He laughed, then asked, “Did they ever realize?”
“As far as I’m aware, they remain oblivious to this day.”
Smiling, he looked at their three, now clustered by the bank and busy tossing bread crumbs to a flotilla of greedy ducks. “I wonder if I should warn Spencer and Rupert what they have to look forward to.”
She squeezed his arm. “No, you shouldn’t. It’s one of those things they have to learn for themselves.” Her gaze rested on Horry, who was trying her best to hurl bread crumbs at the ducks. “Or not, as the case may be.”
They joined the children. Devlin crouched between the boys and engaged them in a discussion of the behavior of individual ducks, while Therese bent over Horry and endeavored to help her daughter improve her throwing.
Given the season, the overcast skies, and the hour, there were few others in that section of the park—mostly nursemaids and children, with a few courting couples with eyes only for each other. No one interrupted their pleasant family interlude, and it passed off without drama. Throughout the moments, as Therese and Devlin shared the tasks of answering questions and directing bright eyes and attentions, she sensed, once again, a softening in their interaction, a relaxed closeness—not so much a physical one as on the mental plane—that she couldn’t recall being there months before.
Once the children had fed the hungry ducks every last crumb they’d brought, the flotilla lost interest and paddled off. Satisfied, the children stood and watched them go, and when Therese suggested it was time to head home, the three willingly turned toward the house.
Smiling, Therese took the arm Devlin offered her, and they strolled slowly in their flagging children’s wake, with the staff flanking the youngsters on either side.
Free to ponder, Therese’s mind returned to that curious closeness; now she thought of it, the feeling wasn’t so very novel, just novel in this setting. She recognized the sense of sharing—of shared purpose, shared emotions—as the same feeling she experienced with Devlin in her bedroom, in her bed. Considering that, she decided it was more a case of a subtle shield—one he didn’t maintain between them in the intimacy of the bedroom—lowering in other settings.
Until now, while out of the bedroom, he’d kept that shield in place, but she knew she wasn’t wrong in sensing a change.
Yet another indication of our maturing relationship.
Deciding she very much approved, she tightened her hold on Devlin’s arm. When he glanced at her, she flung him a smile. “I was just thinking that, although as a child, you spent more time in London than I, and consequently, our childhood experiences were somewhat different, those experiences had one element in common.” Catching his gaze, she tipped her head. “We were always doing something.”
Devlin followed her thinking, then arched his brows. “Active rather than passive?”
“Exactly.” Therese looked at the children; the boys were each holding one of Horry’s hands, and the trio were talking quietly. “And those three are the same.”
Devlin grunted. “Something for us to bear in mind in the years to come.”
She nodded, and they continued to stroll, taking a more direct line toward the Grosvenor Gate than the route they’d followed to the Serpentine.
Glancing surreptitiously at Therese, noting the small, satisfied smile playing about her lips, Devlin was very aware that she was relaxed, entirely comfortable, and that courtesy of tightening her hold on his arm, she was walking a fraction closer to him than was usual in public.
He’d told Martin that his principal motivation in helping Martin take his place in society was a wish to make Therese happy. Taking her to the opera had also made her happy, as had this excursion, minor though it had been.
And as he’d hoped, she was drawing closer, nearer, turning to him more openly.
His campaign was working, yet at this point, it was still very much a case of one small step at a time.
As they neared the Grosvenor Gate, he looked ahead and, through the trees, studied the graceful bulk of Alverton House. They’d been speaking of their childhoods; was there an opening there for him to mention his parents’ marriage and how his view of it had colored his own expectations of the married state?
He glanced at Therese’s face—at the relaxed pleasure infusing her features—and decided that such a revelation was too difficult, too deeply personal to introduce at that point.
As it happened, I thought my parents’ love-match of a marriage was a disaster, at least for my father, so I decided that such a marriage was the last sort of relationship I would ever engage in. But…
Lips firming, he looked ahead. No, this was definitely not the time.
His success to date—steady and sure—confirmed that his best way forward was to focus on the present and what he wanted for their future and, at least for now, to leave the past well alone.
The dinner that evening at Fortescue House was a must-attend event for both Devlin and Therese. While Devlin stood beside Therese in the Fortescues’ overly ornate drawing room and, with one corner of his mind, paid attention to the conversation of the group he and she had joined, the better part of his faculties were employed in scanning the room and assessing the social and, more importantly, political implications of who was there.
Thankfully, neither the Prime Minister nor his nemesis, Palmerston, was present. Russell’s ministry stood on shaky ground, and more often than not, it was the ambitious and headstrong Palmerston behind the quaking.
The Marquess of Lansdowne, President of the Council and Leader of the House of Lords, was chatting to Grey, the Home Secretary, and Auckland, the First Lord of the Admiralty. Noting that he had caught Devlin’s attention, Lansdowne nodded. Devlin nodded back, subtly agreeing to have a word with the marquess at some point. Although getting on in years, Lansdowne was one of the longest-serving parliamentarians and, as one of the most senior Whigs, tended to keep an eye on those younger peers, such as Devlin, who had similar legislative concerns.
There were a few other cabinet ministers present, along with several secretaries and undersecretaries. Devlin was aware that his and Therese’s inclusion on Lady Fortescue’s guest list was due to both their social prominence and his standing as a nobleman with a real interest in the political issues of the day and the furthering of the same, yet with no ambition to wield power directly, at least not for the foreseeable future.
His was a vote many in the various parties and factions saw value in courting.
It didn’t hurt that other members in both the Lords and the Commons had taken to following his lead.
While he was willing to actively support those causes he deemed worthy—popular education, for one—he was leery over joining any of the established factions, preferring, like Lansdowne, to make up his own mind.
In that, perhaps unsurprisingly, he was strongly supported by Therese. Devlin doubted she’d ever done anything other than make up her own mind about any issue in her life.
Consequently, she stood beside him and aided and abetted him in observing and eliciting opinions from all those with whom they spoke.
She’d done so previously, in similar situations, yet tonight, she seemed…more focused. More transparently, more openly acting to further his interests.
When they parted from one group, before they joined the next, she tipped her head his way and murmured, “When do you think to speak with Lansdowne?” She glanced at him. “I assume you wish to.”