LITMIR.BIZ

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eyes glittered with tears. ‘I believe he hears word of you at White’s,’ she replied in all seriousness.

      Devlin burst into laughter. He sat down next to her and put his arm around her, squeezing affectionately. ‘Dear sister, I beg your pardon. I do not mean to upset you. I know you and my brother mean well, but you forget I’m out of leading strings.’

      She blushed and straightened her posture. ‘I am sure we do not.’

      ‘Tell me how you and Ned go on? Is my brother still managing the family affairs to perfection?’

      Serena lifted her chin protectively. ‘Ned has much on his shoulders.’

      Devlin gave her a kind smile. ‘Indeed he does. He is a man to admire, Serena. I mean that.’

      ‘I have heard from your sisters and brother. They are excellent correspondents.’

      Unlike himself who wrote little and visited less.

      ‘Indeed? What is the family news?’

      Serena, with a wistfulness in her voice, chattered on about the trifling activities of his nephews and nieces. Percy’s son, Jeffrey, the eldest, at Eton. Rebecca, Helen’s daughter, learning the pianoforte. All the little ones merging into a blur. He listened with as interested an expression as he could muster. Serena doted on all the children. By far she was their favourite aunt. And he, the Waterloo Dragoon, was their hero uncle, even though he had difficulty keeping their names straight.

      What a pity Serena had not had a child. Fate had no notion of fair play. She would make a perfect mother, and a loving one, as well. He suspected her disappointment in that quarter was immense.

      ‘And you, Serena? How do you go on?’

      ‘I am well.’ A sad look came over her face.

      Devlin gave her another hug. She would not wish to speak of her disappointment at not presenting the Marquess with an heir.

      ‘Dear sister,’ he murmured.

      She recovered herself. ‘Ned will be here directly. Will you wait for him?’

      He had little choice. ‘Serena,’ he said, surmising a change of conversation was in order, ‘do you suppose Ned would mind if I borrowed a pair of horses some morning? I’ve a notion to ride.’

      ‘You will ride again?’ she said brightly. He had not been on a horse since charging the French, east of the Brussels road. ‘Indeed he will not mind. He will be glad of it, and I will personally ask Barclay to instruct the stable to provide any horse you wish.’

      ‘Any two horses. I…I wish to have Bart join me.’

      ‘Two horses it is.’ She smiled.

      The parlour door opened and the Marquess strode in at a quicker pace than was his custom. Devlin stood to greet him.

      ‘Devlin, how good to see you.’ Equally uncharacteristic of him, he embraced Devlin heartily.

      This idol of his childhood, his oldest brother Ned, usually did not betray emotion. Ned always could be counted on to remain unflappable when his youngest brother came begging for his help out of the latest scrape. Because of those days, Devlin always felt in awe of that tall, ramrod-straight figure. He always expected to crane his neck to look at Ned. It never failed to be a shock when he found himself half a head taller and his brother going grey at the temples.

      ‘What brings you to call?’ Ned asked with such surprise, it suggested he had given up altogether on a visit from Devlin.

      ‘I wished to see you and Serena, of course, but I also have a matter of business to discuss with you, if it is convenient.’

      Ned regained that strict composure. ‘Indeed. We shall go into the library. You will excuse us, Serena?’

      With a nod to his wife, he preceded Devlin out the door. Devlin followed dutifully, feeling much like that little boy, in a scrape once more.

      Inside that book-lined room, Ned poured two glasses of port. Devlin glanced at the shelves and had the incongruous thought that Madeleine might enjoy a good book. Not the sort of book to be found in this room, he supposed, but perhaps a Miniver Press novel such as his sisters had read when they sat by his sick bed.

      Ned handed him his glass. ‘What did you wish to discuss?’

      Devlin sipped and paced the room, trying to figure out the best way to present this.

      ‘Are you in trouble?’ Ned’s voice was low and steady.

      Devlin flashed him an irritated glance and muttered, ‘You and Serena.’ Speaking more firmly, he said, ‘I am not in trouble.’

      His brother’s face remained impassive.

      Devlin took a gulp of port. ‘I have moved.’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘To a larger place.’

      ‘You required a larger place?’ A disapproving tone crept into his brother’s speech.

      ‘It was too good an opportunity to pass up. On the same street, but a much better situation.’

      ‘And?’ One of Ned’s eyebrows rose.

      Devlin took a deep breath. ‘I am short of money as a result. I would ask if you would advance me some additional funds until next quarter.’

      His brother did not drop his gaze, nor did his expression change, even a muscle. Devlin knew he was considering, weighing the matter silently in his head.

      As a child, this silence had been a comfort. It meant Ned was reckoning a way out of his difficulties. As a man, he was less certain.

      His brother stared implacably into his port. ‘How wise was this move?’

      ‘Devil it, Ned, the move is made. Whether it was wise or not is moot.’

      ‘You engaged in this impulsively.’ This was not a question but a statement of fact, a disapproved-of fact.

      Devlin put his glass down on a table and faced his immovable brother. ‘It is done, Ned, and I need some money to get through to next quarter. Will you give it or not?’

      Ned sat in a nearby chair and casually crossed his legs. ‘You have been gambling heavily, little brother.’

      Devlin knew that was coming. ‘As your spies have reported? I do not suppose they were present when I won back my losses?’

      Ned’s cronies would never have been present at such an unsavoury place as Farley’s. If they had, his brother would be discussing what else Devlin won that night.

      ‘I have heard your losses to be steep. This gambling must stop, Devlin.’

      If his brother had not ordered him to stop gambling, he might have informed Ned that he’d come to the same conclusion. Now he would not give his brother that satisfaction.

      ‘And what else might I do, Ned? What is there for me to do? The war is over, and I’m damned if I’ll go anywhere else in this world to fight. India? Africa? The West Indies? I’m no longer keen on dying on foreign soil.’

      Ned swirled his port and tasted the rich, imported liquid. ‘It is time you took your rightful place in the family.’

      ‘Rightful place?’ Devlin prowled the room. ‘What the deuce is my rightful place?’

      Calmly his brother spoke, ‘You need to assume the control of your estate. It should not fall to our brother Percy, who has enough of his own to oversee.’

      ‘You know I cannot.’ Devlin glared at him. ‘You and my father saw to that. I cannot take control until I marry. I must subsist on what you obligingly provide me until I marry a suitable woman of whom you approve. Good God! What possessed you and my father to contrive that addle-brained plan?’

      ‘You know why.’ Ned spoke in the most reasonable voice

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