Page 6 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Another man would see this as a jibe, but this tenor of conversation gulfed the 9 years between them. They were two sides to the same coin; where Peregrine had been an apprentice octogenarian his entire life, Devyn thrived on joking and carousing when he wasn’t warrioring.

Devyn clutched his chest dramatically, miming as though Peregrine had wounded him in the heart.

He relied on humor as a general rule; people found him more amenable and palatable that way with his large size, but damn if his brother didn’t have a point.

Devyn could turn said point around on his brother and ask what ladies a titled gentleman of more than marriageable age had made gestures for, but Devyn never pried.

If Peregrine wanted him to know, he’d have told him. Perry suffered no such compunction.

Devyn glanced at the portrait to his left of two dark haired brothers, the older one tall and sleek and more serious looking than any boy of 14 ought to be, a curly headed miniature nearly a decade younger clutching his hand, to remind himself of all the things he usually liked about his brother.

Peregrine lifted a solicitous, persistent brow as if awaiting an answer.

Devyn knew the answer.

I have written to her every day for over a year.

I’ve taken her rowing. I watched her shoot arrows through not just a target but my own heart on an archery pitch.

I took her to a tavern one night when she slipped out of her house in a hooded cloak and said, “I want to see where you spend your time. Not the things that you’re supposed to do, but where do you go when you aren’t a warrior?

” We spent an evening drinking, eating tavern food.

I had the most unencumbered and open conversation I had ever had in my life.

She’d said, “I think we can make room for another one of your men at our table,” when Belcher had shown up late, and she’d hooked an arm around my neck and pulled herself into my lap to raucous cheers from 16 of my men and the entire tavern.

Her hand rested on my thigh for a moment, she whispered in my ear, “I’d never thought a man of your size could blush,” and when she pulled back and laughed, her hand covered her mouth the way my body wanted to.

And I took that hand and kissed her small finger, the finger where significant rings go, and I told her, “They all think I belong to you. Tell me one day I will.” “You don’t already?

” she shot back. I gave her the most raucous laugh, Calum and Blaise started laughing too.

And when her blue-gold eyes didn’t leave my face, her fingers playing over mine, I gave her what was left that she hadn’t already stolen right out from under me.

Devyn didn’t say that. He hid his inner workings behind a well-timed sip of tea from one of the much-too-small teacups at his brother’s table.

He wasn’t sure it meant anything to anyone but him. A man who made much of little as a general rule.

“She’s worth every effort and every length I could go to. I’m simply afraid that, in the end-”

“You won’t be enough?” Peregrine cut right to the heart of the matter. Devyn saw earnest understanding, a brotherhood that left room for failings and misgivings, and was given the courage to try again.

“You could make this easier on your only living relation and arrange a formal meeting yourself,” Devyn parried, devouring one of the miniscule tea sandwiches on a silver tray in a single bite.

Peregrine pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Devyn, remind me why I haven’t cut off your allowance already. Or better yet, forced you to come home and claim the title that belongs to you.”

Peregrine had only been their father’s legitimate heir until Devyn had been born years later to a second wife.

By rights, the inheritance and the family estate should have gone to Devyn, but Devyn felt as ill-fitted to a title and its myriad obligations as he did to the formal tea table he was sitting at.

He wasn’t cut out for this, not the way that Peregrine was.

Devyn set down the scone that was in his hand, wiping his hand on the napkin draped over his buckskin-clad thigh. “Peregrine, you are father’s heir. I am the spare. I am a warrior, that has always been the case-”

“But what about your lady? Does it make you want to change the status quo now that you could have her if she knew that a title was within your grasp?”

Devyn shook his head. “A title is not within my grasp. I’m your heir until you see reason and find a wife. Besides, do you want me to enter into a union with a wife who suddenly accepts my suit once she hears of our… history?”

Peregrine’s brow furrowed and he set down his teacup and saucer.

“I think you discredit the young lady, brother. How do I even begin to explain Lady Moria? Were you to spend more time in society you would see quite clearly that she cannot afford to marry a captain of her majesty’s army set to ship out in a short amount of time.

Especially not whilst her younger sister is unwed.

Such a match would greatly diminish the…

fanfare and revelry that she receives everywhere her ladyship goes.

She’s not just any lady, Devyn, she’s the lady. ”

Devyn shook his head and looked off into the distance. He was well aware of why she hadn’t accepted his suit. He didn’t need Peregrine to point it out. He knew he had little to offer her.

“I’m not willing to take from you in order to win her.”

Peregrine’s blue eyes softened. “It would only be taking from me if I hadn’t already offered it, Devyn,” he gestured around him, “All of this is, by rights, yours, brother.”

Devyn tilted his head to the side, weighing his words. “By birth, yes. Not by rights. Is the commitment and dedication to justice for those who cannot fight for themselves that you’ve brought to your role not ‘right’ enough, Peregrine?”

Peregrine was silent, then after a long moment as both brothers watched the fire in the grate nearby dwindle, the older of the two broke the silence.

“You honor me, brother. I only want you to admit that one day the mantle of warrior will grow heavy, and you will want to place it down, and when you do, if my…stepping aside…would ease your way, I’ll not protest. I’ll do it gladly. ”

And at that, Peregrine set down on the table an invitation to a ball. Devyn knew what it was. It was an offer to help, a gauntlet being thrown. Devyn could attend as his guest, he could receive an introduction to Lady Moria with Peregrine’s help. If he wanted her, he had to play the game.

Devyn reached out a hand to squeeze his older brother’s shoulder, noting the graying at his temples and the laugh lines at his eyes.

He’d never have the ease Peregrine had with words and with others, hell Devyn intimidated people just by skulking into a room.

But if Devyn did take his brother up on his offer, he had only to follow his brother’s example.

* * *

“His lairdship bust yer balls, then?”

Calum Sterling called to Devyn when the latter returned to the townhouse they shared a few streets off the fashionable part of London.

Calum was Scottish and had been part of Devyn’s regiment for the last 6 years, and as he was from a working-class family, Devyn had suggested he stay with him when they were stationed in town rather than springing for his own lodgings.

There was plenty of room, and someone had to keep Calum from trouble when he was too deep in his cups.

There were some in their regiment who erroneously blamed his mischief on Calum’s being a Scot; but Devyn knew that Calum, while having an honorable nature, simply couldn’t say no to a revel, or a dare, or a challenge.

It made for a bold soldier and a reckless civilian, but a good man to have at one’s back.

Devyn didn’t answer Calum’s question, opting instead to remove his boots and rummage through the larder. “Peregrine? No,” Devyn set the ingredients on the counter and started making a sandwich. “My brother always means well. He just serves food meant for half pints and not for grown men.”

“I fig’red he found out about yer…epistolary courtship…and wanted to talk some much needed sense into ye.”

Devyn talked around a mouthful of sandwich, “The opposite in fact.”

Calum set down a glass of wine in front of him. “Reverse psychology, then?”

Devyn shook his head. “An invitation to a ball.”

Callum grimaced. “Big barrel-chested bastard like yerself at a ball? Sounds like a duel waitin’ to happen if ye ask me.”

“Good thing I’ll have you as my second.”

Callum sighed, taking the glass of wine from Devyn and draining it. “God help me, Cap’n.”