Georgiana shot Therese a mischievous look and brightly replied, “We have, indeed, my lord. You’ve just missed your old friend, Lord Child. He spent quite a few minutes entertaining us.”
Emily smiled serenely at Devlin. “He was thoroughly charming and so full of stories from his travels that the time quite flew.”
Therese didn’t miss the fractional tightening of Devlin’s jaw, although she doubted anyone else detected any hint of reaction through the languidly relaxed mask he kept firmly in place. She also caught the faintly wary looks James and Cedric threw him. But “Is that so?” uttered in a bland and disinterested tone was all the reply her husband made.
Deciding she didn’t need Emily and Georgiana to poke the bear any further, Therese blithely declared, “Did you hear that Lord Monk is threatening to cut off his son without a penny?”
“Hector?” James said. “That will put the cat among the pigeons.”
“We’ve heard that Hector is deep in the clutches of some moneylender,” Cedric confided. “Is his father’s ire due to that?” He looked at all three ladies. “Or something else?”
Georgiana smiled conspiratorially. “We all suspect it’s ‘something else,’ but exactly what—”
“Or should we say whom?” Emily put in.
“—no one knows.” Georgiana looked hopefully at the three men.
Devlin leaned a shoulder against the carriage’s side. “Given his lordship’s widely known penchant for opera dancers, that seems a trifle like the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Indeed,” Therese agreed, pleased to have succeeded in diverting everyone from the subject of Child. “But when the gentleman in question is his heir, his lordship apparently takes quite a different view.”
The company continued exchanging observations on a succession of ton topics, then the bells rang out for four o’clock, and Emily and Georgiana gathered their reticules and pressed Therese’s fingers, assuring her they would see her at Lady Wicklow’s picnic the next day.
While Cedric held the carriage door, Devlin gallantly handed the pair down to the verge. Georgiana and Emily took their leave of the gentlemen, waved to Therese, then hurried to where Georgiana’s small carriage stood waiting farther along the avenue.
Therese saw Cedric and James look questioningly at Devlin, but he waved them on. “I’ll go in the carriage—it’ll be faster for you two to continue down to the Stanhope Gate.”
James and Cedric agreed. They farewelled Therese, then strode across the avenue and continued south while Devlin climbed up and sat beside Therese.
After the mention of Child, Therese wasn’t surprised; it seemed the specter of his childhood friend held the power to stir Devlin’s possessiveness.
The observation intrigued her; until Child, she’d rarely glimpsed this side of Devlin. Then again, she couldn’t imagine that, pre-Child, he’d seen any need; being entirely comfortable in her marriage—as he knew her to be—she’d never been inclined to encourage any gentleman, but apparently, no encouragement was needed to have Child dance attendance on her.
She wondered if the time might come when she would have to put her foot down about that.
Having claimed the seat beside Therese, Devlin donned his hat, then gave their coachman, Munns, the word to head home.
The barouche rolled smoothly forward to join the queue of fashionable carriages waiting to quit the park. Alverton House stood on the corner of Park Lane and Upper Grosvenor Street, more or less directly opposite the Grosvenor Gate.
Thinking to excuse deserting his friends’ company for hers, Devlin murmured, “I have to admit I find James harping on about Veronica’s behavior wearying.”
“Oh?”
He glanced at Therese and saw she was smiling as if she knew something he didn’t. He thought, then pressed, “If James is so unhappy, I can’t see why he doesn’t do something about it—at least talk to his wife, if nothing else.”
Therese’s smile widened, and she softly chuckled. “But James isn’t unhappy—at least not about his marriage. In all ways that matter, he’s perfectly content, which, strange though it may seem, is a large part of his problem.”
Fascinated, Devlin stared at her. After a moment, he asked, “As you see it, what is his problem?”
“Well”—she tipped her head—“not just his but Veronica’s, too. As yet, neither has come to terms with the fact that James is deeply in love with Veronica and she with him.” Her smile deepened. “Apparently, that was not what either was expecting when they wed, and I gather the ‘falling in love’ part rather snuck up on them, which is why, despite the years, they’ve seemed to be getting worse.”
Devlin was silent as he digested that, then thought back over the months of James’s carping. Eventually, he grunted and muttered, “Trust James to fall on his feet.”
After a moment, Therese glanced at him, her expression faintly puzzled.
Mentally scrambling, he offered, “I saw Lady Kilroy, Mrs. Marshland, and the old Dowager Duchess of Larwood at the exhibition.”
From the corner of his eye, he watched Therese debate whether to quiz him about his comment regarding James or follow the carrot he’d dangled…
Eventually, she faced forward and asked, “What was the dowager up to? She must be quite ancient.”
He promptly told her about the patented foot warmer the old lady had been examining. “As for the other two, they seemed merely to be swanning about, more to be seen than to see, so to speak.”
“I can’t imagine either being all that interested in any exhibits,” Therese returned. After a moment, she glanced at him. “How did your business with the exhibitor go? Were they foreign or local?”
“Swedish.” Devlin proceeded to share the details of his negotiations with her. Early in their marriage, he’d learned that Therese, being Therese, heard many things related to all sorts of topics from all sorts of sources, and sometimes, she was able to provide significant and even powerful information.
Therese found Devlin’s observations of the Swedes and how they had approached the negotiations illuminating, instructive, and also entertaining. When it came to studying people, his eye was as keen as hers, and his sense of the absurd aligned closely with hers.
She was smiling as they approached the Grosvenor Gate. Looking ahead, she saw a familiar gentleman come striding through the smaller pedestrian gate to the side of the carriageway. Still smiling, she sat up and raised a hand. “There’s Gregory.”
Her brother had paused, clearly scanning the carriages. He saw them and strode toward them.
Devlin ordered Munns to draw up by the verge, and Gregory came to the side of the carriage. He took off his hat, nodded to Devlin, then focused on Therese. “I’m glad I caught you. I was coming to find you to let you know that Martin’s arrived in town. His ship docked yesterday morning. I don’t know where he is at the moment, but I met him earlier, and we had lunch and caught up.”
Therese studied Gregory’s face; his expression told her little. “And?” she prompted. “What do you think?”
Gregory pressed his lips together, then shrugged. “His tale sounds genuine—I can certainly see him doing all he says he did. But to be perfectly candid, I’m reserving judgment, at least for the nonce.” Gregory glanced at Devlin. “You should hear his story directly from him and make your own assessment.” Gregory returned his gaze to her. “He said he intended to look you up, so expect to see him, possibly tomorrow.”