Chapter 19
Regent Street had calmed by the time they left Madame Didier’s shop.
It was late in the afternoon and only a few vendors remained; some of the shops had closed, signs in the window pronouncing this fact.
A few pedestrians also remained; however, all were gentlemen, when earlier the reverse had been true.
“Is it later than I think?” Virginia asked quietly. Devlin had absented himself for the remainder of the fitting, but only after explaining exactly how he wished Madame to design and trim her gowns.
“It’s four. But the ladies of the ton are preparing for their evening affairs at this hour,” he said as quietly.
She was trying to avoid eye contact. It was impossible, just as was avoiding her very distinct recollection of his touch and how it had affected her. Virginia was shaken. What should she do now? How could she proceed with their bargain when it meant so much more to her than a mere game?
She should be thrilled that he found her beautiful enough to almost lose all of his control, and while that had pleased her, despair now outweighed that.
“You will have some beautiful gowns, Virginia. I know you do not really care about fashion, but you may keep them when you leave.”
Instantly the anger came and she could not keep it at bay. “I don’t want the gowns.”
He hesitated, facing her squarely in the middle of the block, his coach, drawn by four handsome grays, parked a short distance ahead. “But I am offering them to you.”
“And does it make you feel less guilty, your grand gesture?” she said with open bitterness.
He stared.
She flushed, wishing desperately that she had not spoken, that she could stop revealing her every thought, wish and desire.
“I should feel guilty?” he finally said, slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “For pleasuring you?”
“For everything,” she flung with heat.
“Offering you the gowns has nothing to do with guilt,” he said. “You seem downcast. I was hoping to raise your spirits.”
“You could always pleasure me again,” she said tightly, “that would certainly do the trick.”
He started.
She strode away, wishing she had not said that, either; besides, the ecstasy he could bring was only the forerunner of pain. If only she were a woman of the world, a woman who could enjoy his favors indifferently without foolishly yearning for his love. If only he felt guilty for using her at all.
“Lady? Pretty puppies fer sale. Real fancy puppies, my lady, come, see!”
Virginia was blinking back tears. She looked up and into the broad face of a fat black puppy with huge floppy ears, big brown eyes and a pink tongue.
“Real fancy, ain’t he?” The toothless man smiled.
But Virginia didn’t see. The puppy was wriggling madly, an extension of his wagging tail.
She smiled and took the pup into her arms, cuddling it to her chest, her cheek against its fur.
He was soft and warm, and she hugged him harder, wishing suddenly that she were back at Sweet Briar, where her life had once been so simple and so happy.
The tears ran then, fast and furious, freely.
“And what kind of breed is that?” Devlin’s stern tone sounded.
Virginia blinked back the remaining tears and smiled at the puppy, which licked her cheek enthusiastically.
“A rare breed, sir, a very rare breed. From the north, I believe, is where the dogs come from. They make fine house dogs, sir, for they do not grow much at all. Just to the knee, perfect for a lady.”
Devlin snorted.
Virginia hugged the pup harder and it licked her face again. She looked up fiercely. “I am taking this dog, Devlin.” And she stared, daring him to refuse her now.
“That dog is a Dane, if I do not miss my guess.” His gaze held her eyes. Not looking from Virginia, he sighed and said, “How much?”
“A shilling, sir.”
Devlin handed him some coins. “Five pence and consider yourself lucky.”
“Yes, sir, my lord!” The man beamed and walked back to the other puppies that slept in a crate.
Virginia turned, softening. “Thank you, I love him. I truly do.”
Devlin hesitated, and then he softened, too. “Good. I’m glad,” he said, and he felt himself smiling, just a little, but he had lied. The guilt remained, festering now, a wound.
The next few days passed slowly. There were no callers, unlike at Wideacre, and the mansion was so large that Virginia had no trouble avoiding Devlin, which she now felt that she must at all costs do.
As he did not seek her out—they only shared a terse supper together—she was successful.
She began to teach her gangling puppy to sit and lie down.
And then they did have a caller—Tyrell de Warenne.
Virginia liked Devlin’s handsome stepbrother, whom she had learned was exactly Devlin’s age.
Upon learning of his visit, she instantly went to greet him.
He and Devlin were in a quiet conversation, Devlin clad in his naval uniform.
Surprised and dismayed to see Devlin so dressed, she halted in the doorway as both men turned.
Tyrell had said something about President Madison, she was certain.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, trying not to stare at Devlin in his uniform and wondering if he was about to leave on another tour of duty, “I heard that Lord de Warenne had called. I didn’t mean to interrupt. ”
“That’s all right. We were merely discussing your presidential election.” Devlin smiled at her, but it did not reach his eyes. His gaze was unwavering and direct, searching hers, as if for some sign of her real feelings.
It was difficult to break the stare. “Hello, my lord,” she finally said to Tyrell, managing a smile.
“Miss Hughes.” He smiled warmly at her.
“Has President Madison been reelected?” she asked, hoping so.
“Unfortunately,” Devlin said wryly. “The news just arrived on one of our battleships.”
“He is a very good president,” she said firmly. “Capable and clever,” she added.
“Your capable and clever president declared war on Great Britain, in spite of the fact that the Privy Council rescinded the Orders in Council, which he and most of your countrymen demanded we do in order to avoid the foolish war we now find ourselves in.”
Virginia glared at him. “This war is about far more than trade and Britain’s desire to prevent us from becoming a wealthy and equal sister nation.”
“Here, here,” Tyrell murmured.
She glared at him, too. “This war is about your country wanting to reduce us in fact, although not de jure, to colonial status again.”
“This war is about many things, including your Republican party using it as a means for their own political agenda—to crush the federalists and maintain power,” Devlin smoothly returned.
“Do you deny that Britain wishes for us to be impoverished colonies?” she cried.
“No, I do not. But Britain had no desire to go to war with you. Virginia, the British government wishes Ireland to be less than a sister nation, and of course she wishes the same for your country. But no one here is dreaming of reacquiring the American colonies. That is your war hawks’ propaganda.”
“You are wrong. Your nation is an imperialist one.” She was fierce and would not back down, for she knew she was right.
“May I refute?” Tyrell asked smoothly. He was grinning and looking back and forth between the two of them.
“Please do,” Devlin said with a sigh.
“The Americans are as imperialistic as the British, Virginia. Everyone knows the agrarian agenda is to conquer Canada and expand in that direction.”
“We are suffering terrible defeats in Canada,” Virginia said, more quietly.
She read Devlin’s newspapers every day, and somehow the small British forces in the Canadian territory had managed the impossible, defeating American troops repeatedly.
A half-dozen important forts and settlements had been abandoned.
“But no one wishes to claim British-held territory there. We wish to trade freely, unimpeded by your navy, and it is our right.”
Tyrell glanced at Devlin. “Have you met your match at last, Dev?”
“Perhaps,” he said nonchalantly, gazing at some items on his desk. Then he looked up. “Did you wish to see me?”
She faltered. “I merely wished to greet your brother.”
“Is that all?” And finally, his careless expression softened.
She blushed. “Yes. Yes, that is really all.” Then she looked closely at him. “Why are you in uniform? Are you leaving?”
“No, Virginia, I am not off to sea. I have a meeting in town. Are you disappointed?”
She held her breath. “No,” she finally admitted.
His brows lifted, indicating mild surprise. Devlin held her stare.
Her heart raced as she quickly turned away. It was too soon for him to leave again and she was foolishly glad he would stay. She smiled at Tyrell de Warenne. “Would you join us for supper? We should love for you to do so.”
“It would be my pleasure, Miss Hughes.” He bowed.
She smiled warmly. “Wonderful. Excuse me.” She started for the door.
“Virginia?” Devlin called.
She hesitated and turned. “Yes?” And there was no choice but to meet his unwavering stare.
“There is a ball tomorrow evening at Lord Carew’s London home. I have accepted the invitation.”
Her heart dropped through her entire body, the sensation sickly.
“I have nothing to wear!” She wasn’t ready for this, not after the other day at Madame Didier’s, and not now, after the solitude she had been allowed there at his Greenwich home.
She could think of nothing worse than to be flaunted openly as his whore.
“Three of your gowns came today, including the silver ball gown.” His jaw flexed with an effort she did not understand.
She tried to smile but nothing happened, nothing at all.
“We’ll leave at seven tomorrow evening,” he said.
“You are looking well, Devlin, as always,” the Earl of Liverpool said.
Devlin nodded and walked into the prime minister’s office, Liverpool informing his clerk that there were to be no interruptions before closing the door behind him. “Tea? Brandy?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”