furrowing his brow in thought. “I would say more…determined. And she brought Lady Westhampton with her.”
“Mmm. Makes it harder when my sister joins forces with her.” “Just so, my lord. Shall I lay out your clothes?”
Devin groaned. He felt like hell. His head was pounding, his body ached, and the inside of his mouth tasted as foul as a trash bin. “Where was I last night, Carson?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir,” his valet replied blandly. “I believe that Mr. Mickleston was with you.”
“Stuart?” Devin summoned up a faint memory of a visit from his longtime friend. It seemed that Stuart had been uncharacteristically flush in the pocket. That explained the hangover. They had probably visited half the hellholes in London last night, celebrating his good fortune—and no doubt disposing of at least half of it.
He sat up gingerly, swinging his legs out of the bed, and waited for the rush of nausea to subside. “All right, Carson. Lay out my clothes and ring for shaving water. Did my mother indicate what she wanted?”
“No, sir. I spoke to her myself, but she was quite reticent as to the object of her visit. She would say only that it was imperative that she see you.”
“No doubt.” He looked at his valet. “I think a cup of strong tea would be in order.”
“Indeed, sir. I will fetch it myself.”
Thirty minutes later, shaved, impeccably dressed in the plain black suit and crisp white shirt that he favored, cravat knotted fashionably under his chin, Devin Aincourt made his way downstairs, looking every inch the sixth Earl of Ravenscar.
He walked into the drawing room, decorated tastefully in masculine tones of beige and brown by the selfsame sister who sat there now. An attractive woman in her late twenties, she had the black hair, green eyes and well-modeled features that were characteristic of the Aincourt family’s handsomeness, and was possessed of a charming dimple in her cheek. She looked up at his entrance and smiled. “Dev!”
“Rachel.” He smiled back at her despite the low-grade pounding in his head. She was one of the few people who was dear to him. The smile faded as he turned toward his mother, a slender blond woman whose exquisite taste in clothes and regal carriage elevated her looks above an ordinary prettiness. He bowed formally toward her. “Mother. An unexpected pleasure.”
“Ravenscar.” His mother nodded to him. She had always preferred formality even in dealings with her own family, believing that to behave otherwise would undermine one’s importance—and whatever had befallen the Aincourt family over the years, they were important.
“I am relieved to see you alive,” Lady Ravenscar went on dryly. “Given the reaction of your servants to the thought of your receiving us, I was beginning to wonder whether you were.”
“I was still asleep. My servants are understandably reluctant to pull me out of bed.”
His mother raised her eyebrows. “It is almost one o’-clock in the afternoon.”
“Exactly.”
The older lady sighed resignedly. “You are a heathen. But that is not the issue at hand.” She waved the matter away.
“I presumed not. Precisely what matter has brought you into this den of iniquity? It must be of great urgency.”
Lady Ravenscar made a little moue of distaste. “I suppose that is your idea of a jest.”
“Very faint, I will admit,” Ravenscar said in a bored tone.
“What brings me here is your marriage.”
His eyebrows rose. “My marriage? I am afraid that I have no knowledge of any marriage.”
“You should,” his mother retorted bluntly. “You are desperately in need of one. You should have been casting about for a suitable girl these ages past. But since you have not made the slightest push in that regard, I have found one for you.”
Devin cast a look at his sister and murmured, “Et tu, Rachel?”
“Dev…” Rachel began in an unhappy voice, looking abashed.
“Don’t be nonsensical,” Lady Ravenscar interrupted crisply. “I am serious, Devin. You must marry—and soon—or you shall find yourself in debtors’ prison.”
“I am not run off my legs yet,” he said mildly.
“You are not far from it, if I understand your vulgar expression correctly. Your estate is in dreadful shape, and Darkwater is literally falling down about our heads. As you would know if you ever made the least effort to visit your lands.”
“It is very far away, and I am not fond of visiting places that are about to come down around my head.”
“Oh, yes, it is easy for you to jest about it,” Lady Ravenscar returned feelingly. “You are not the one who has to live there.”
“You do not have to live there,” he pointed out. “Indeed, I believe you are residing in London right now, are you not?”
“Renting a house for the Season,” his mother said in the tone of one suffering the utmost humiliation. “We once had a house in Town, a lovely place where we could hold the most elegant parties. Now I can rent a house for only two months, and it’s of such a size that I can barely have a dinner for over eight people. I haven’t thrown a decent rout in years.”
“You could live with me,” Rachel told her.
“I already live on your husband’s charity enough. I have him and Richard to thank for the clothes on my back. That is enough without making Westhampton put me up, as well. It is Devin’s responsibility. He is the Earl of Ravenscar.”
“So I must marry to give you a house in Town?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Devin. It doesn’t become you. You have a duty—to me, to your name—to yourself, for that matter. What is to happen to Darkwater? To the Aincourt name? It is your duty to marry and produce heirs—how else are the name and title to continue? And what about the house? It’s been standing since Queen Elizabeth was a child. Are you going to let it fall into complete ruin?”
“I am sure the title will go on.”
“Oh, yes, if you don’t mind that rat-faced little Edward March succeeding to your title. A third cousin, I ask you—and he hasn’t the least idea how to conduct himself, I assure you.”
“I would have said that you thought I hadn’t the least idea how to conduct myself, either.”
His mother cast him a long, pointed look. “You haven’t. But at least you are direct in line. And you don’t resemble a weasel.” She sighed. “It pains me to think of a rodenty Ravenscar. Whatever else one might say about them, at least the Earls of Ravenscar were always handsome creatures.”
“So I am to be the sacrificial lamb on the altar of family, is that it?”
“There is no need to be dramatic. It isn’t as if it isn’t done every day. Love matches are for the lower classes. People
