"It's a fertility stone," Beasley explained, swaying drunkenly. "If you put it under your pillow tonight, it will bring you luck and put a child in your bride's womb the very night her maidenhead is broken."
It was a little late for that, Devon thought.
Beasley chuckled and nudged Devon in the ribs again. "You're an efficient lad, aren't you? I thought you might appreciate the gesture."
Devon raised his eyebrows and picked up the flat stone, turning it over in his hands.
Beasley, who was enjoying himself tremendously, wagged a confident finger. "It's a powerful thing, my boy."
Devon glanced again at his father, who reached for the stone and held it like a treasured family heirloom.
"Beasley, you are a good man to bring this here," he said. "The palace will benefit."
Beasley exploded with laughter. "I think the lad here will be the one to reap the benefits," he said. "It being his wedding night and all that."
Devon took a deep breath, willing himself to ignore the man's playful teasing, for he knew he meant no harm.
"Thank you, Beasley," he said. "I appreciate the thought." He turned to his father and spoke meaningfully. "Though I have never been a superstitious man."
The duke glared at Devon, his brows pulling together with frustration.
Mr. Beasley, in his drunken state, was oblivious to the tension between them. "Neither have I, when it comes right down to it. It's just a bit of fun, my boy. Promise me you'll at least give it a try, and maybe your bride will find it amusing. Show this to her and she'll at least know what to expect." He took hold of the stone and examined the fornicating couple, pointing specifically at the man's monstrous instrument of pleasure. "On the other hand, it might send her screaming from the room."
He slapped Devon on the back and laughed again. "Shall we head back to the reception room? I believe I left my brandy on a windowsill."
"You go on ahead of us," Devon replied. "I require a few minutes alone with my father."
"Ah, yes, father and son must have their moment to look to the future and all that. I'll leave you two to share a drink." He started off toward the door. "Congratulations again, my boy. You've made your family proud."
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Devon set the stone back into the box and lowered the lid.
"I'll have that sent up to your bedchamber," his father said. "And you must use it tonight. I will have your word."
"I will promise no such thing, Father. This is nothing but superstitious nonsense. It has no magic power and I will ask you again to let go of your silly belief in a family curse."
The duke pressed his shoulders back. "I thought you believed."
Devon shook his head. "No. I have been very clear about my opinions on the matter."
"But you did what I asked and chose a bride." He waved a hand toward the window. "Look. The sun is shining today. Surely that is enough to convince you."
"It is a coincidence, nothing more. The sun was bound to shine sooner or later. It could not continue to rain forever."
"But it could," his father argued, "and it would have, if you had not heeded my warnings. But you did, thank God. You did well, marrying that gel today. The sunshine is our reward. You have made me very happy."
"Happy enough to change your will back to the way it was?" Devon asked pointedly.
His father frowned at him. "No."
"But if it is a grandchild you want, I will give you that. I have already proven my willingness to remain here and fulfill my duty to this family by taking a wife. There is no need to force the others into marriages they do not want. At least give them time."
"I told you before, there is no time. The flood will come."
Devon fought to keep his frustration in check. "The only thing that will come will be misery for all your children, if you force them to abide by your ridiculous demands."
He knew the truth of that all too well.
The duke slapped his open palm upon the desk. "They are not ridiculous! And I will not alter my will!"
Devon cupped his forehead in a hand. God help him, talking to his father about this curse was like talking to a brick wall.
He drew in a deep breath and counted to ten, then tried to appeal to his father's compassionate side, if he had one. He certainly hadn't shown any compassion to Devon three years ago when the surgeon was setting his leg.
"This family has seen difficult times, Father. Vincent and Charlotte especially. They deserve happiness."
"Charlotte's cooperation is not required. She can marry tomorrow or never. It makes no difference to me."
Because she is not of your bloodline.
"Then perhaps you do not require Garrett's cooperation either," Devon pointed out, speaking openly for the first time to his father about the twins' true parentage.
His father's face flushed red with shock, but Devon was indifferent to it. The time for sweeping secrets under the palace carpets was over. If there was a chance he could free just one brother, he would take it.
"No," his father said flatly. "That boy needs to learn some responsibility. He is an embarrassment to me, living the way he does, mixing with those people."
"They're poets, Father. They are free thinkers."
"I can't stand the defiance. Especially from him, after I have given him so much."
"You gave him your name and a roof over his head. That is all."
"Well, my name is worth a hell of a lot!" he shouted. "As yours will be when you are duke."
Not yet willing to give up just yet, Devon strode closer to his father and placed a hand on his arm. "I am begging you, Father. Please. Change your will. Don't force your sons into hasty marriages. I will give you the grandchild you want. A whole nursery full of them. You could even consider it a wedding gift to me."
The duke slapped Devon's hand away. "No, no, no, no, no! And I already gave you your gift."
"A silver tea service."
"Brand new. And did you notice the pattern of engravings? They are tiny little oak trees. Hundreds of them on the teapot and creamer and sugar bowl."
His eyes brightened and his voice rang with fascination. Devon's heart sank, for he knew his father's mind was skipping around and toppling off the track. Their discussion about the will was over.
"I've never seen a tea service quite like it," his father said. "Have you? Not that a gentleman takes notice of such things," he said with a chuckle. "It's the woman's domain, to be sure. But I do love a good strong cup of tea." He looked around the room as if he were suddenly confused. "What time is it? Is it teatime?"
Devon worked hard to let go of his frustration. "No, Father. We just had breakfast. The wedding breakfast. Remember?"
"Oh, yes, yes. Your bride is lovely, I dare say." He ran a finger under his nose and his eyes darted about for a moment. "But who is pruning my rosebush? I don't want it pruned."
Devon realized he was becoming accustomed to the challenge of keeping up with his father's thought processes. "No one is pruning it, Father."
"But it's getting smaller."
Devon watched his father stare with concern at the sunny window.
He spoke in a gentle, reassuring voice. "Your rosebush is doing fine. It just looks smaller because you moved it to a larger space."
"I moved it?"
"Yes. A week ago. The day I returned home. Remember?"
The duke's expression became strained, revealing the intensity of his concentration, then at last he raised his chin. "Oh, yes."
A quiet wave of sadness and regret moved through Devon, distracting him from his irritability over what had happened with Rebecca. He moved to take his father's arm.
"Let us go now," he said. "It's time to return to the reception, and when we get there, we'll get you a cup of tea. A nice strong one, just the way you like it."