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“Good evening, Your Grace, Lady Caitlin,” Viola said, beaming at both of them before she walked off.
It wasn’t until she was inside the ballroom that she realized she had given the duke a real smile.
Chapter Seven
The Duke of Wynter’s study
The next morning
Devin had taken Lady Caitlin into supper after he was deserted by Miss Astley—whose name was Viola, he’d discovered by striking up a conversation with her stepsister Joan while they danced later that evening.
Viola was right: Joan wasn’t the wife for him.
Joan shone like torchlight in that bloody ballroom; all eyes were on them from the moment he bowed before her. If he married her, their every move would be catalogued in the popular press.
Exquisitely beautiful, yes. But one doesn’t marry a woman for the sake of the portrait gallery.
The image of Viola practically baring her teeth at him as she informed him that she wouldn’t allow him to marry her sister came to mind.
“What are you smiling about?” his cousin Otis asked. He had stopped by to let Devin know that he’d finally been officially released from the clergy, and his belongings were being moved from the vicarage in the afternoon. “You never smile.”
Devin glanced at him. “You didn’t attend the Lindow ball last night.”
“I thought Father might break into tears if he saw his ungrateful son circling the ballroom floor,” Otis said. “After we had an argument, I told him that I was thinking of heading to Spain to find an heiress, which led to a ruckus since Spanish women are Catholic.” He was seated in a chair before Devin’s desk, long legs stretched out before him. From his disheveled look, he’d been out all night, in livelier environs than the Lindow townhouse.
“No going to Spain until you find me another vicar. You took on the task months ago, and you haven’t come up with a replacement,” Devin said. “Luckily, I can point you in the right direction.”
“That’s your responsibility,” Otis said. “Must be hundreds of them floating around. Some of the fellows I was at university with had five brothers, all of them taking orders. I’ll give you some free advice, Dev: I don’t think you should find another third, fourth, or fifteenth gentleman’s son. We’re not in the business for the right reasons, and that’s me saying it. I say, don’t you think we should celebrate my escape with a spot of brandy?”
“It’s 10 a.m.,” Devin observed.
“It feels later than that,” Otis replied. “I’ve been out all night.”
“I gathered as much from your attire. You have a distinctly nonclerical air.”
Otis glanced down at his crumpled maroon coat, enlivened by a waistcoat embroidered with pansies. “A bit cheerful for the fellows in black,” he acknowledged. “I had the waistcoat made while I was at Cambridge, but I hadn’t worn it since I moved into the vicarage. I couldn’t even find it at first, until it turned out that my valet had tucked it away in the attic. He never liked it.”
“Sherry?” Devin asked, moving toward the sideboard.
“Champagne is better for breakfast,” Otis said, brightening immediately. “Here, I’ll ring for that owl you call a butler. Now he would make a good vicar. You need a Bible thumper with a feeling for the business, a proper gospel grinder. You can tell that wearing black and brooding over people’s sins comes naturally to Binsey.”
Devin’s butler, Binsey, pushed open the door with an alacrity that indicated he had been hovering in the vicinity of the door. And the dark look he threw at Otis suggested that he’d had his ear pressed to the keyhole.
“Champagne,” Devin said, heading back to his chair.
Binsey narrowed his owlish eyes to indicate disapproval but took himself away.
“I hear you went to the Lindow ball last night,” Otis said. “There was plenty of chatter about it from fellows who ended up at the club later. I don’t know why people say that women are the gossiping sex; men love to blather on.”
“What was the blather?”
“Did you see Viscount Greywick? Remember, I warned you that he would be competition?”
“I missed him.”
“Well, apparently he danced with the Astley girl twice, and everyone says that he’s decided that Joan’s bad blood can’t be allowed to dilute his family line. Which means that the coast is clear for you to scoop up your Wilde. Except for the competition I offer, of course,” Otis added. “It could be that Lady Joan will take one look at me and shrug off her ducal ambitions.” He grinned.
“Greywick danced with Viola? He can’t have her,” Devin said, the words leaving his mouth without conscious volition.
