jesting.”

He smiled, and shook his head. “I am afraid not,” he answered. “Now, you will do it, won’t you? Please say
yes,
my love.”

Sidonie returned her gaze to his and gave him a glowing smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, my love, I would be honored to marry you. Not because you bought me a house, but because I have realized I cannot live without you.”

Just then, a strange scrabbling sound came from the direction of the gardens. Sidonie turned around to see a small, gold-brown dog hurtling up the pathway to the portico, his claws digging into the gravel. The creature wore a little red waistcoat, and his tongue was hanging out like a short wool scarf blown back in the wind. He bounded exuberantly up to Aleric and began to hop about on his hind legs, front paws waving.

“Oh, there you are, Horatio!” said a creaking voice from the gardens. A wizened old lady in a matching red dress stepped into the lamplight and made her way across the wide lawn onto the portico. “Why, Aleric, you scamp! Horatio has been looking for you all evening.”

Aleric had released Sidonie and stepped aside. “Has he, indeed?” he asked, squatting down to pet the dog. Amidst the dog’s exuberant hopping and panting, Aleric introduced Sidonie to his aunt Admeta.

Sidonie extended her hand. “A pleasure, ma’am, I’m sure.”

Admeta’s smile faded, and she turned back to her dog. “What is that, my love?” she said. “You wish what?”

Aleric looked up from the portico. “I did not say a word, aunt.”

Admeta shook her head impatiently. “Horatio,” she said. “I’m talking to Horatio. Come here, my love, into my arms.”

The dog spun around, and bounded to her. She scooped him up, and stood with remarkable grace for one so frail. “Yes, yes,” she encouraged as the dog wiggled and licked at her face. “Do you think so? Yes, I will. I shall ask.”

She turned to Aleric with a beaming smile. “Horatio says I must congratulate you!” she said. “He says, Aleric, that you two have just become betrothed! Is it true?”

Aleric and Sidonie exchanged sidling glances. “It is true,” he admitted. “But not yet public.”

Admeta laughed gleefully. “But Horatio knows!” she said. “He sees things, you know, from up there!” With her free hand, she pointed skyward. The dog began to wiggle again. “Yes, yes, my love, I am sure you may.” She handed the dog to Sidonie.

Eyes wide, Sidonie took him.

“Horatio wishes to kiss the bride,” said Admeta slyly.

And so he did, licking Sidonie from chin to ear. “Thank you,” she murmured, gingerly passing the dog back.

“Well,” said Admeta, “we are late to supper. Our heartiest congratulations!”

Sidonie could only stare after them. “What on earth?”

“One wonders,” said Aleric dryly. “She thinks that dog is her dead husband. Or that he is some sort of psychic medium. I’m not entirely sure what silly notion she has.”

Sidonie turned to look at him. “Aleric, that woman is ninety if she’s a day,” she said grimly. “She could not possibly have overheard us from across the lawn. Perhaps it’s not so silly?”

Aleric just shook his head and took her hand. Arm in arm, they returned through the ballroom to join the other guests, who were by then finishing supper. They entered just as a little bell rang sharply through the air. Quickly, they slipped back into their chairs, but Sidonie did not miss the odd gesture Aleric shot his mother.

Sidonie looked up to see that Aleric’s parents had stood. Her Grace was delicately tapping her fork against her wineglass. “Dear friends!” she began in a clear, carrying voice. “Thank you all so much for coming out tonight to celebrate the happy occasion of Gravenel’s seventieth birthday. And to celebrate with us the reopening of this lovely house, which we—”

Gravenel cleared his throat impatiently.

Her Grace glanced at him, then hastened forward. “Here, Frederick, I leave it to you.”

The duke cleared his throat again. “It is not just my birthday we’ve come together to announce tonight,” he said. “But rather, a far more important occasion—one which, frankly, I often thought I might never live to see. So I would like to ask my cousin George to stand up. George? George, where are you? Ah—yes, there he is in the back.”

“Aleric—?” whispered Sidonie, her hand squeezing his sharply. “What is going on?” She turned to glance at her brother, who was standing deep in the room.

Aleric had gone slightly pale. The duke raised his glass. “Some of you know my cousin, Mr. George Kemble,” he went on. “Others of you may not. But both of us ask you to raise a glass now, and to join us in celebrating the betrothal of my beloved son and heir, Aleric, Lord Dev—”

The entire room cut him off with a collective gasp.

The duke laughed. “Yes, you see now why I thought I might die first,” he said, to which the entire crowd roared with laughter. “And so Elizabeth, George, and I ask you to congratulate Aleric and his intended bride, my cousin Sidonie Saint-Godard, George’s sister.”

From the back of the room, George’s voice rang out clearly and calmly. “To Aleric and Sidonie,” he said, lifting his glass.

“To Aleric and Sidonie,” the confused crowd responded. But they were already looking around one another’s wineglasses in bewilderment and trying to pin their gazes on the happy couple. In response, Aleric dragged Sidonie to her feet, and bowed, still clutching her hand. Somehow, Sidonie managed to curtsey without fainting dead away. Across the room, the duke held Sidonie’s gaze.

“Cousin Sidonie,” he said. “Welcome to the—well, it is a bit redundant, I daresay—but welcome, my dear, to the family.”

The duke sat back down. George promptly vanished. In a matter of seconds, all the guests had returned to their plates or their gossip, or whatever it was they had been doing.