Despite all commonly espoused beliefs, in his experience, the gentlemen’s clubs were as much hotbeds of gossip as any grande dame’s drawing room.
Lately, he’d been scheduling business meetings primarily in the mornings or the later afternoons, freeing him to spend more time with Therese if the opportunity presented; he resolved to continue that practice, more or less matching his schedule to hers.
He pondered that plan, such as it was, and decided it was a reasonable start. Until he learned how Therese felt about him spending more time with her, he shouldn’t push too hard.
His gaze returned to his yet-to-be-completed tally of grains produced by his farms. Grimacing, he picked up the pen, cleaned the nib, dipped it into the inkwell, and continued his calculations.
Some time later, Portland tapped and entered, ferrying in the morning’s mail on a silver salver.
“Ah—thank you, Portland.” Devlin laid down his pen and, after Portland had placed the small stack of letters on the blotter, reached for them. “I’ve several matters pending that I’m hoping to wrap up in the next few days.”
“After the exhibition ends, my lord?”
Devlin nodded. “Just so.”
“I hope the news is good, my lord.” With that, Portland bowed and departed.
The first letter was from the manager of Devlin’s hunting box, reminding him of an earlier discussion about increasing the size of his stable there. He set that aside for further deliberation, then picked up the other letters and leafed through them.
Examining one simple envelope, he grunted with satisfaction. After pushing the other letters to one side, he reached for his letter knife, turned the folded paper over, and broke the nondescript seal.
He spread the single sheet, read the close lines inscribed by a cramped hand, then slowly smiled. “Excellent!” Still smiling, he leaned back in his chair. “The timing couldn’t be better.”
He tapped the edge of the sheet on the blotter. Everything was falling into place. “I can call at the bank after lunch, then go on from there.”
He scanned the letter again, then folded it and slid it into his pocket. Briefly, he glanced through the other letters, confirming none required immediate attention, then with his interest in finishing his calculations reinvigorated, returned to the estate reports.
Early that afternoon, in an excellent mood after enjoying an hour of her husband’s company over the luncheon table, Therese decided that she really ought to start acquiring items for the children’s Christmas gifts.
With that goal in mind, she summoned the town carriage and, judging that Noah’s Ark’s wares would be more suited to the boys in following years, directed Munns to drive to the Strand. A particular toymaker whose wooden wares the boys found enthralling had his shop on the south side of the street, by the corner of Beaufort Street.
As the carriage rattled down Park Lane and turned in to Piccadilly, Therese was rather relieved that no one could see her or the beaming smile she was having such difficulty banishing from her lips.
Before they’d enjoyed their private luncheon, Devlin had appeared in the nursery, much to the children’s delight. He’d occasionally done so before, but over recent weeks, he’d more frequently turned up and, subsequently, escorted her to the dining room. Thinking back over the past days, she’d realized just how inventive he’d been in finding ways to spend more time with her—walking in the park, the zoo, even the opera. All outings, she suspected, arranged by him to give them time and opportunity to draw closer.
Not that she was complaining—quite the opposite! She was delighted to welcome him into her life and to more definitely share in his, as, under what she now realized had been his direction, they’d been doing at the social events they’d recently attended. Even at church.
While all that was true, her mood was further buoyed by the realization that, now he and she had confessed—freely and openly and in simple, unambiguous words—to loving each other, there was no impediment to further developing the day-to-day closeness they’d started to enjoy over recent days.
Clearly, realizing he loved her had freed Devlin from conventional constraints over spending time with her, which left her looking forward to a future richer and more rewarding than she’d imagined might be.
Her expectations of their shared life had risen to a degree that left her joyously eager and almost giddy with hope.
And hope of that sort felt simply wonderful.
It was hardly surprising that she couldn’t stop beaming.
The carriage slowed as Munns negotiated the traffic around Trafalgar Square. Refocusing on her errand, Therese peered out at the façades as the carriage rocked, then rolled more freely into and along the Strand.
Rather than attempt to halt on the Strand itself, amid the constant traffic, Munns sensibly turned in to Cecil Street and drew up by the curb there. Dennis handed Therese to the pavement, and she directed him to follow as she walked around the corner and along the Strand to the toymaker’s shop.
Once inside the cavernlike shop, filled to the rafters with wooden toys, she realized that having Dennis accompany her had been inspired; although an adult in years, he retained enough boyish enthusiasm to provide a useful barometer for her sons’ likely interests. Together, she and Dennis spent an enjoyable half hour picking out toys for all three children.
After chatting with the toymaker—an older man of Germanic extraction—and complimenting him on his wares, Therese directed him to add the sizeable total of her day’s purchases to the Alverton account she’d previously established, then with Dennis, now loaded down with brown-paper-wrapped packages, following at her heels, she stepped out of the door the toymaker held for them.
It was midafternoon, and the pavements were bustling, yet the gentleman who straightened from lounging against the wall just along from the door was instantly recognizable.
Therese returned his smile. “Child.” As he ambled to her, she looked up at the toymaker’s sign swinging above her head, then lowered her gaze to meet his. “What on earth has brought you here, my lord?”
Child grinned and tipped his head toward the shop beyond the toymaker’s. “My watchmaker. He’s been repairing an old timepiece of mine. I called in to fetch it, glanced into the toymaker’s on my way past, and saw you.”
With Dennis juggling packages and hovering behind her, they were disrupting the flow of pedestrians. Therese turned to the young footman. “Go ahead. I’m sure Lord Child will escort me back to the carriage.”
Child half bowed and murmured that he would be delighted.
With a nod of dismissal, Therese sent Dennis on, then took the arm Child offered, and together, they strolled leisurely in Dennis’s wake.
Child studied her face. In light of the situation when they’d last parted, she wasn’t the least surprised when, albeit cloaking his curiosity in a veneer of polite boredom, he asked, “So, how are you and Devlin getting on?”
She tilted her head to a jaunty angle and let her beaming smile resurface. “Very well—indeed, exceedingly well.” Glancing at Child, she met his eyes. “Thank you for your…”
“Intervention?” He arched a brow. “Wise and sage advice?”
She laughed and tipped her head in acknowledgment. “All that and more.” She owed him as much as Devlin did.