The Heir and the Spare (22 page)

But he was too afraid of her answer to ask.

As he was preparing to leave his hotel suite, there was a knock at the door. A messenger had brought him an urgent letter. It was not, as he had half expected, and half feared, a note informing him that his father had expired. It was from Emilia.

He considered it a sign from heaven when he stepped out of his hotel, on his way to call on Emilia, and saw Lady Palmerston’s carriage parked in front of Hatchards. Recalling Emilia’s fondness for reading, he entered the shop.

There were many customers in at that hour. He looked in each of the aisles, ignoring the clerk who asked if he could be of any assistance. Finally, he caught a glimpse of pale blue skirts swishing around a corner. He followed.

Emilia already had at least a dozen books in her arms. She paused at one shelf, finding all the works of Jane Austen. She had only read one of her novels, but she had loved it, and so she pulled the others off the shelf and adjusted the weight in her arms. She turned to find her aunt and tell her she was ready to go, but it was not her aunt standing before her.

What was he doing here?

The low murmur of voices, the sound of purchases being wrapped, and the bell on the door ringing each time someone entered or exited the shop . . . she was aware of nothing but her own breath and the beat of her heart.

“I received your letter,” he said.

“I didn’t send you a letter,” she replied, quite confused. Devon reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter and handed it to her. She could feel her cheeks redden as she read it.

“Did you not write that?” he asked quietly.

“I did. But I never meant to send it. My aunt must have found it. I’m sorry,” she said.

“Is it true, what you wrote?”

“It is,” she replied. “But it doesn’t make any difference. I can’t help it if you don’t believe me, or believe the truth. It shouldn’t be this hard. Phillip is always in the way, and I fear always will be. And you . . . I trusted you, and perhaps I shouldn’t have. And if you can’t trust me, then what is the point of anything between us?”

“But I make your heart beat faster,” he said quietly. “And you have the same effect on me. That’s something, is it not?”

“Probably a reason to seek medical attention,” she answered.

“You don’t mean that,” Devon said, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm.

“My aunt is waiting for me,” Emilia said and walked away. The book on the top of the pile she was holding slid off and thudded on the floor. She let it go.

“So you sent one of my letters,” Emilia said once the carriage doors were shut and the carriage started driving away. “I was mortified. I burned all those others for a reason.”

“Do you mean that you were going to throw away a chance at love over a simple misunderstanding?” her aunt challenged.

“It wasn’t a simple misunderstanding! You were there— he wouldn’t even give me a chance to explain. He didn’t trust me enough to even listen. He just walked away.”

“Emilia, that man has lived his entire life being mistaken for another, and being passed over in favor of his twin. It’s instinctive for him to believe himself second best.”

“Are you taking his side?” Emilia asked incredulously.

“Did it ever occur to you that taking his side might be the same as taking yours?” Lady Palmerston asked calmly.

“No.”

“At least now he knows the truth. If he walks away from this now, then good riddance to a foolish man. But if he doesn’t . . .”

“I do love him. But how many second chances am I supposed to give him? And what if he doesn’t even want another chance?”

“This is the part where I tell you to listen to your heart, and let time take care of the rest,” Lady Palmerston said with a smile.

“That is not very helpful or comforting,” Emilia replied.

“Alas, but it is the truth.”

The following afternoon, Lady Palmerston received a call while Emilia was up in her room.

“What is on your mind, Kensington?” she asked, sitting comfortably in her favorite chair by the fireplace.

Devon paced before the windows.

“I think I want to marry Emilia. But I know I have made some mistakes.”

“You
think
you want to marry her?” Lady Palmerston poured herself a cup of tea in anticipation of a long, winding conversation.

“I’m terrified of the idea of marriage. My father never remarried. It’s as if all he wanted from it was his heir. But we were never enough either and . . .”

“Do you have a point?”

“It’s so foreign to me. I fear that I won’t be able to be a good husband, and I don’t want to hurt Emilia.”

“You’ve managed to do that without the bonds of matrimony,” Lady Palmerston pointed out, taking a sip of tea.

“I know. And I also know I want to be with her, always. Forever.”

“Then what exactly is your problem?” she asked.

Devon stopped his pacing and turned to look at her.

“I don’t know how to make things right. Can you tell me what to do?” Devon asked, pushing his fingers through his hair, still pacing.

“I could,” Lady Palmerston said. “But what fun would that be?”

“Please help me,” he said quietly.

“Just leave it up to me,” she replied, setting her cup down in the saucer with a clink.

“What should I do?” he asked, finally taking a seat on the settee. He was a handsome man, she thought. If she were twenty years younger . . . Suffice it to say, she could perfectly understand why her niece had fallen for him.

“When the opportunity presents itself, try very hard not to be a bungling idiot.”

Once Devon had left, Lady Palmerston summoned the troops. Lady Stillmore, Annabelle, and a very reluctant George crowded into her drawing room. Emilia actually seemed to be serious about spending the rest of her life in her bedchamber, for even though she must have known there were callers, she had not come out of her room.

“Groves, close the doors. And if anyone should call, I am not at home,” Lady Palmerston declared.

“What if Kensington calls?” Lady Stillmore asked.

“We’ll hide,” Annabelle suggested, and George rolled his eyes.

“He won’t. He just left an hour ago.”

“Oh, the plot thickens!” Annabelle said.

“I take it we have some scheming to do,” Lady Stillmore said.

“Haven’t we done enough?” George asked.

Lady Palmerston ignored him. “Now listen carefully . . .”

“Knock, knock,” Annabelle said, opening the door to Emilia’s room. Emilia was lying on her stomach on her bed, immersed in a book. She sat up and smiled at the sight of her friend.

“Your butler sent this up with me,” Annabelle said, handing Emilia a package and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Open it.”

“I don’t know what it could be,” Emilia said glumly, holding the package in her hands.

“Neither do I. So open it.”

Emilia pulled off the paper and saw that it was the book she had dropped in Hatchards while she was rushing away from Devon.

“Are you going to read the card?”

“There’s a card?”

“Of course there is, silly.” Annabelle pulled out a small card that was sticking out of the book. Emilia took it. It simply said,
Love, Devon.
Annabelle plucked the card from her fingers.

“Oh! That’s sweet. Short, but sweet. What is wrong? This doesn’t make you happy?”

“I’ve ruined everything,” Emilia wailed, and then she recounted the wretched scene with Phillip, and the painful interaction with Devon in the bookshop. “Why was it so easy for you and George?” Emilia concluded.

“I think,” Annabelle started, choosing her words carefully, “I think that finding love, or someone you love, is one thing, but surrendering to it is another matter entirely. George and I just gave in to our love a little faster. Probably because neither of us has an evil twin to interfere. I bet you two would be on your honeymoon right now if Phillip didn’t exist.”

“I suppose.”

“You should talk to him and tell him how you feel. And maybe he’ll do the same.”

“I can’t. I’ve decided to stay in my room for the rest of my life, and as negligent as my aunt is, I daresay she won’t allow me to entertain gentlemen callers in my bedroom.”

“Do it at my wedding,” Annabelle said. “You aren’t going to miss my wedding, are you?”

“For you, Annabelle, I will leave my room.”

“Good. I have to go soon for the final fitting of my wedding dress.”

“Oh! What is it like?”

“You’ll have to see on Saturday. But I don’t even care about the dress or the ceremony anymore. I just want to be married.”

“I’m so happy for you Annabelle, truly I am. And this might be the last time we shall be together as two unmarried girls!”

“I know! I am sad about that. But not really, because once I am married I won’t have my mother chaperoning my every breath.”

“And you’ll be my chaperone,” Emilia said, grinning for the first time in days.

“And I shall be even more negligent than Lady Palmerston. If such a thing is possible.”

“As if I need another opportunity to be alone with Devon. Although, I can’t possibly make things any worse than they are.”

“No,” Annabelle said, barely concealing the wicked gleam in her eye, “but you might be able to make things better.”

Annabelle
woke up giddy and excited, for it was finally her wedding day. She rang for some hot chocolate and toast, simply out of habit. She was too jittery to eat this morning. While she waited, though, she walked around her room. It was the last morning she would spend there. She was not sad about it.

A few moments later, breakfast arrived, as well as a maid to prepare a bath. And her mother.

“Annabelle, we need to talk,” her mother said, sitting beside her on the bed.

“Don’t worry, Mother, I’m not having second thoughts. Or cold feet.”

“I know you aren’t, dear. You are marrying a man you love, and who loves you. And who is an earl. I am beyond happy for you. But we need to discuss what will happen after your wedding.”

Finally, Annabelle thought, finally she would know what happened on wedding nights.

“Lady Palmerston and I were discussing the plan for Devon and Emilia. I will need your help.” Her mother explained everything. It was quite simple, and Annabelle readily agreed to assist. Her mother stood to leave the room.

“But Mother, what about my wedding night?”

“I know you bribed the housekeeper for that information just last week, Annabelle.”

“But she didn’t tell me anything!”

“Just as well,” her mother said. Then she sighed. “Your husband will take some liberties with your person. I’m sure he will demonstrate far more effectively than I could explain. As far as advice—just relax and allow yourself to enjoy it.”

“That’s not helpful at all!” Annabelle said to her mother as she left the room.

After a long soak in the bath, it was time to don her wedding gown and sit while a maid arranged her hair. She was ready to get married, but first, she wrote a note according to her mother’s plan.

“George, are you ready yet? You are going to be late to your own wedding!” Juliet hollered from the hall.

“I’ll just be a moment,” he replied, scribbling a quick note. After waiting for it to dry, he folded it and slipped it into his pocket, feeling ridiculous as he did so.

As Devon stepped out of his carriage, the whispers began. He overheard an older woman tell her companion, “Oh, it’s that rake, Lord Huntley. I cannot believe that he was chosen as best man. I have it on very good authority that . . .” Devon walked on, hearing someone else wonder which twin he was. He moved quickly through the crowds to avoid giving anyone a chance to question him directly. It was his best friend’s wedding day, and he was late.

He found George in a small room at the back of the church.

“Are you nervous?” Devon asked, as they waited before it was time to step out.

“No,” George answered resolutely. “But you should be.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll be next, old friend,” George said, clapping his hand on Devon’s back.

“I hope so,” Devon said, noting the mixture of shock and relief on George’s face.

“Good. Let’s go.”

The church was packed with over 200 members of the ton. The wedding of an earl and the daughter of a marquis was quite an event. The soft morning light filtered through the stained-glass window. Each pew was decked with red and white roses. At the altar, there were white hyacinths, roses, and orchids.

Devon stood at George’s side and scanned the crowd, looking for Emilia. He easily spotted her in the fourth row, thanks to her red hair. Their eyes met. He offered a smile, and she smiled in return.

The organ sounded, and Annabelle, in a frothy, beaded silver dress, appeared on the arm of her father. Marquis Stillmore was an eccentric man who almost never left his country estate, but he had obviously made an exception for his only child’s wedding.