Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3) Page 2

  Merry realized her mother was watching with a careful gaze that was quietly probing. What was there on her dear face made the tears rise in Merry’s throat? Oh, Mama, will you ever understand and forgive me for what I have done?

  “Merry!”

  That beloved stern voice made the last thin thread of control desert her. Merry looked up to find her father standing beside Philip. Rhea had wisely gone from her chair to her husband, her face a prudent blend of elation and caution, one hand placed on his chest.

  “She is back, Lucien. She is well. And...” there was no way to put this that wouldn’t infuriate her husband. So Rhea said it simply, “.... she is married. Married to Varian Deverell. Is that not wonderful news, my dear? I am so happy.”

  ~~~

  Lucien Merrick’s study held the cheerful clutter and disarray of a dozen unfinished projects. On a small tri-pod table lay a partially completed dissecting puzzle that Philip had started at the age of thirteen. The tambour and short cut threads scattering the worn wooden floor were Rhea’s. A sketchbook rested on a pillow beside the hearth, open to show that an uneven hand, most probably belonging to Kate who seemed to move with none of Merry’s natural grace, had tried to capture the decor of the room. A trail of pencil shavings showed a move from the sofa to the lush pelt of an enormous white bear that Lucien had received as a gift during his days of diplomatic missions. Varian knew the book that rested open on the arm of the chair position loving close to the massive desk was Merry’s, and had sat forgotten, untouched for a year: Wordsworth.

  There was not a trace of imposing stag comforts which one would expect in a duke’s private haven, and not a single element missed Varian’s eyes. Each gaily forgotten project was out of place in this room where serious affairs of England at times had been decided. They were an unmistakable warning of what his family meant to Lucien.

  Lucien had handled the scene in the drawing room with the fast moving experience of a man use to commanding explosive and unpleasant situations. The moment Merry had stepped into Lucien’s arms she had shattered under the strain and began to weep fiercely against her father’s chest, holding the edge of his coat like a lost child unable to let go. She’d cried for an hour, choking sobs, and each line on Lucien’s face had stiffened in turn with his rapidly mounting fury. It was amazing Lucien hadn’t lost his temper in the first minute.

  The moment Merry had calmed, Lucien had kissed her once on her curls, disengaged her tiny fingers and handed her to Rhea to be taken off to a bedroom to rest. Varian was ushered into Lucien’s study by the Merrick men. With Merry’s tears the pretense of happy acceptance had vanished, and now only with the Merrick men, the pretense of civility was gone as well and he was in for a bloodletting. Given how Merry had managed it all, it was little wonder Andrew Merrick hadn’t as yet called for his public flogging.

  Staring into his glass, feeling the untimely possession of regret and guilt when he needed to think fast and cleverly, Varian conceded he owed them in the least his flogging. Loving Merry excused nothing he had done. It was an even more severe possession than it had been since London now that he could see Merry in her natural setting.

  On his ship her liveliness and brightness had settled in whimsical exaggeration; once she was herself again here it would dance in perfect harmony with the generously flowing and expressed affections of this family. It made it all the more startling her uncharacteristic swing from absolute detachment to soul wrenching tears. She had held an air of tragedy with enough force to smother a village.

  Varian’s gaze was drawn to the book beside her father’s desk. Thank God Camden was here, assuring Lucien the marriage was legal. If he made it through this night, it would be because of Camden and Rhea’s quick actions. ‘I am so happy.’ Rhea was brilliant at managing her husband.

  Away from Rhea, Lucien’s temper erupted and he was not bothering to maintain his famous iron control over it, a rare and dangerous event. Because his reserve never failed him it warned that anything could happen. Varian patiently heard him out. He was thirty-nine, being lectured like an errant twenty year old man caught with the village milk maid. It was a total insult, getting a dressing down at thirty-nine, but he listened respectfully silent, not wanting to push Lucien further into temper by cutting it off. Lucien Merrick was a dangerous man. Lucien Merrick was Merry’s father. He owed Lucien this tirade for both those reasons. It was a bold move to have stepped foot into the Merrick household with Merry as his wife.

  Lucien had the full power of England at his fingertips, and knew how to use it both wisely and ruthlessly. Lucien was the more powerful of the two of them on English soil, and they both knew it. Which was why Lucien bellowed and Varian listened. Lucien wouldn’t hesitate in the use of his power if he feared for a moment Varian had harmed Merry in this. There were few in England who did not owe this man something, favors that could be called in at whim, favors Rhea had called upon a decade ago to keep Varian from being charged and tried for the destruction of the Carolina.

  Lucien’s fit ended at last. It had gone on nonstop for three quarters of an hour. Looking up from his glass, Varian met the smoldering blue gaze with unwavering black eyes. He made a deliberately slow upward ascent of a brow. His voice without effort conveyed he was unshaken by all he had been forced to listen to.

  “The men you sent to search my ship found your daughter in my cabin. I did the only appropriate thing, Lucien. I married her. By special license. Camden was there as a witness and my Uncle, the Bishop, performed the service. It is a legal union, blessed by the church and as proper as I could manage. All of London is aware by now your daughter is back and where and who she was found with. I was not inclined to leave her dangling for the malicious delight of the gossipmongers. There was no alternative. What would you have me do? I married her.”

  Lucien’s icy blue eyes began to glitter. With stiff-neck composure loosely in place, he shot back, “I did not expect you to offer for my daughter’s hand and then to abscond with her for a year to press my will in this. The years have not improved your character. I did not expect you, at whim, to disappear with her, breaking Rhea’s heart with the misery of all those days not knowing if Merry were alive. Nor did I expect you to harm my daughter as you have indisputably done.” The last of that had been spoken through gritted teeth on little more than a growl.

  “It was not whim,” Varian countered, a sharp edge he took note of slipping into his voice. Lucien had always had a way of baiting both his anger and his irritation. Time had not changed that. Flailing his temper into submission, he added more evenly and less provokingly, “I have already explained this. Repeating it over and over again regrettably will not change it into something more favorable to you, Lucien. I made my offer of marriage for Merry without having ever seen her on Camden’s assurance of her suitability. I have not moved in society for a decade. I did not know who she was when I found her on my ship. Your daughter refused to tell me who she was. She didn’t want to be returned home. She didn’t want to marry Rensdale. She was on my ship when it sailed, not at my invitation and not at my knowing. Would it have been better to toss her off and leave her to her own devices? It was Camden who told me who she was, regrettably a year after she joined me, after the damage had already been done to her reputation and future.”

  Flashes of worry peeped through the cracks of Lucien’s wall. “If it is as harmless as you claim it is, Varian, can you explain to me what is wrong with her? She is a ghost of the daughter who left me. What have you done to her?”

  Varian fought to subdue the harsh effects of Lucien’s worry as he ran a finger along the rim of his glass. Three days of travel, three days of strain and three days of maternal sickness had not left Merry in her best of looks. By the time they had reached Bramble Hill she had looked distraught and worn-down. It was little wonder Lucien’s temper was so explosive. It would hardly soothe the situation to let the Merricks know by morning Merry most probably would be in her glowing beauty, that her current look of il
l health was not permanent, but the result of the child she carried and an hour of having tossed up her breakfast on the side of the road.

  Making a guarded study of the room, it was apparent that the child Merry carried would set like a match to a powder magazine at the present moment. The Merricks were rampant in gruesome speculation and fear of his misconduct with her. Confronted with the proof Merry had shared his bed before marriage, Lucien would assume the ghastly worst of his fear driven imaginings and see Varian in Newgate by morning. Lucien was that angry. Lucien Merrick, for better or worse, had to be dealt with.

  “Merry was not agreeable to the marriage,” Varian admitted calmly, as though he were not staring into the narrowing gaze of his own possible destruction. “She married me because she had no option if she didn’t want to cause you all more scandal. It is harmless, Lucien. The whole thing. I have not offended your daughter’s sensibilities in any way. I have not harmed her. I made every effort to see to her welfare and happiness. She is a lovely girl. Everything you would expect Rhea’s daughter to be. She is not happy because she did not wish to marry. Her mood is a reflection of that, the bite of a situation she can’t bend to her will. She did her duty, it didn’t sit well with her. Her unhappiness will be a passing state once she comes to realize our relationship as it was will not be altered and she is able to stop worrying about your opinion of her because of this. Our time together was not unpleasant, Lucien. She did not spend her days crying, regardless of how it may appear today. This marriage will work out quite well for all concerned if you let it.”

  “If I let it. An interesting choice of words at this juncture, since you married her without consideration of my will as though my will were something to be disregarded.” Shrewd, intense, Lucien demanded, “Exactly what is your relationship with my daughter? You dance around that part of the tale carefully vague, never being precise.”

  It was not a question Varian would have tolerated from any other man. His eyes were open wide, direct and steady as he replied succinctly, “Precisely then, we did not share a bed in a conjugal manner the two day journey here following the ceremony. That should tell you everything. The marriage has not been consummated. I corrected my indiscretion, Lucien. I did not make it a permanent solution. I did not disregard your will. It was my hope that by handling the matter in London it would diminish the unkind speculation and quiet the harsh tongues of the ton. I have left it to your will what the future of this marriage will be.”

  Varian stared into his glass, alertly watching for Lucien’s reaction to that. He had intentionally not consummated the marriage knowing Lucien would ask Merry if it had been. Lucien would have taken consummation as a second slap in the face and would have responded accordingly. His words seemed to slightly appease the older man.

  Ruin was staring Varian in the face, if ever it had stared at any man. If they learned of his child in her now it would definitely unsettle the cart that was presently teetering.

  His dark eyes floated unseen around the room assessing where the battle sat, settling nowhere, seeing everything. Damn, it was forbidding scene. Lucien was far from willing to give acceptance to this marriage and most probably inclined to annul. Andrew Merrick had said nothing, but was silently planning where to begin his inquiries. Varian knew that expression. Andrew was in his most dangerous mind set. Philip, however, every bit as angry as his male relatives, hadn’t quite developed in his instincts yet, and was amused by having watched someone else get a dressing down from his father. Camden gave every appearance of being drowsy and disinterested, but was worried with good cause. Varian had involved Camden too deeply in his pursuits as Morgan. It was not inconceivable he could destroy Camden with him in this.

  Finishing his drink, Varian set his glass on a table and rose. He’d had enough. “I would like to retire, Lucien. We journeyed over land from London in three days to beat the gossip to you. Regardless of what you think, I have always cared deeply for Rhea. It would have been unkind to have your daughter’s return made known to Rhea in any other manner than it has been. I will leave you to dine in peace with your family and resolve whatever issues you may want to discuss without my presence.”

  The two men locked gazes. It was obvious Lucien would have preferred to keep him twisting in the wind longer. Finally, with a reluctance that was like a slap, Lucien rang for his butler. The study door opened and in came Moffat. “Show His Grace to the blue suite next to Lord Andrew’s and see that his carriage is unpacked,” Lucien requested, with straining tolerance. “Prepare a suite for Lord Camden as well, in our guest wing.” Lucien’s sharply unappeased eyes settled on the earl. “You will be staying, won’t you, Camden? Perhaps you can indulge me a few moments more of your time?”

  It was an order, not a request, no matter how smoothly put. “Of course, Your Grace. I am your humble servant,” Camden replied cautiously.

  Varian left the room, and as dangerously undecided as things stood, he was leaving the room in better position than he’d hoped for when the discussion had first started. He’d survived the second battle. Not tossed into Newgate. Not tossed out the door. The family wing. The family wing and close proximity to Merry. Better than he’d hoped for.

  ~~~

  Merry sat in the middle of her own satinwood bed, bathed in a stream of sunlight made soft by the glass of the mullioned windows, and picked at tray of rice soup and publisher’s pudding. The airy bedchamber was exactly as she remembered from a year ago. The furnishings were gracefully lined and inlaid with delicately carved designs of ivory and gold. The fabrics and walls were gaily adorned of angels and flowers of blue, white, salmon and pink. It was the same as it had been her entire life. Every detail. Only she was different.

  Noting the frequently slanted glances of the two young serving girls, Merry focused her gaze on her bowl, uncomfortable beneath the inquisitiveness of the staff. She had returned a married woman and a duchess, no less. Even the lowest placed member of the Merrick staff took pride in her success in marriage. They now called her ‘Your Grace’ with glowing approval and dropped quick curtsies even in their rush of welcoming her home.

  Watching the luggage be unpacked, Merry was surprised by its vast quantity and what it contained; what it did not contain were Varian’s possessions. She watched the maids as they busily went about taking garments never before seen by her into the adjoining dressing room to rest with all the things that had been there a year ago.

  Where had they come from? The garments were new, dozens of dresses, more elegant and proper than the wardrobe she had acquired during their travels, with every accessory and adornment. Dresses. Shoes. Shifts and nightgowns. They were perfection. How had Varian managed it in three days of travel? And where was he? Where was her husband?

  Merry looked down at her wide wedding band, setting it to turn on her slim finger, feeling ill-at-ease in this room from her childhood surrounded by her family. Could they see she was different? Did they realize she was not the same girl who had left them?

  Watching the graceful movements of her mother, Merry realized she was not the only one not behaving herself. Her mother was committed to trying to be in good spirits, though she was tentative in that and clearly worried. Kate was sitting beside Merry on the bed, no longer bothering to continue in her lively chatter since in private there was no point in pretending the events in the drawing room hadn’t left her scared for Merry. Only Netta, her dour faced maid since childhood, still called her ‘lass’, unchanged by Merry’s new status and marriage, and seemed a constant and unchanged presence in the room.

  Netta reached to the bottom of the first trunk, and struggled to lift upward a heavy box wrapped in green velvet. She brought it to the bed and set the case before Merry. “What would ye be having me do with this, lass?” Netta asked while pulling free the soft cover to expose the expensive polished wood case with the elaborate crest inlaid in gold on its lid.

  Merry fixed her eyes on the box and couldn’t kill the compulsion to lightly trace the outline
of Varian’s coat of arms. Though it was several times larger, it was identical to the box she had found in the bottom of Varian’s sea chest her second day aboard his ship. That made the lump strangle in her throat, as she recalled the portrait of Ann, the faded bud and his fury over her invasion there. Jerking back her hand and fighting to keep her torment from her face, she could not escape the chide that reminded her while she may be Varian’s wife, he had married her only because of loyalty to her mother.

  That she didn’t know what the box contained, why Varian had tucked it into her belongings, and what Varian intended by this remarkably correct sham only added to her misery. All those months in his bed and he had always loved another woman. How could she have failed to realize that?

  Rhea’s voice roused Merry from her tormenting thoughts. “Ah, the Deverell family crest,” she announced knowingly. “What have you there, my dear? A wedding gift from Varian?”

  It was more than a casual question. It was clear her mother had asked so she could watch Merry’s reply. She had no idea what was in the case. Both Rhea and Netta were waiting expectantly for her to lift the lid, and reluctantly Merry undid the gold latch and opened the box. Both women gasped. Merry was silent. The box contained an enormous assortment of jewelry, of every type and every style, abounding with different types of precious stones. It was a vast and impressive collection of gems. The famous Deverell sapphires sparkled boldly from the center.

  Even the serving girls and Kate were drawn to exclaim over the extravagant treasures. Merry wanted to wretch. The jewelry meant nothing to her. It was part of this farce she was forced to suffer through. It had not been presented to her by her husband, but slipped into her garments without ceremony by a servant. Correct. Impersonal. She was Varian’s wife. She was nothing to him.