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Fraser led Atalanta inside, followed by Sebastian and the rest of the children. A pang of jealousy rippled through Devon. His brother-in-law was magnificent—tall, broad-shouldered, amiable, and admired on sight by all who met him. And he was a duke—exactly the sort of man Atalanta had been destined for.
And exactly the opposite of Devon himself.
A small hand slipped into the crook of his arm.
“Don’t mind Fraser,” Delilah said. “He’s charming with everyone. He means nothing by it. Anyone can tell how much Attie loves you.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Lilah,” Devon said.
“I’m not a simpleton, Dev,” she replied. “I saw the look in your eyes when Fraser kissed Attie’s hand. But I also saw how she looked at you. I’m glad you’ve found someone who loves you as much as you deserve.”
“Perhaps,” Devon replied, “but I cannot help wondering if she regrets our union. Though she says she cares little for society, she spent most of her life being revered and admired by all because of her beauty, wealth, and title. Now, they pity her because of her husband.”
“She cares nothing for them, Dev, and neither should you.” Delilah shook her head. “We need Thea—she was always able to talk sense into you.”
“When do you expect her?”
“Today. And if she doesn’t pull you out of your melancholy, I daresay her husband will, though knowing Griffin, he’s more likely to knock you out of it.”
Devon smiled at the notion of seeing Thea and Griffin again. Thea’s level-headedness always made him see sense. As for Griffin—he was one of the few men Devon called a true friend.
“Come on, Dev,” Lilah said. “You must be tired after your journey. Some tea will make you feel better.”
“Very well.”
Taking his sister’s arm, Devon let her lead him inside.
If only it were true—but tea wouldn’t cure the cloud of despair swelling deep within his mind.
