South Landers: Wenna Part 19

"It's an interesting bed you have," Nick said, glancing at his fingernails.

His face tight, Devon stepped toward Nick, grasping his lapels. "It's time someone dealt with you."

Wenna pushed between the two, one hand on Devon's chest. "I've known Nick less than an hour, and even I can see he's having a lend of you."

Nick grinned nastily. "No need to protect me, sweetheart. He couldn't hit me if I had both my arms tied."

"And you couldn't run to the end of the street," Devon said, his jaw jutted. "You're not going to explain yourself, are you?"

"No," Nick smoothed the front of his evening jacket. "I think you ought to get rid of that bed before you have children because when they see it, you're going to have to explain yourself. I'm going back to the ball. Coming?" He raised his eyebrows at Wenna.

She found her dance card tucked into her gloves on the chair and she tilted the cardboard to read. "Nicholas Alden, you disgusting liar. Your name is not on my dance card."

Nick grasped hold of her card, picked up the attached pencil, quickly added his name, and said in a satisfied voice, "It is now."

"You both think this is d.a.m.ned funny, don't you?" Devon placed his fists on his hips. "James's driver alerted me to the fact that my wife had gone home with you. He drove me here to protect her honor and neither of you will answer any of my questions."

"You shouldn't need to ask. I didn't have a chance to find you at the ball. The moment I arrived, I heard the gossip about your wife and, as she was pointed out to me, I saw her rush outside. After she soaked my handkerchief, I didn't want to talk to you. I'm easily swayed by tears. I think we need to go back and make the situation between you and your wife clear. As well, I don't want to miss my dance with the beautiful Mrs. Courtney."

"I hope it's not a polka." Wenna took her evening gloves from the arm of her chair.

"Surely you didn't believe that story." Nick stared at his empty gla.s.s and the bottle, and sighed. "I've never made a mistake in a polka in my life."

Purposely, Wenna didn't tell Nick about her lack of dancing skill. He would find out.

Chapter 16.

"Let me introduce Wenna to a couple of influential people and then you can dance with her," Dev said to Nick. Nick rarely attended b.a.l.l.s and, if he did, he only stayed long enough to walk through the supper room to pick up a drink.

Nick nodded. The alcohol appeared to be catching up to him, and his cynical smile had taken on a fixed gloss. He searched out a brandy while Dev glanced around the ballroom. Near the French doors that led into the garden, he spotted two women staring his way. He gave them a wide smile and, with his hand keeping Wenna's on his arm, he escorted her toward them.

"No," Wenna muttered under her breath, trying to pull back. "They're the ones who were talking about me. They'll never believe you married a maid."

"They're the biggest gossips in Adelaide. A direct approach will save time."

The ladies stayed frozen in place, clearly aware he meant to bring Wenna over.

"Mrs. Latimer," he said as he reached the two. "I don't believe you've met my new treasure, Wenna."

Mrs. Latimer, tall and thin, raised her pointed chin and her eyebrows. "I don't believe I have."

"And Mrs. Albright. This is my wife, Wenna, formerly Mrs. Brook's personal maid. It took me some time to gain her attention, but once I did, I s.n.a.t.c.hed her up and married her instantly."

Dev let his gaze roam tenderly over Wenna's face. Wenna gave him a melting, doting smile. Her smile almost ruined his act, because he wanted to hold that expression and gaze into her eyes all night. For a while, he'd thought he might have lost her. He hauled in a breath. "But I couldn't keep her to myself any longer."

"Your wife?" Mrs. Latimer frowned, and she took her time to answer. "So, you plan to introduce her into society. This is her debut, as it were." She looked puzzled and uncertain.

Dev nodded casually. "Sir Patrick and Lady Grace have met her, of course, and my friends. But to be welcomed into the inner circle, she needs formal acknowledgement. My G.o.dmother, the former governor's wife, would have paved the way for Wenna, had she remained in the colony, but failing vice-regal sanction, I chose you two ladies because of your influence."

The ladies stared at each other. Mrs. Albright, a pigeon-chested woman in her fifties, ordinarily rather poised, moistened her lips with her tongue. "It should be Lady Grace's place, but I, for one, am delighted to meet your lovely wife. Wenna, you said?" She drew a deep breath. "A maid."

"Yes." Wenna stood, her smile unutterably gracious. "And now wife to a courteous and very n.o.ble gentleman." Her second hand moved to clasp her first on his arm.

At her best, Wenna could confuse any man, or woman, too, and she was doing this right now. Dev didn't have to fake pride in her. She amazed him. Barely an hour ago, she'd left the ball in a flurry. Now, even he would have a.s.sumed she had a.s.sociated with aristocrats her whole life. "As you can see, I chose wisely."

Mrs. Albright gave his words another moment's thought before nodding. "Quite a romance."

"I take it, it is now our job to spread the word." Mrs. Latimer narrowed her eyes at him, although a reluctant smile lurked on her lips.

"If you would." Dev pulled his ear lobe. "I believe the word has already been spread, but not the truth. You two ladies now have it. And so I can dance with my wife, safe in the knowledge that I will hear no more gossip about her." He took Wenna's hand and moved her onto the dance floor.

"The truth," Wenna said, crunching the toes on his left foot as he tried to waltz her into a turn. "You're such a good liar that I almost believed you myself. But I find I don't really care what they think. You defended me and that's all that matters. Oops, sorry. I thought you would do a right turn there."

"Let me lead. Relax. You only need practice, my dear. You're graceful, and you've been comparatively light on my feet."

She gave a reluctant laugh. "Pa.s.s me on to Nick. I should think by now that all the brandy he's consumed would have numbed his toes."

Watching while she danced with Nick, Dev finally understood the totality of his commitment to her. For her, he would spend his days wandering around an echoing mansion in a cool, dank country with little to do but carry forward the idleness of ancestors who might not even be his. He would be the heir who didn't look like the others, the spare who should not have been born, but without whom the estate would be lost to a minor branch of the family. The savior, but the cuckoo in the nest.

He folded his arms, smiling ruefully, watching Nick expertly guide Wenna through the complicated moves of the dance. This country he loved was now lost to him. He couldn't stay here, and he couldn't leave Wenna in Cornwall with his father and come back.

His dream would never be his because no matter how much he loved this land, he now realized that he had fallen completely in love with his wife. He loved her more.

Wenna stared at the shards of gla.s.s remaining in the door. She let out a breath, mentally estimating the cost of a replacement pane.

"Presumably Nick did this?" Devon kicked the few splinters out of the way; most had landed inside and crackled beneath as he swung the door open.

"I didn't have a key."

"I don't suppose anyone will notice the hole, since no one visits us. Tomorrow I'll nail a piece of wood over it. How did he do it? With his fist?"

"Yes. The gla.s.s must be very fragile."

"He could do the same with wood. His punches are lethal. He learned to fight at school and later he trained with a professional. He seems to be in good shape, which is surprising considering the way he drinks."

"I don't know why men have to fight. He doesn't look like the type, somehow."

Devon shrugged. "That's why he learned to fight. He told me years ago that when he started at school, some of the other boys were a little too interested in him and it was a matter of either learning to fight or giving in gracefully."

"What do you mean, interested?"

"It was a boys' school. You've seen how handsome he is. I imagine he was even prettier when he was younger. There would have been plenty of boys who would have been happy to use him as a girl. I don't suppose I missed much by not going to school."

"You didn't go to school?"

"I had a tutor at home. You go up and get into bed while I clean up the mess. No need to leave the lamp on for me. I'll undress in the dark."

"Good gracious, Mr. Courtney." She stood with her hands on her hips. "I'm wearing stays. They were hard enough to hook up by myself. I'll never manage to unhook without your help."

"In that case," he said, his face losing expression. His eyes fixed on hers. "I'll clean up the gla.s.s in the morning. My dear lady wife mustn't be left to undress alone."

She smiled at him. Tonight would be their real wedding night. She would love him, caress him, hold him in her arms, and run her fingers through his soft hair.

Yet even though she didn't use her sponge and even though relations with him tonight should be for baby making, he must have forgotten, for again he didn't release inside her. Instead, he'd fastened his lips across hers as he'd moved off her.

After he'd cleaned himself, he fell asleep. Sleep didn't come so easily to her. Once, her life had been simple. She saved her money so that she could go back to Cornwall and be of some use to her elderly grandparents. Before she met Devon, her trip to England had been some years away. Now she had begun her longer-term plan instead, meant to be facilitated in Cornwall: the starting up of a business, which would support her into her old age.

Here, she had two lives, one as a businesswoman and another as a wife to a gentleman. In fact, she lived a lie. No amount of acceptance at a ball could change that. And tomorrow morning, she would attend his cricket match again and see if her success at the ball had altered how the other ladies reacted to her. If they fully accepted her now, she would have to give up her job and join them in their morning calls, sewing bees, tea drinking, and gossiping. She wouldn't be able to keep working, or they would despise her all over again. And yet she had to work. Devon needed her income if he meant to keep playing his role as an idle gentleman.

Her mind stuck somewhere between social and business success, she slid out of bed and drew back one of the velvet curtains. In the light of the full moon, Devon lay on his side, his face relaxed, his body naked and beautiful. Together, surely they could make something of themselves.

If he cobbled together a team of men, he could have others building for him. He was a natural leader. Anyone could see that by the way he played on the cricket team. When he wished, he could rally the others, who played in a less compet.i.tive way than he did. He could be a major influence in this colony with his connections back in England, governors and such like. Why, oh, why was he content to be a laborer?

Why, oh, why did she want him to have everything he wanted? Tonight she would have given in to his wish to have a child to take back home, when she didn't want to go to England, not any more, not while she could see job opportunities here for him as well as her. She could imagine building a lovely home, perhaps near the house he had shown her, a place where she could see the s.h.i.+ps arrive and all across the city plains.

She sat on the windowsill, watching Devon sleep. As if he noted her scrutiny, he stirred, his palm moving to the spot in the bed she had vacated. Sighing, she slipped back beside him, smoothed his soft hair back from his face, and snuggled his rough hand into the safe s.p.a.ce between her shoulder and her chin.

Dev awoke to a pure bright sunlight. Sunday. Cricket day. He turned his head and watched Wenna sleep. With her hand flat under her cheek, she looked vulnerable, young, and very sweet. Wenna. The smartest, p.r.i.c.kliest, most self-sufficient woman he had ever met. He swung out of bed, slung a towel around his neck, and went downstairs to light the stove. The hot water came to the boil just before Wenna joined him.

"Do you think we'll be invited to another ball?" Her expression dubious, she sat at the kitchen table. She wore her nightgown with a shawl, and she carried her towel.

"It's still the ball season. Now that people know we're married, I expect so."

She set her elbow on the table, cupped her chin in her hand, and watched him carry the pot of hot water into the bathroom. "The ball season is only interrupted by the rain in winter and the worst of the heat in summer." She sounded glum.

"It's certainly longer than the season back home. You go first in the bath, but don't be too long." He filled the pan with cold water. "While I'm waiting, I'll try to clear up some of my paperwork before the match."

"I should never have chosen red for my ball gown." She sighed deeply.

"I thought it was an inspired choice."

Their gazes met, and she slowly shook her head. "No one could wear a bright red, very memorable gown more than a few times. If I'd chosen white or cream, I could wear that forever without anyone remembering."

"I expect we could afford to buy you more than one ball gown." He grinned.

"I really ought to be more discreet in future."

He laughed.

She dressed in her plain black-and-white gown for the cricket match, but he noticed she wore a new hat, a front-brimmed straw packed with red ribbons and roses. She had no idea how to merge with the crowd. With her style, she would always stand out, as befitted the future Lady Dellacourt.

Perfectly satisfied with her appearance, he walked her over to the group of ladies he had been a.s.sociated with since his friends in the colony had introduced them. His food basket was added to the others, but instead of moving off with his team, he lingered, ready to support Wenna if she needed support, a task he should have done from the first, knowing she was nervous and sadly out of place with frivolous, empty- headed young females.

"Oh, good morning, Wenna," Patricia Brook said, turning with a saintly smile on her face. "Such a lovely gown you wore last night. So brave of you. No one else would touch that red Mrs. Miller has been trying to sell forever, but you did."

Wenna's grip on Dev's arm tightened.

"Her superb coloring carried it off." Dev gave his wife an indulgent smile. "But I agree. She has an unusual amount of courage, if I may say so as her proud husband."

"We're all so jealous," Daphne Grace said, lowering her gaze. "We have to wear pastels as unmarried ladies, but I can't wait to be able to wear something brighter than pink."

"I would wear any color in the world if I could dance with Nick Alden," young Zanthe Grace said. "How on earth did you do it, Wenna? He forgets my name every time he sees me, and he has known me since I was born."

"I hope he has recovered from the cricket ball hit at Stirling?" The extraordinarily beautiful Miss Davies, dressed in the gray of half-mourning, watched Dev's face as if awaiting his rea.s.surance.

He smiled at her. Most men would, and then smile again. The lady's demure vulnerability called men to her like ants to a picnic. "Barely a bruise on his saintly face."

She nodded and moved back behind her friends, as if trying not to be noticed- not easy for a woman with her looks. Like Wenna, she would always be noticeable.

Unlike Wenna, Patricia vied for attention. She gave her particularly annoying smile again. "It's not kind of you to dance with the single men, Wenna. So few of them have the right backgrounds, and so many single young ladies are available. You should be more generous."

"Nick isn't hanging out for a wife, Patricia." Daphne turned to her friend. "He told my mother he planned to remain single all his life."

Dev laughed. He hadn't realized that Wenna dancing with Nick would overshadow her wearing red. "I'm sure he'll change his mind when he meets the right woman- as I did."

"Now, why would you have married Wenna, I wonder?" Patricia's eyes glittered with spite. "For love? Or the other?"

"What other?" Daphne frowned.

"The 'other' no lady would discuss. Frankly, I would rather rely on my moral rect.i.tude and honesty to attract the man of my dreams."

Dev's gaze met Wenna's. "No. I wouldn't touch that line if I were you."

Wenna raised her chin. "I was only going to say that I would presume that most couples marry for love, and I pray Patricia will find it someday." The smugness of her tone was certain to irritate the other woman.

Dev patted his wife's hand, determined not to be amused.

The cricketers began shouting, "Out, out."

James appeared at his shoulder. "Luke's out and Sir Patrick has just gone in to bat. Be ready, Dev, because he rarely makes a single run before being caught."

"That's my father you're insulting," Zanthe said, poking James on the shoulder with one finger.

"He swears he's not." James laughed and grabbed her hand in his. "You're the child of Satan, I've heard him say."

"I'm needed by my team, if you'll all excuse me?" Dev took a step back, querying Wenna with his eyes.