Page 60 of The Lyon Returns
Georgina studied Gwen with troubled eyes.
Glancing around, she saw everyone wore the same expression. She cleared her throat. “Is there anything else I should know?”
“I’m not sure if the rest of my knowledge will aid you, but it can’t hurt, can it?”
She wasn’t so sure about that. She wasn’t particularly pleased with the information delivered thus far.
“At the age of nineteen, Mr. Devereux set off for Calcutta where, it is assumed, he connected with relatives on his mother’s side. Of a certainty, he founded his shipping company during this juncture.
“He returned to England some three years later, married not long after his return and moved with his wife into the home in which you currently reside.”
At the mention of Gideon’s marriage, a pang went through her. Silly. Why should his having been married bother her?
Still, she heard herself ask, “What of the late Mrs. Devereux? Did any of you know her?”
Amelia, Nancy, Charlotte, and Georgina shook their heads.
Margaret eyed Harriet. “I did not move in her esteemed circles,being no more than a bookseller—unlike Harriet.”
Lady Harriet pursed her lips. “Me? You exaggerate, Margaret. Lady Frances came from the bluest-blood stock, along the lines of the Duchess of Ashwood. In town, at balls and such, she did not mix in the general melee, preferring to limit her circle to those in the upper echelons of society. She was known to have spent a fair amount of time at Averly Abbey, the duke’s Surrey estate. I will say…” She shook her head. “It does not signify.”
Amelia crossed her arms over her chest and fixed the matriarch with a stern eye. “Lady Harriet, we must fortify Gwen with all the information we can gather.”
Lady Harriet nodded. “You make a fair point. My husband, Lord Oglethorpe, once told me he was surprised by Mr. Devereux’s marriage to Lady Fannie, not only because of her pedigree, which would seem to have ruled him out as a potential husband thanks to his stigma at birth, but because most people assumed Lord Ashwood and she shared atendrefor one another. They were seen in each other’s company quite a bit during the summer before Mr. Devereux’s return.”
This was all news to Gwen, despite her having gained insight into Gideon through his personal writings, which covered topics ranging from observations about the duke, the duchess, and his brother, Grayson, to anecdotes about Dirk Kennedy and Brice Tyrell. From commentaries on the disparity of wealth and rights of men—especially in India—to the idiosyncrasies of sailors and the beauty of a sunrise. But never did he mention affairs of the heart; leastwise, not in any of the journals Gwen had chanced to read. Not that it was any of her business.
Lady Harriet consulted her watch, an ornate timepiece attached to an equipage at her waist. “Oh, dear. Nearly half-past four.”
Amelia steepled her fingertips beneath her chin. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall when Mr. Devereux glimpses your transformation, Gwen,especially after having seen him…Never mind. Come, ladies, we must make haste to allow our Gwen all the time she needs for her toilette.”
Cups tinkled in their saucers. Used, small plates clattered as the ladies piled them on the tea cart. Reticules were gathered.
“I hardly need two and a half hours to dress,” Gwen insisted. “We’ve had no chance to talk privately until now.”
“No, no, Lady Amelia is correct,” Nancy said. “You don’t want to rush. It will take all the fun out of it.”
“We are due a meeting of the LLS,” Charlotte volunteered, eyes sparkling. “I vote we plan one at the earliest opportunity. Monday evening?”
Amelia clapped, obviously in favor. Nancy nodded with vigor.
“An excellent notion,” Lady Harriet agreed. “What with all the excitement surrounding Mr. Devereux’s return, gathering to discuss our latest reading completely slipped my mind.”
Margaret gave a ladylike snort. “My dear Harriet, I doubt the ladies’ urgency to meet again has anything to do with the plot of a gripping novel.”
Chapter Sixteen
Much to Gideon’sastonishment, Gwen awaited him in the drawing room when he entered at ten minutes to seven, ahead of their appointed meeting time. In his experience, women insisted upon making an entrance after primping and preening for an event. Leave it to his bluestocking wife to expose any inherent weakness in his preconceived notions.
She stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the manicured gardens. Her blonde hair was fashioned in a loose chignon, elegant in its simplicity. An ornamental, blue enameled comb secured the twist and glinted in the amber rays of the setting sun. She wore a flowing gown of azure blue that fit her slight frame to perfection, from behind at any rate.
With any luck, the front of the gown…His mind went blank as she turned to face him.
“Good evening, sir.” A pleasant smile curved her cupid’s-bow lips. From her long, graceful neck and the generous swell of her breasts above her décolleté, to her trim waist and gently rounded hips, she was everything feminine and soft and alluring.
It took a moment for him to realize her welcoming expression hadturned to one of alarm. Frowning, she glanced down at herself as if searching for something conspicuously out of place. “Is something wrong, Gideon?”
Yes. “No,” he all but snapped. “Why do you ask?” he added with as bland a smile as he could muster.
