Chapter 3 #2
She paused, her hand upon the door handle, and turned back to face him with carefully composed features. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"I dine at home this evening. I should be pleased if you would join Livia and myself. We keep country hours here—six o'clock in the small dining room."
The invitation was issued with such casual authority that it took Arabella a moment to realize what he was suggesting.
Dining with the family rather than taking her meals in her chambers was yet another gesture designed to preserve her dignity, another acknowledgment that she was not to be treated as a mere servant.
"That is very kind of you," she replied, her voice carefully neutral despite the way her pulse had quickened at the prospect of spending an entire evening in his company. "I shall look forward to it."
Devon's smile was enigmatic. "As shall I, Miss Greystone. As shall I."
***
The blue suite proved to be every bit as elegant as Livia had promised, decorated in shades of powder blue and cream that created an atmosphere of serene sophistication.
The sitting room was indeed blessed with an excellent view of the garden, where carefully tended roses climbed trellises and ornamental hedges created intimate alcoves perfect for private contemplation.
"It is lovely," Arabella said sincerely as Livia showed her through the chambers with obvious pride. "His Grace has been most generous."
"Devon is always generous," Livia replied with the unconscious loyalty of a beloved younger sister. "Though I confess I was surprised when he announced that he had engaged a companion for me. He has been most protective since our parents died, almost to the point of smothering."
Arabella settled into the chair beside the writing desk, studying the young woman with growing interest. "You lost your parents recently?"
Livia's expression grew shadowed. "Three years past, in a carriage accident. Devon was in India with his regiment at the time, and I was staying with our great-aunt in Yorkshire. When he returned to assume the dukedom, he found me quite changed."
"Changed how?" Arabella asked gently, recognizing the pain that lingered beneath Livia's composed surface.
"I had become fearful of everything—crowds, strangers, even leaving Aunt Millicent's estate. The thought of a London Season, of being presented at court and attending balls and soirees..." Livia shuddered delicately. "It seemed impossible."
Arabella felt her heart go out to this fragile creature who had endured such loss at so tender an age. "And yet you are here now, preparing to face society despite your fears. That speaks to considerable courage, Lady Livia."
"Please, you must call me Livia," the younger woman said with sudden earnestness. "And I pray you will allow me to call you Arabella? I have so longed for a friend, someone who might understand me"
"Of course," Arabella replied warmly. "Though I confess I am curious as to what made you finally agree to come to London?"
Livia moved to the window, gazing out at the garden with a wistful expression.
"Devon has sacrificed so much for my sake.
He loved the army, loved the adventure and independence it provided.
But when he inherited, he gave it all up to care for me.
He has dedicated three years of his life to coaxing me from my shell, arranging for tutors and companions and physicians who might help me overcome my anxieties. "
She turned back to Arabella, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears.
"He deserves to have his own life, to pursue his own happiness.
But he will never feel free to do so whilst I remain dependent upon him.
A successful Season, a good marriage are the things that would grant him the liberty he has earned. "
Arabella absorbed this revelation with a mixture of surprise and something else she preferred not to examine too closely.
The Devon that Livia described bore little resemblance to the notorious rake of popular imagination.
This was a man who had sacrificed his own desires for his sister's welfare, who had spent years patiently nurturing her recovery from tragedy.
"I see," she said carefully. "And have there been obstacles to your recovery?"
Livia's cheeks pinkened. "Several of the companions Devon employed proved to be more interested in him than in their duties. It became rather awkward, particularly when one of them attempted to... well, to compromise him into marriage."
The implication hung heavy in the air between them, and Arabella felt her stomach clench with an emotion she refused to acknowledge as jealousy. Of course, other women had attempted to snare the wealthy, handsome duke. She would be naive indeed to imagine otherwise.
"How distressing for you both," she managed.
"Indeed. Devon has grown quite cynical about feminine motives, I fear. He seems to believe that every woman he encounters is either attempting to trap him into marriage or seeking to profit from his generosity in some other fashion."
Arabella thought of her own circumstances, of the envelope tucked away in her reticule and the salary it contained. Was that how Devon viewed her? As another grasping female seeking to benefit from his wealth? The thought was more painful than it should have been.
"And what of his social activities?" she asked, striving for a casual tone. "I understand His Grace maintains an active presence in society."
Livia's expression grew troubled. "He has acquired something of a reputation, I fear.
The loss of our parents affected him deeply, though he would never admit as much.
He has become rather... reckless in his pursuits.
Aunt Millicent says it is his way of avoiding the pain, but I worry that he will do himself some lasting harm. "
Before Arabella could respond to this startling insight into Devon's character, a soft knock sounded upon the sitting room door. At Livia's invitation to enter, a middle-aged woman in the crisp black dress of an upper servant appeared, bobbing a respectful curtsy.
"Begging your pardon, Lady Livia, Miss Greystone, but His Grace has requested that I show Miss Greystone to the library at her convenience. He wishes to discuss Lady Livia's educational progress."
"Of course, Mrs. Henderson," Arabella replied, rising from her chair with what she hoped appeared to be professional composure rather than the nervous anticipation that was actually coursing through her veins. "I shall attend His Grace immediately."
"Shall I accompany you?" Livia asked, though her tone suggested she was rather hoping to avoid her brother's exacting scrutiny.
"That will not be necessary," Arabella assured her with a smile. "I suspect His Grace wishes to discuss matters that might prove tedious to a young lady more interested in fashion and social events."
Livia's look of relief confirmed that Arabella had gauged the situation correctly, and she followed Mrs. Henderson from the blue suite with a growing sense of trepidation.
The housekeeper led her through a maze of elegant corridors adorned with priceless artwork and furnishings that spoke to generations of wealth and refinement.
"His Grace is most particular about Lady Livia's welfare," Mrs. Henderson confided as they walked. "She is the light of his life, that one, though he'd never say so himself. Lost too much, has His Grace, to take any chances with what remains."
The comment provided yet another glimpse into Devon's character that contradicted his public reputation, and Arabella found herself more curious than ever about the man behind the notorious facade.
The library, when they reached it, was a magnificent chamber that rose two full stories, its walls lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound volumes that represented centuries of accumulated knowledge.
Tall windows provided abundant natural light, whilst several comfortable reading chairs were positioned to take advantage of both illumination and warmth from the fireplace.
Devon stood before one of the windows, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the street beyond. He had changed from his morning attire into a coat of deep green attire that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the elegant line of his tall form.
"Miss Greystone," he said without turning, somehow aware of her presence despite the silence of her approach. "Thank you for joining me so promptly."
"Your Grace." Arabella moved deeper into the room, her eyes drawn despite herself to the impressive collection of books surrounding them. "You wished to discuss Lady Livia's education?"
Devon turned to face her, his dark eyes holding hers with that same intensity she remembered from their previous encounters. "Among other things. Please, be seated."
He gestured toward one of the reading chairs, and Arabella settled herself with careful attention to propriety, ensuring that her skirts were arranged modestly and her posture conveyed appropriate deference.
Devon, however, did not take the chair opposite her as she had expected. Instead, he moved to lean against the mantelpiece, a position that allowed him to study her whilst maintaining the advantage of height.
"I trust you found your accommodations satisfactory?" he began, though his tone suggested this was merely a polite preamble to more substantive matters.
"More than satisfactory, Your Grace. Your generosity continues to exceed my expectations."
"Good." Devon's gaze moved thoughtfully over her features, as though he were cataloguing each detail for future reference. "I confess myself curious about your qualifications for this position, Miss Greystone. What particular accomplishments do you possess that might benefit my sister?"