Page 22 of Lord of the Lost

These words shocked Mona. She felt as though she were peering into some forbidden place. They both knew that one was great if one was born to be a Lord, a Duke, a King. That was what society was built on, that certainty which a man or woman might have, about their place in the world. They knew that, everyone knew that, surely, but he was challenging it. She had never heard such scandalous words.

“I can see how that frightens you, Mona. But believe me, you would agree with me if you had seen Lords making water in their breeches even while those who were born to be shepherds and farmers charged bravely to almost certain death. You would agree if you had seen simple, lowborn men save the lives of intelligent, highborn men; and you would agree with vehemence if you had seen the Lords take the credit for these heroics.” Mona knew that she would never agree that Lords, Ladies, Dukes, Duchesses, Kings, and Queens were not naturally above other types of people, at least to some degree. It ran contrary to everything she had ever been told, had ever observed, and had ever felt. But this was Devlin speaking – Devlin, who she had loved since she was a child, and whose opinions she had always respected. She did not want to judge his words, no matter how strange they were – she wanted to understand him, and where those words came from - so she did not protest at that moment. Instead, she waited and listened. “The point of these words is to say that I am different from how I was once. War has made me a different man in my thoughts, as well as my body. The challenge for us, I suppose, is to become friends once more.”

“I believe we can,” Mona said at once, squeezing his hand. “I believe it with all my soul.”

Devlin said nothing, just brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

~~~~~

Weeks passed, and Devlin tried, truly tried, to be warmer in his manner, not just to Mona, but to everyone. Sometimes, he thought he was succeeding, but then something would be said, or something would happen, and it was as if a grey veil of bitter grief swept over him, cutting him off from all warmth and light. At those times, he would walk away from everyone, would climb up into the old towers of the castle, or wander the wings which were closed up and unused. There he felt as if he was where he should be – surrounded by the ghosts of the past, by the Castle’s own league of the lost.

It was safer in that grey world, where he had no emotions, where nothing could hurt him again.

But then, after a while, he would remember Mona’s face, when she had told him that she believed, completely, that they could find their way back to friendship, and love, without this terrible cold distance. And he would gather himself up, and go back into the parts of the Castle occupied by the living, and try again.

Now, it was late May, and the world outside was full of flowers, and burgeoning life. They had, after his marriage to Mona, put off full mourning for his father, and moved to half mourning, although his mother still worried about being judged, should anyone but the family see her in anything other than black. Devlin was torn on the matter – for while they were still in strict mourning, he had an excuse to avoid all society – after all, his wedding, whilst he was still in mourning, had been scandalous enough – and hide himself away at Grimstoke Castle, but he did not wish his mother or sister to be bound to wear only black for any longer than they had to.

He was quite sure that his father would not have wished them so constrained.

That morning, he had woken early, disturbed by yet another dream of death and destruction, and had risen, dressed, and gone up to walk on the battlements of the oldest part of the Castle, and watch the sun rise over the hills.

It’s warmth had not relieved the chill inside him.

Eventually, he had gone down to break his fast, then had ridden out across the estate for some hours.

None of it had helped much so he had, in the end, turned back and now, having changed into clothes which were not scented of horse, he took himself to the parlour. The ladies would be there, almost certainly, and he should spend some time with them, no matter how challenging that could be. And Mona would be worried, and wondering where he was – he did not wish to trouble her.

He could hear the murmur of voices as he approached the parlour door – mostly Gabrielle’s voice, he thought. Idly, he wondered what they were talking about, and if it was, to some extent, centred around him. He half winced internally at that thought, for the last thing he wished was to be the centre of attention. He pushed open the door after tapping on it lightly, and stepped into the room.

Gabrielle was speaking and, whilst her eyes turned to him for a moment, she continued to the end of what she was saying.

“I would like it, very much, if we could hold a Ball, or at least a substantial evening soiree. It has been near nine months since Father died. Surely we can be allowed an event as a formal reintroduction of Devlin into society, as the Duke. Many people do not mourn beyond six months, after all.”

When Gabrielle stopped speaking, she glanced at Devlin again, then she regarded her mother with hopeful eyes. His mother sucked in a breath as though Gabrielle had just said that she wanted to travel the world, alone. When she spoke, her voice was soft, and unsteady.

“You know, my dear, how people feel about me. They think that, because I was born a Frenchwoman, I am somehow inferior and less deserving of respect, though I am as highborn as any of them. Oh, they will not say it, but you can see it in their eyes. I do not wish to have snakes in my home.”

“Not every person we know treats you so. And… the Ball is not for you, Mother.”

Gabrielle waved her hand dismissively and turned to Devlin.

Mona held her breath.

It had been a long time since there had been a Ball, or any social event beyond small dinners, at Grimstoke Castle.

The last time there had been a Ball, Mona had been a child, and Devlin had been a reckless, adventuring young man of four-and-ten. She vaguely remembered, early in the evening before she was banished to the nursery, the old Duke sitting her upon his knee and tickling her under the chin, proclaiming her a ‘fine girl’, and then setting her down to roam amongst the Lords and Ladies, all of whom seemed majestic and otherworldly, the women with perfect hair and faces and the men all strong and booming and proper.

“Ah… I…”

Devlin began to speak, but Gabrielle quickly spoke over him, continuing to address their mother, even while she kept her eyes on Devlin.

“A Ball, Mother,” Gabrielle went on, “is for the young. We will not allow the whisperings of vindictive people to dictate what we do in our home.”

“Your father respected me too much for that,” Emilie sighed. “He never would have allowed others to dictate what we did. But he was careful to ensure that we provided no fodder for their gossip.”

“I am Duke now, Mother,” Devlin spoke lazily rather than vindictively or proudly. “The decision is, therefore, mine.” He said it with resignation. He would much rather pass the decision onto somebody else, Mona sensed, but knew that it was his place to resolve this, and to prevent it turning into an argument. “If we were to have a Ball, Gabrielle, would you and Mona see to the arrangements? I am afraid that such organising bores me, and I would be terrible at it.”

“Devlin!” his mother cried. “You will not do this, surely. Please do not put me in such a position!”

“Mother,” Devlin said slowly. “We must allow Gabrielle to live. She is a young woman, she is beautiful, and it is past time that she made her come out, even if only here, rather than in London. Father’s illness, and our mourning have delayed it, but we can delay no longer, for Gabrielle’s sake. Besides, you may find that people are far more reasonable than you expect.”

“We will see to the arrangements,” Gabrielle said excitedly, before her mother could object again. She turned to Mona and clasped her hands. “Oh, sister, what a delightful time we shall have! Think of the lights and the wine and the dancing!”

Devlin, meanwhile, moved across the room to his mother, leaned down, and kissed her on the forehead.

“Mother,” he said, “I know that there are bothersome people in this world, but we cannot allow them to drive us to cloister ourselves. I fought the French for a long time – I have killed many – many have killed my friends – I bear the scars on my body, and in my mind — and I love you, Mother. Your land of birth is far less important than the kind of person you are.”

~~~~~

Does he truly feel that?

Or does he say what he thinks he should say?

Mona tried to fight the treacherous thoughts, but they remained, even as she watched Gabrielle’s eyes brighten and fill with excitement.

“What a time we shall have!”

Gabrielle laughed with delight as she spoke.