The room was gloomy. It was a cavernous space, mostly populated by Greek gods, thanks to his father’s mania for collecting ancient statues—as well as wheelbarrows, Italian pottery, and wicker chairs, among other things.
When Devin inherited the estate, he had ordered his father’s collections confined by room, and divided between the townhouse and the ducal estates. The pantheon thronged in the townhouse study, where he had long ago learned the trick of ignoring them. Forty-four chiming clocks stayed in an extremely noisy bedchamber in Wales, while the wheelbarrows had their own outbuilding in Northamptonshire.
“All those blank eyes,” Otis said with a shiver. “Just look at that one.”
Devin glanced over his shoulder. “Perseus holding up the head of Medusa. The triumph of good over evil. It ought to be in your vein.”
“Revolting,” Otis declared. “If you don’t mind my saying the obvious, your father was as potty as a cracked vase. You should clear these out. Give them to a museum or something. Is that chamber upstairs still crammed with dead birds?”
Devin shrugged. “Unless they flew away. I haven’t opened the door in years, but Binsey told me recently that the housemaids are complaining about dusting. He wants to bring in some glass cabinets.”
“Hazel and I used to goad each other into creeping into that room at Christmas,” Otis said.
“What do you mean to do next?” Devin asked, having no interest in household arrangements.
“As I said, marry an heiress,” Otis replied promptly.
“Do you have one in mind?”
“Not yet. I thought I might find one somewhere in Europe. Your solicitor paid out the living a year ahead—you might want to reconsider that with your next vicar—so I’ve got money to take passage.”
Devin frowned. “Where in Europe?”
“Perhaps Spain,” Otis said. “Actually, anywhere but here, because Father bellowed at me last night, pretending he counted on me to save his soul, which is absurd. He apparently thought that a cassock gave me magic powers, but damn it, he’s known me my entire life. That would be like expecting you to empty the coal scuttle. It just ain’t going to happen.”
Definitely not, as regards the coal scuttle.
“Mind you, I’ll miss England. I’ll even miss these heart-warming talks of ours, Dev.”
Devin didn’t believe, on the whole, that expression of emotion was necessary. By the age of seven, he’d learned that a raised eyebrow could convey any number of emotions, and it was generally preferable to allow people to come to their own conclusions.
But Otis was irritating, cheerful, insouciant . . . family. Devin had kept the living in St. Wilfrid’s open because he wanted him nearby, preferably down the street in the vicarage. If forced to articulate it, Devin would have admitted that his life was satisfying but somewhat cold.
Otis and Hazel darted in and out of his house like fireflies, shining with warmth and cheer, and he treasured that.
“I’d prefer you didn’t leave for the continent,” he said. “I will need you to help a new vicar settle into the parish.”
“Help him with what?” Otis asked. “I was still mixing up the curates’ names until a couple of days ago, when I worked out a system to keep them straight. Gerdsby, goat, thanks to that unfortunate beard. Habblety, hound, due to his hangdog look. I can leave the new fellow a note explaining my classification. No need to say it in person.”
“I would be grateful if you would remain in England at least for the time being,” Devin said, adding, “If I’d known you were set against the church, I wouldn’t have encouraged your father when he steered you in that direction.”
“I wasn’t set against it until yesterday,” Otis said. “And I’m not leaving directly; I have to talk to the bishop, for one thing. These things don’t happen overnight, and I’d guess it will take at least three months for my request to be approved. I’m never putting on a cassock again, though. Wearing a gown doesn’t suit my sense of self.”
“I understand.”
“Mind you, I’m not looking forward to moving back home. The place is a madhouse, with my sister’s debut in the offing. My father imported a relic of an aunt from the country to act as a chaperone, and Hazel does nothing but complain that Aunt Elnora’s ideas are antiquated. Well, of course, they are. The poor woman was born a million years ago.”
“You could stay here. Or remain in the vicarage as my liaison,” Devin suggested. “After all, we had it renovated to your taste. There’s a fair chance that the next man won’t appreciate all that blue velvet, so you might as well enjoy it.”
“More the fool he,” Otis said. “Blue velvet is au courant. I suppose that I could remain in the vicarage until I’m out of orders. It would give me a chance to follow through with some of the schemes I’ve put in motion in the parish. As long as someone else is doing the important parts.”
“I understand,” Devin said. “I’ll find a vicar to give Last Rites.”
“I actually don’t mind the rest of the job,” Otis continued. “The parish needs livening up. I’ve begun offering sherry after the service, which is very popular. Of course, I had to restock the wine cellar, or rather you did.”
“I don’t suppose you could wait to leave the church until after you conduct my wedding ceremony?”
Otis snorted. “You’ll do your vows in Westminster Abbey, with a flock of bishops parading around like French cooks wearing Christmas hats. I must say, my father is beside himself about the idea that you’re tying the knot. He had put your taking a bride in the same category as my being appointed a bishop: unlikely.”
“I know my duty,” Devin said. “I considered marrying one of the Duke of Lindow’s daughters two years ago, but I was in the middle of something, and I never found the time to meet her.”
“That the pi business?”
Dev nodded.
“Never understood why you waste time devising a scheme to compute something that’s already been computed.”
Devin didn’t figure out a way to compute pi to 123 digits for any good reason other than that numbers made him happy.
Luckily, Otis didn’t wait for an answer; no one else in the family had the faintest interest in mathematics. “There’s a couple more Wilde daughters on the market this year, and you can make up for lost time.”
“Do you know anything about them?” Devin asked.
“Of course I do. Hazel attended school with them. To call a spade a spade, they are my sister’s prime competition. As I understand it, one of them is exquisitely beautiful, lively, and intelligent.”
“Lady Joan,” Devin said. “I heard as much.”
“Illegitimate,” Otis said. “Father was a Prussian count. The second duchess ran off leaving the baby behind. The girl has the count’s yellow hair, by all accounts, and the Wildes are dark-haired. The other is the third duchess’s daughter by her first marriage. Astley, I think his name was.”
“I’ll take the Wilde,” Devin said.
Otis laughed. “‘Take her’? It must be nice to be a duke. Maybe I’ll offer you some competition. She is an heiress.”