Page 9 of Lord of the Lost

Chapter Three

Word had gone round the village at lightning speed, as any juicy gossip did. Devlin had returned, three days ago, and had spoken to the old men outside the tavern, before going up the hill to Grimstoke Castle. Mona had heard it from her lady’s maid, May, who had heard it from one of the footmen, who had gone down into the village to run errands for the housekeeper.

Since Devlin’s arrival that night, no one had seen him again.

Mona wondered if the old men had simply had too much ale, and had imagined it all. But she hoped desperately that they hadn’t, that it was real, that Devlin had returned. She wanted to see him, wanted to know if he remembered her… but how was she to do that?

Eventually, once he made his presence known more visibly, Mona expected that Roland would call on him, as was only appropriate, and then, perhaps, Mona might convince Roland that she should go with him? It would be typical of Roland, of course, to refuse her request, because he felt that the first call should be ‘man to man’. Roland was so painfully determined to do everything in as proper a fashion as possible, lest anyone think him to be unworthy of his title.

She shook her head and sighed, then went back to reading her book.

She would wait, although everything in her wanted to simply run out of the house, rush over to pound on the door of Grimstoke Castle, and demand to see Devlin. She would wait, and imagine the moment when she would see him again. The moment she had waited eleven long years for…

~~~~~

He’d been back a week – a week which seemed both years long, and mere seconds at the same time. A week in which he had discovered that being a Duke was an order of magnitude more difficult, in so many ways, than being a commanding officer in a battle. Because being a Duke required caring about people’s feelings, and how things might look to observers, rather than just doing what would most expediently get something done.

And caring about other people’s feelings was damned difficult, when he felt so utterly detached from emotion, himself.

He had gone out riding around the estate, learning it again, discovering what had changed while he was away, he had looked through the estate ledgers, which he’d found in his father’s study – a study which was now his, strange as that seemed. But he had not gone into the village. The idea of facing other people was overwhelming – he wanted to spend time discovering just how to exist in this strange new world, where everything was familiar, and yet utterly different. Where duty required him to care, and give his utmost, even as he felt nothing for anything.

Today, it was raining again, so he was simply sitting in the parlour, thinking – or rather, trying to think about useful things, without letting thoughts of war invade his mind. He was almost ready to give up on that attempt, when his mother came into the room. He took one look at her face, and knew that she wished to discuss something – something he wasn’t going to be happy about. That look was the same as it ever had been, even when he was a boy.

“Good afternoon, Mother.”

“Good afternoon, Devlin. I’m glad that I’ve found you here. There are things we must discuss.”

Dread filled him, but he forced a smile.

“What might that be, Mother?”

“Marriage – for you, and for Gabrielle.”

Devlin swallowed, hard. He had known that this conversation would come – but he had hoped that he would have more time…

“Must we discuss this now? So soon after my return? I barely know where I am yet…”

“We must. If you had died… the title, and all that means, all of the properties, would have gone to your father’s cousin – who is not a pleasant man. You must marry and get yourself an heir, to preserve everything your father and his forefathers worked for. Equally, we must find a husband for Gabrielle – she is old to not be married, but your father’s long illness stole her chance for a London Season. She needs the security of a husband, and a chance for a life of her own.”

He considered it for a moment, as her words made sense though he did not like them, but then horror filled him. He could not marry, could not inflict himself on some poor woman, with his scars, his slight limp, and the invisible infirmities of his mind that war had thrust upon him. What woman would want a man who jumped at shadows, who woke screaming in the night, raving of the ghosts that filled his dreams?

And who was there, anyway, that he might marry? As he asked himself that question, an image rose in his mind, unbidden, of Desdemona, the day that he had ridden off to war, so full of his foolish dreams of glory. She had been fourteen, and just starting to bloom into the woman she would become. She had stood there, tears on her face, and simply said ‘come back to me’, before turning and running away to hide in the gardens. It had not mattered that she was so much younger than he – they had always seemed fated to be together, and he had accepted that, once she was grown, he might marry her.

Would she even remember him, now? He had not written to her, had stopped writing even to his parents, after the first few years, and it had been so long… He shook his head – she, of all people, he would not burden with what he had become. He was not worthy of her. But then, perhaps she was already married? For she would be five and twenty by now, he realised with a shock, and long past the time when most women married. The thought of her married to some other man was like a knife to his heart. And that startled him – for that, fleetingly, was a feeling, a true feeling, more than he had known since the day he had fallen in battle, only to wake in the battlefield hospital tents, his mind full of ghosts. He pushed the idea away, suddenly afraid to feel, after so long.

He turned back to his mother, who was waiting patiently as he thought.

“I can see your point, and I am happy to work with you to find a suitable match for Gabrielle, but for me… I think that will take a little longer.”

“So long as you consider it, as soon as you can. Once our mourning is finished, we must begin to attend social events, much though I dislike the thought of that myself.”

“Then we shall deal with it together, for Gabrielle’s sake.”

“Yes. Thank you – I shall leave you to your thoughts, and see you at dinner.”

For a long time after she left the room, Devlin stared blankly at the fire in the grate, as his thoughts returned to Desdemona. He had to know if she had married, had to know, because much though it terrified him, if she might possibly be the key to unlocking his feelings, and freeing him from the grey, ghost inhabited place he now occupied, then he must at least meet with her, must discover what she thought of him…. He was not quite sure how he would achieve such a thing – he could ask Sam, the stable boy, if he knew much of what went on in the village, and at least find out if she had married, but if she hadn’t, as he hoped, then to create an opportunity to meet might be very difficult…. As with everything else in his life which had challenged him – if it came to it, he would find a way.

~~~~~