Page 29 of So Wild A Heart

Devin now understood the reason for the servant’s delight in seeing him; obviously Richard had been sunk in one of his glooms this evening, and the footman hoped that Devin’s visit would bring him out of it. Richard had once been a man who enjoyed life—of a more serious nature than Devin, of course, but still a man who enjoyed a party or a night spent touring the taverns with his friends. However, ever since the death of his wife four years ago, he had become something of a recluse. He shunned his country estate, where the fatal accident had occurred, and lived in the London ducal mansion, but despite being in a thriving city, he rarely went anywhere or saw anyone, except for the times when some friend or in-law ventured in to see him. Sometimes he even refused to receive visitors, which worried his loving servants terribly.

Dev remembered a little guiltily that he had not been to call on Richard in several weeks. He recalled now that Rachel had said, frowning, that Richard seemed to be getting worse, not better, as the months and years passed. Richard, like most men of Devin’s acquaintance, was not the sort to talk about his grief. Consequently, he and Devin rarely broached the subject of Caroline’s death, though they had been the two men who loved her most on earth.

Devin glanced involuntarily now at her portrait. It was one he had painted himself a few weeks before Caroline’s marriage to Richard. She had asked him to do it, wanting it as a present for her future husband. It had hung over the fireplace in the great room of their estate house, but Richard had brought it here, where it dominated one wall of the study. In the painting, Caroline was smiling in that dreamy, almost sleepy way she had, a young woman on the verge of her adult life and expecting to enjoy it to the fullest. She was dressed in the elegant satin gown she would wear at the wedding, and she wore the famous parure of Cleybourne emeralds: a circle of emeralds and diamonds that clung to her throat, dangling a pendant of a single huge emerald; earrings of perfectly matching emeralds centered in tiny diamonds; a bracelet of linked emeralds; and even a dainty diamond tiara decorated with five exquisite emeralds. It seemed to be an extravagance of jewels that would have overwhelmed the young girl wearing it, but Caroline was tall, like most of the Aincourts, and possessed of a vivid beauty. Nestled in her raven hair and caressing her pure white skin, complementing the brilliant blue of her eyes, the jewels looked magnificent and correct.

Devin had captured her happiness and even that hint of smugness in her smile and eyes that indicated that she knew she was making a splendid marriage to a man who loved her above all else. Her skin gleamed in the pale light that poured over her through the window beside her, and her eyes were so alive one almost expected to hear the girlish giggle that was her trademark.

“It is the most beautiful portrait I have of her,” Richard said, following Devin’s gaze. “That’s why I have it here, where I can see it the most.” He looked on past the portrait to the smaller one of a young girl beside it. “I only wish I had had you draw one of Alana. The artist couldn’t do her justice—she was always moving about, you know.”

Devin looked, too, at the portrait of his niece. She was about four; it must have been done not long before the accident. Richard was right. The artist had gotten her features correct, but the sparkle that animated the child was not there, nor was the smile that lit up any room she entered. Devin would have painted her outside, washed in sunshine, laughing and playing with one of the cats or dogs. But then, by that time, he had given up painting.

“Have you ever thought of taking it up again?” Richard asked.

“Painting?” Devin looked at him in surprise. “No. I’m past that. It was nothing but a hobby. Something I liked when I was young.”

“Really? Care for some port?” Richard turned toward the hallway and raised his voice slightly. “Harper! I presume you’re still lurking out there in the hall. Bring us a bottle of port and two glasses.”

Richard turned back to Devin and gestured toward the two chairs in front of the fireplace. “I would have thought you would sometimes want to draw a particularly interesting face, or that you would see some scene that struck you so you had to paint it.”

Devin shrugged, his thoughts going, strangely, to Miranda Upshaw’s face—too strong a jaw and wide a mouth for beauty, but with those arresting gray eyes and such a determined set to her chin that one could not help but notice her. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to get those eyes right.

“I’m afraid I lost the interest,” Devin said dismissively. “No doubt the skill, too, by this time. As Father used to say, scarcely the occupation for a gentleman.”

“Ah, I see. In the way drinking and gambling are.”

Devin glanced at him sharply. Richard was watching him, a faint smile on his lips, and Devin had to chuckle.

“You know me well. And, no, I don’t think my father ever regarded those as fit occupations for a gentleman, either. His idea of a proper life was prayer, morning, noon and night, with a little chastising of sinners and three good meals in between. He was, if you remember, a man who liked his food, which is why he rarely addressed his Maker on his knees. It took two servants to haul him up afterward if he did.”

“Yes. I remember the old tyrant. He once told me I was too worldly to marry his daughter, but fortunately my father’s illness meant that I would come into the title soon, and that apparently made up for my sins.”

“I am sure it did. And your well-stocked coffers even more so.”

At that moment Harper came back into the room, carrying the tray of port and glasses. He set the tray down on the small table beside the Duke and started out of the room.

“Oh, and, Harper…close the door behind you, and then you can go to bed. There’s no need to stand watch out in the hall. I assure you that I do not plan to put a period to my existence, at least not while Ravenscar is here.”

“I am relieved to hear that, Your Grace,” Harper replied with little indication of chagrin, and bowed out of the room, closing the door.

Devin looked at Cleybourne, his eyebrows raised. “Are they expecting you to end your life soon?”

Richard grimaced and reached over to pour the port. “They have too much time on their hands, and they use it to come up with absurd fears. Unfortunately, now they have planted that seed in your sister’s head. Rachel has paid a call on me three times in the past two weeks, usually with no purpose. I suspect that Bal-dock—my butler—decided to confide his fears in her.”

Devin was silent for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. Finally he said, his voice carefully indifferent, “And are you planning your imminent demise? Attending a funeral would put rather a crimp in my plans, I must warn you.”

Richard smiled faintly. “No. I shan’t put you out like that.”

“Good.”

They finished off their glasses, and Richard refilled them. He raised his glass toward Devin. “I forgot—congratulations, Dev. We should drink a toast to your impending marriage.”

“My im—” Devin stared at him, glass halfway to his mouth. “How the devil did you hear about that? Oh—Rachel, of course.”

“Of course. She was here Monday and told me all about the estimable Miss Upshaw.”

“Well, there is to be no marriage, so you may save your toast.”

“Indeed? Rachel sounded very hopeful.”