His annoyance at Wickham grew as he continued to speak of her as though she were one of his possessions that had suddenly gone missing, rather than a vibrant, passionate, exquisite woman. She deserved better in a husband, he decided.
He was glad he had bollixed the betrothal.
Though Wickham was not aware that he had.
His first day as Earl of Canterby was an anticlimax. He spent the day alone, wandering around his new house and making notes of things he wanted to change. The list was short. Simply anything that reminded him of his uncle and cousins.
After that, he reviewed the account books, which was difficult, because it underscored just how tightfisted and malicious his uncle had been—he could easily have helped Dev and his mother in their darkest hours, but had chosen not to. Then he took a stroll in the gardens to cool off.
Naturally, his peacock attacked him.
They were vicious creatures, peacocks.
It was a relief when Wickham dropped by to shatter his ennui…until Dev saw who he had in tow.
Paddington was the last person he wanted to welcome into his home.
But he was a lord now, and apparently one did many things one deplored when one was a lord.
Damn it all anyway.
Gritting his teeth and swallowing his bile, he offered his hand to them both and escorted them into the study, gesturing to James, his new butler, to bring refreshments.
Apparently James knew society far better than he, because—though it was not yet teatime—he brought whisky, which he offered on a silver slaver. Wickham and Paddington both gusted a sigh as they accepted the cut crystal glasses.
“I say,” Padding said after he took a sip. “Excellent stock.”
Dev nodded. He’d had nothing to do with it. His uncle had barrels of it in the cellar. “It’s Scotch, I believe.”
“Excellent. Excellent,” Wickham said. And then he turned his attention from his glass to Dev. “And how are you settling in?” he asked.
Dev shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”
A screech echoed from the garden and Dev made a mental note to visit the kitchen and ask Mrs. Winters if she, perchance, had a good recipe for peacock.
“I was glad to hear of your great fortune,” Paddington said. Dev searched his face for any sarcasm but didn’t find any. “I never liked your cousins.”
“Really?” Dev raised a brow. “I seem to remember you all being close at school.” It was a thinly veiled dig, but still one.
To his shock, Paddington flushed. “Yes. I was an ass back then.” He lifted his glass. “My deepest apologies.”
Good God. He seemed so…sincere. Dev struggled to hold on to his bitterness, but it was a slippery beast. Still, he could not forgive years of torment so easily. The lesser part of his soul opted for another barb.
“And how goes the search for Matilda?”
Both men blinked at the sudden change in topic, and then, to Dev’s surprise, they laughed in concert.
“Oh, we found her,” Wickham said.
“She’s staying with my aunt.”
Dev raised a brow. “Is she? And who is that?”
“Elizabeth Suttersby. She’s right here in London, just outside of Mayfair.”
Good God. She was so close. The blood in his veins surged. A crackle of anticipation surrounded him.
“It appears she didn’t deplore the betrothal so much as the loss of a chance for a Season,” Wickham said with a smirk. “So we are going to let her have one.”
Dev boggled. “Did she say that?” That wasn’t what she had told him.
Perhaps he should have guarded his tone. Both men stared at him.
“No,” Paddington said, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes still on Dev. “We haven’t spoken to her. She doesn’t even know we found her. That’s what Elizabeth told us.”
Wickham sighed. “Women love to be romanced, don’t you know. We should have seen it.” This last bit he addressed to Paddington.
“We should have. But who could have imagined she would take such drastic measures to avoid a perfectly acceptable marriage?”
Who indeed.
“So you are still betrothed?” Dev’s voice cracked on the question.
“Of course,” Wickham said. “Although I am glad we did not release the news.”
“We are,” Paddington said with a snort.
“I have to woo her, apparently.” This, Wickham said with a hint of disgust. “Women.”
“They, ah, do like to be wooed,” Dev offered.
“I should have known. But no matter. I shall play her game. We will meet tonight at the Berkshire Ball and I shall sweep her off her feet and…well, you know.” He flourished a hand. “All the rest of it.”
The men continued talking about their plans to encourage Tildy to melt into a pudding at Wickham’s feet, but Dev had lost the thread of the conversation.
Tildy was going to be at the Berkshire Ball tonight.
Tonight, he could see her again. If…
“How do I get an invitation to this ball?” he asked, rudely interrupting Wickham’s dissertation on how a well-bred debutant should not require wooing at all.
Again, for some reason, both men gaped at him.
Wickham cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t think you’d need one,” he said.
“You are an earl.” Paddington nodded.