The journey back to Pembroke passed quickly, for the sun was shining through the coach windows and both Devon and Blake were in high spirits. The sky had been clear for three days straight, and the weather, they believed, was sure to alleviate some of their father's anxieties regarding the family curse. Perhaps in time, he would realize they were not in danger of being swept away by raging floodwaters, and the hasty weddings could be put off.
Perhaps also a grandchild would bring him some peace of mind, Devon thought, feeling hopeful as he gazed at his lovely wife sitting next to him in the coach. He wondered how soon they would be able to call themselves expectant parents. He had never in a hundred years imagined he would anticipate such an event with joy. He supposed anything was possible-and that very simple notion boosted his spirits further as they drew closer to the palace and waved at the villagers in the fields. Everyone was in high spirits it seemed. Sunshine, he supposed, had a way of spreading cheer.
By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was low in the sky and the whole estate was twilight-pink.
"It is good to be home," Devon said, feeling a sense of warmth and completeness he had never known before. He had his wife with him and his brother, and he would soon see his sister, Charlotte, and their mother.
He wanted to see his father, too. He wanted to hear that he was no longer fearful of a flood and a family curse, for the sun was shining.
All at once the yearning to see the man, who had once callously turned him out, affected something in Devon's heart. He remembered his cautious return to the palace not long ago. He had not believed the shattered pieces of his life could ever be put back together and mended. But they had been mended, in some ways, at least, for he felt a deep, soulful compassion toward his father, and a genuine desire to ensure that he was well cared for, no matter what the future held.
The coach pulled to a smooth stop and a footman lowered the step and opened the door. Charlotte and their mother came down the stairs to greet them.
Devon stepped out, into the fresh air. His mother wrapped her arms around him. "Welcome home," she said.
He hugged Charlotte as well, then turned to assist Rebecca out of the coach. The duchess embraced her and held her close for a long moment. "My dear, I am so sorry about your father."
"As am I," she said solemnly. "But he is at peace now."
Just then, the duke appeared at the open palace doors waving a letter over his head.
"What is that?" Blake asked, looking suspiciously up at their father.
Adelaide sighed heavily. "It is a letter from Vincent. It arrived yesterday."
"And what about Garrett?" Devon asked. "Has there been any word from him?"
"No, nothing, but your father sent a man to Greece two days ago to hunt him down and bring him home."
"Garrett won't be pleased," Blake said. "He's likely to toss the messenger into the Mediterranean."
The duke came hopping down the steps in his slippers.
"Has Dr. Thomas been back yet?" Devon whispered discreetly to his mother.
"No," she replied. "But he is coming tomorrow, thank goodness."
"Devon!" the duke called out. "How wonderful that you have returned! And your beautiful wife. You are a work of art, dear girl."
"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied with a smile.
"I see you have a letter from Vincent," Devon said.
"Indeed I do." The duke handed the letter over. "And just look at the sunset, will you? I dare say, we are doing well."
Devon exchanged a curious look with Blake, then read the letter. A knot tightened in his gut, and he ran a hand down over his face.
"Surely not," he said, holding the letter out to Blake.
Blake read it, too. "Good God. No, he can't be serious. He's engaged?"
"Yes!" the duke said, dancing about on the steps. "Oh, Vincent, I am so proud. I shall give him my best shotgun for hunting. Or maybe that pair of boots he sometimes borrowed without asking. And look at the weather, would you, please?"
They all turned and looked at the colorful sunset on the horizon.
"Who is the lady?" Rebecca asked, while Devon was still unable to speak, for he was in shock.
Blake handed her the letter.
"Good heavens," she said. "It is Lady Letitia, the Duke of Swinburne's daughter." She looked at Charlotte, who was biting her lip. "She will be our sister-in-law."
"Vincent has acted too hastily," Devon said. "He has not given it adequate thought."
"When did adequate thought ever get a man to the altar?" his father asked. "A young, robust man needs to listen to his John Thomas. Eh? Eh?"
Blake sighed. "She is a handsome woman. That was probably enough for Vincent, under the circumstances."
"She is the perfect young gel," the duke said cheerfully. "I shall adore her. He is bringing her home tomorrow."
Devon inhaled deeply and looked back toward the sunset. Rebecca laid a gloved hand on his arm, expressing her understanding.
"So it appears the curse has been thwarted again," he said, with a notable sense of defeat as he looked into his wife's lovely, knowing eyes.
"Indeed, thwarted again!" his father shouted triumphantly. "Now, do tell me, what time is supper? I'm hungry for beef."
"Shall we enjoy the diary tonight?" Devon asked, pushing through the large portrait on the wall in Rebecca's bedchamber and closing it behind him. He stopped and turned around, however, to swing the portrait open and closed a few times. "These hinges need to be greased."
Suddenly his wife leaped onto his back and wrapped her legs around his waist. He laughed, and she dropped to her feet on the floor, pulled him around to face her, and crushed his lips with hers.
"Where were you?" she asked, after a deep and tantalizing kiss. "I thought you would never get here."
He somehow managed to get an apology out between laughter and more kisses. "I'm sorry-Blake kept me late in the library."
Rebecca pulled his shirt out from inside his breeches and lifted it up to his chest, then went down on her knees, kissing his bare stomach along the way, probing his navel with her hot, wet tongue. He was instantly, overwhelmingly aroused.
She looked up at him with a wicked smile as she unfastened his trousers. "I shall read to you from the diary tonight," she told him, "but this will be the last time."
"Why the last?"
"Because after tonight, we shall contrive our own fantasies and write our own future." She pulled his breeches down to his ankles and rose to her feet, while he ripped his shirt off over his head.
"But before we put it away for good," she added, "I thought you might like to know what happens to Lydie and Jess." She pulled off her nightdress, tossed it to the floor, and climbed onto the bed.
"I admit I've been curious."
She rested her cheek on a hand and beckoned him with a smile. "Come here, then." She patted the spot beside her and pulled the book out from beneath her pillow. "Now, where did we leave off?"
He slipped under the covers, naked and stiff as a post, and faced her.
"I'm happy to listen to anything you wish to read to me."
She flipped through the pages, then settled on an entry toward the end. "In that case, lie back and listen."
He obeyed her command-all ears as she began to read.
"Dear Diary,
"Today I learned an important lesson, the most important of my life.
"He came, as I hoped and dreamed he would. I had only just finished writing my last words to you, when I heard a commotion downstairs at the inn. It was my love, Jess, who had followed my father's coach and found us in London. He came bursting through my door like a white knight. He faced my father with a sword and demanded my hand in marriage, and my father could do nothing but submit. He let me go, and Jess took me away. My brave hero, Jess, who did it because he loves me."
Devon laid a hand on Rebecca's arm, touching her with his own love. She continued reading.