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“I was thinking it would do me some good to get out of London for a little while too. And visiting you seemed to be the perfect opportunity!”
Lennox was talking quickly and loudly, although Devereaux did not think he was aware of the edge in his voice or manner.
“How much do you owe?” he asked, in a low voice. Lennox might hold to the explanation of a desire for fresh country air all he chose, but Ben knew him too well to believe it.
“A little,” Lennox allowed, taking another sip of his drink, and eyeing the half-empty plates with undisguised hunger. With a sigh, Ben waved a servant over and ordered a fresh plate for his friend, certain that, if Lennox’s debts were as bad as he anticipated, it might have been days since he had eaten anything substantial.
“Where are the others?” he asked, wondering why their two companions had not come to Lennox’s aid. Merriweather and Stephens had their faults, but losses at the card tables were not usually amongst them.
Lennox looked crestfallen.
“Merriweather is lost to me. He only has eyes for Miss Bertram and you know how hopeless he is when he is in love. He fears being seen associating with me will only harm his chances of securing the young lady’s affections.” He grimaced. “Or, more accurately, those of her guardian. Stephens refuses to help me simply because he claims he has helped me too often already, to no avail.” He cracked a smile. “He told me I will not change until I am forced to, and he is forcing me to.”
Ben raised his eyebrows, waiting a moment before responding. His silence did as he hoped and Lennox hurried out an explanation of his behaviour that day.
“I know, I am not showing much evidence of changing, forced or not. I ought not to have run straight for the nearest card table but you don’t understand, Dev. I’m down to my last farthing. How else was I supposed to go on? I could not turn up at your door with nothing. What if you refused to see me?”
Ben let out a low sigh.
“If you thought such a reception likely, you were foolish to attempt the journey.” His friend looked so weary and beaten down that he could not find it in himself to be stern. He reached out a hand and clapped it lightly on his shoulder. “Of course you are welcome to stay with me. But you ought to have written. I could have sent some money, or...” He shrugged. “Something. I could have helped.” He grimaced. “Now that I am in a position to.” He swallowed the natural objections that rose in his throat at such an assertion. He was wealthier than he had been, certainly, but that did not mean his own purse was a bottomless pit to be raided by all of his friends and family members. Was that not precisely the problem he had in dealing with his stepmother? Lady Devereaux seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that her husband had been a spendthrift and a poor manager, leaving the estate depleted and in need of investment he did not have. Devereaux had a title, yes, but if he hoped to keep it he would need to retrench, not take on even greater financial responsibility. He scowled, knowing precisely what his friends would advocate in such a position. To a man, they would remind Ben of his skills. Handsome and charming, when he chose to be, he was exceptionally capable of securing a way out of financial straits easily, if only he chose to do it. He could marry some wealthy young woman with a dowry well able to secure the future of Roland Park. The idea would have seemed practical to him before, albeit a little unsavoury. He would justify it to himself with the assertion that love was a habit, not an emotion, at least not outside of novels which played up romance into a fallacy of a thing. He would choose to love whatever wife he married and if he could be clear-headed enough to see that he could be clear-headed enough to make a sensible choice.
However. He frowned. Since then he had met Amelia Sudbury. He had claimed, since his return to Roland Park that he was a changed man. Could it be that the very act of returning to Roland Park was what had changed him? No longer did he care to prove his father wrong, or to revel in the reputation that had been foisted upon him and prove his absent father right. No longer did he think love a mere habit. How could he marry another woman when Amelia Sudbury was in existence? Yet alas, how could he marry Amelia Sudbury who had nought but whatever small dowry her admiral father might bestow upon her? It would be better than nothing, certainly, but hardly enough to secure his languishing estate.
“What are you thinking of?” Lennox asked, his words obscured by a mouthful of meat. He chewed and swallowed with relish, before pausing long enough to prompt his friend into replying. “Rethinking your generosity?” He elbowed Ben in the side and winked. “Worried I’ll ruin your spotless reputation?”
Ben snorted. Lennox knew, perhaps more than most, the tattered state of Benjamin Devereaux’s reputation in and around Westham. He had contributed to its ruination by dragging Ben into his exploits in London. Yet, despite possessing a tarnished reputation all his own, being talked of in hushed, horrified whispers by dowagers and wallflowers alike never seemed to bother George Lennox. Ben grimaced. Perhaps because his reputation, however poor, had been deserved. He had earned every whisper, every withering stare, every rumour that swirled around him. Devereaux’s misdeeds were a fabrication and yet he was held to account for them, despite never having had the enjoyment of committing the acts that now hung about him like medals, earning him scorn instead of praise.
“I am more worried my reputation will ruin you!” he remarked, downing the last of his drink and setting his mug down. “You have heard me talk of my dear stepmother. Well this afternoon, Lennox, you shall meet her.” He grinned. “I dread to think what you will make of one another. Perhaps that alone will be worth the price of paying your debts. Give me a list, and I shall do all I can to settle it.” He held up his hand. “No, do not attempt to talk me out of it or make hollow promises that you will pay me back. We need not speak of it any more. You shall change, or you shall not, but on this occasion, I shall not allow your past mistakes to burden your future.” He grew serious. “You ought not to allow your past mistakes to burden your future. You have a life in front of you, Lennox. Why not begin fresh, now, and see where it takes you?”
***
“THERE IS SCARCELY A circumstance or feeling that cannot be improved by the purchase of a new dress!” Joanna declared, clutching her chit close to her chest as if it were the dress itself.
Amelia smiled, faintly, although she could not hope to match her friend’s enthusiasm. She had made her own selection, more at the insistence of her friend and her father than of any interest within her. She never considered herself a young lady that lived for fashion, which was a very good thing, living as she did in a household of at least one clueless older gentleman, but even she was not immune to the thrill of new silk, lace and ribbons. That day, however, the thrill fell flat.
“What is the matter?” Joanna whispered, evidently noticing her miserable expression. “You do not regret your choice, surely? That pale blue is most becoming on you, Milly! Think about how it will sparkle in the candlelight at the assembly. You will be ethereal, and certain to catch the eye of every eligible gentleman present!” She paused as if reflecting a little unhappily on the truth of this declaration. She tossed her head. “You shall not outshine me, of course, but together we will surely charm the whole room!”
She paused, glancing surreptitiously in Amelia’s direction and speaking again as if the idea had just occurred to her.
“You are certain to catch the eye of any gentleman you might wish. Whoever has won your heart...for I wager there is just such a one, whoever he might be.”
Amelia said nothing, waiting for the topic to draw to a close, but Joanna had the bit between her teeth and took silence as encouragement.
“I hope there is someone you like, even if you wish to keep his existence a secret. It suggests you will not be taken in by my dreadful brother!”
Amelia’s heart quickened and she lifted her eyes to Joanna’s to see if her friend had noticed. She was too intent on her words, though, warming to her subject with every moment she devoted to it. Amelia could never be so foolish as to develop an affection for the dreadful Sir Benjamin, yet with every reason Joanna offered against such a possibility, Amelia was increasingly forced to acknowledge its truth. She did care for Sir Benjamin Devereaux. He was clever and amusing and had experienced so much of life that Amelia had only ever dreamed of or read about. Yes, even Joanna’s dire warnings of scandal and bad behaviour were no longer enough to deter Amelia’s heart from knowing better. She let out a sigh that did not fail to reach her friend’s hearing.
“I would understand a stranger falling in love with him, I suppose,” Joanna acknowledged as if conceding Amelia a point she had not made. “He is quite - quite handsome, after all, and I dare say he can be very charming when he wishes to be.” She paused. “But that is not the sort of love one ought to encourage. I only tell you this because I care for you, dear, you understand that. I do not wish for you to have your heart broken.” Her eyes flashed. “And I certainly do not wish to see you married to such a dreadful man. Imagine a lifetime of living with his terrible behaviour. It would be enough to drive a woman to madness!” She shook her head. “I wish for someone altogether better for you, my dear.”
“Like Mr Connelly?” Amelia remarked, sourly. She had never quite been agreeable to the notion of forming anything beyond friendship with the curate, in spite of her father’s encouragement, but now the very idea of allying herself with him when she knew Sir Benjamin Devereaux existed in the world was painful. I would rather be a spinster all my days!
Joanna, however, did not see the problem, nor did she seem to notice Amelia’s disappointment at the notion of a future on Mr Connelly’s arm. She brightened, clutching her friend closer as they continued their leisurely walk.
“Yes! Oh, wouldn’t you make a perfect curate’s wife? You would be so comfortable and welcoming, and nobody could fail but to come from your home without feeling suitably cheered.”
“That is all I can hope for, you think?” Amelia knew her friend meant well, but it was not the first time Joanna had offered an insult disguised as a compliment. She did not want a life of parish visits and homemaking and comfort. She wished for a little adventure – the same kind of adventure she had found in the pages of her book. Her father had had some – yes, and Mama too, for she had travelled right along with her husband before Arthur was born. Arthur had travelled to places Amelia could scarcely pronounce and his adventuring spirit was encouraged, if not lauded! Why must she be forced to contain hers, to keep her imagination limited to other people’s stories, created by other people’s pens?
Her silence, again, was enough to encourage Joanna to continue.
“Why, it is a great deal to hope for, do not you think? A home of your own, and a husband who adores you.” The thought of Mr Connelly ever expressing any emotion close to adoration for anything beyond the sound of his own voice must have struck Joanna as absurd, as it did Amelia, and she modified her words. “That is, he will love you as much as it is proper for a gentleman to love his wife.” Pulling her friend closer, she smiled. “I dare say there is no man alive good enough to win the affections of my dear friend Amelia, yet in winning your heart he will raise several places in my own estimation. Yes. I think he will take one look at you in your new dress and propose on the spot. You see if he does not!”
This little speech was designed to cheer her friend and Amelia wished she could be so easily cheered out of her strange temper, but she could not help but feel weighed down by Joanna’s words, the imagined future she laid out before her like a mat. Amelia’s eyes swam with tears and she hurried to blink them back. It was foolishness, for she could not imagine worldly Sir Benjamin could ever care for her. Nothing had changed. Her future remained precisely as it had before he came to Westham. Yet, for Amelia, everything was different. She reached a hand up to wipe away her tears, hoping Joanna would not notice, but her friend had the eyes of an eagle and she forced Amelia to look at her.
“My dear Amelia! Do you not want to be married?”
Joanna spoke as if there could be nothing worse in all creation, and the reminder of their difference on this particular point was just what was needed to recall Amelia to herself. She smiled, her remaining tears giving way to the very lightest of laughs.
“You know I have never been so very set on it as you have, Josie, dear.” She shook her head, her curls bobbing with the motion. “But it is not marriage in the abstract that causes me such dismay. It is...” She paused, drawing in one more fortifying breath before choking out the words she knew she must say aloud, though they might bring her the ridicule of her friend, perhaps even her disdain.
“I do not wish to marry Mr Connelly,” Amelia confessed. “I do not think I ever have wished to marry him. But now - now I know I never can.”
“Why?” Joanna was mystified. “Is he so very bad? Or -” Here, her eyes narrowed. “Is there someone else who you prefer? Some other gentleman who has stolen your heart.” Her voice took on a strange, flattened note as if she already knew what Amelia would say before she spoke a word. Still, Amelia spoke. She knew she must, and she knew she could trust her friend to keep her secret. Joanna had made no secret of the war of silence and attrition that still raged between herself and her brother: she would not betray Amelia’s confidence to him, so he might never come to know of her folly. There was some comfort in that. Wetting her lips, Amelia spoke, her words little more than a whisper.
“I am afraid so, Joanna,” Amelia confessed, her lips white. “It is foolishness, for I know he can never care for me, nor should I wish him to, but - but I fear I shall never love another.”
“Who is this villain?” Joanna asked, affecting a light-heartedness she evidently did not feel. “For if he does not love you I shall plague him mercilessly until he does. Surely he cannot know you at all if he is not smitten with you already, but if he needs persuasion you may rest assured, Milly, I shall endeavour to do it.”
Amelia’s voice dropped still lower and her response came only after a surreptitious glance over her shoulder had reassured her she would not be overheard by the admiral, who had paused to admire some pretty little folly and was now increasing his pace in order that he might close the distance between himself and the young ladies, as their party continued their journey back to the inn.
“It is your brother.”