Page 56 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
THIRTEEN
The next morning, the empty breakfast room was less of a surprise and more than a relief. Devona did not expect any less from Tipton’s family. If thetonthought her husband was odd, spending the evening under the wary eye of her new mother-in-law proved this penchant for drama and moodiness was derived from the blood. Crawling out of a smashed coffin at fifteen was simply atmosphere for this family.
Deciding to skip the morning meal, Devona moved to the back of the house and out the doors. She idly rubbed her temple, willing the slight headache away. Where was Tipton? After delivering that devastating kiss the other afternoon, he had left her alone. Apparently, he had been content that he had quelled all thought of her annulling their marriage. Appalling as it was, it was an accurate opinion. Her mood the rest of the evening had turned contemplative, but not once had her musings required his absence.
So distracted was she that the well-groomed flower beds had not made an impression on her. She had viewed numerous country gardens throughout her life. While she always found them pretty, she was never one to sit and contemplate their beauty. Halting several hundred yards from the house, she pivoted and studied her surroundings. The design was charming and well tended. It made no sense! The house had been stripped of many of its finer possessions, and it desperately needed repairs. Tipton’s mother did not impress Devona as a woman who had the patience or inclination to nurture the fragile blooms. Then who? A loyal gardener?
She backed up, taking in the symmetrical beauty of evergreens sheared into pyramids and diamond-shaped flower plots. A looming shadow overhead made her look upward. It wasn’t a tree, but a maze. And the entrance arch was a— “I do not credit this!”
The boxwood arch had been shaped into a dragon’s head. His expression was taunting, daring the trespasser to walk into his open mouth. Now, paying attention, she could see the walls of the maze were his green serpentine body, winding and blocking the journey of the adventurer.
“Amazing.”
“Glad you like it. Want to come play?” The amused feminine voice floated down from above.
“From your ferocious, hungry grin, I imagined you to be male. However, since I have met the living dragon of Foxenclover, I can see the resemblance.” Devona’s hand came up, as she was horrified by her slip.
A peal of laughter rustled the leaves. “Oh, I see you’ve met Jocelyn.” There was more movement behind the wall before an enchantingly grimy young woman emerged from her hiding place. Tipton’s sister? This woodland nymph was young, fifteen at the most. More child than woman, the girl beamed at her, her teeth almost white against her tan. Her light brown hair was coming undone from its hastily formed braid, and the telltale sun streaks and freckles revealed that she spent more time playing in the garden than practicing her school lessons.
“I thought you were Mother come to scold.”
“No,” Devona murmured, trying to fit this friendly child into the family puzzle. “My name is Devona Bedegrayne. Oof.” She laughed, brushing her mistake aside with a nervous gesture. “Not anymore. I am Devona Wyman, now that I have married your brother. Rayne is your brother, is he not?”
The girl’s complexion turned ashen as she scanned the garden. “Lord Tipton is here? He never visits.” She took a step back into the maze.
“It is a pity his duties keep him in London,” Devona lied, linking her arm with her new sister before she ran into the maze. “We are newly married, and I think he wanted to show his family off.”
Brother and sister both shared the same light blue eye color and the resemblance was quite distinct when she snorted in disbelief. “I’ll wager your acquaintance with Lord Tipton has been brief if you believe that! Did you elope? Mama and I have not heard news of the banns.”
“No banns,” she admitted, wondering how much of the tale to reveal. “We dashed off to Gretna Green. It will be an adventurous tale to tell our children.” If she and Rayne managed to remain married.
Devona located a bench to view the grounds and pulled the girl down beside her before she could think of a reason to escape. The child’s demeanor had changed since she had learned of her brother’s presence. Her movements were catlike and always searching, as if she expected a greater beast to pounce on her. Devona frowned. She suspected her concerns were not far from the truth. Everyone knew Tipton held little tolerance for his remaining family. Staring down at this beautiful fey child, Devona could not fathom what this innocent could have done to deserve her brother’s wrath.
“Who manages these gardens?” Devona asked. Of the thousands of questions swirling around in her head, the most trivial had surfaced.
Her chin snapped up to rival the challenging light in her eyes. “The gardens are mine.”
The poor thing thought they had come to take away her imaginary world. Devona placed her hand to her heart to keep it in place. Whatever her husband’s plans, she refused to sit by and watch him hurt his sister. “Of course the gardens belong to you. I doubt Tipton plans to remain here for long.”
“No,” the girl corrected. “The gardens are my creation. I dreamed them, and planted them. I tend them. They belong to me.”
“Odd, I was saying something similar the other day.”
Rayne’s sarcastic drawl startled them. Devona automatically reached for the girl’s arm to prevent her from running. She tightened her grip to keep her in place. “Good morning, Tipton. I was beginning to believe that I had been put out to the country and here we have not even been married a week.”
Tipton’s cheek ticked as if he was trying to conceal his grin. “I keep all my wives at my side for at least a month.”
Devona did not bother to hide her smile. She was pleased that he had sought her out. “Well, the news relieves my anxious heart. Lucky for you I came across your sister. She is a hidden jewel, Tipton. No wonder you keep her from London. Your male acquaintances would be begging you for an arranged marriage.”
His sister stood, courageously accepting Tipton’s critical scrutiny. “I meant no offense, sir. About the gardens belonging to me.”
Devona quickly assessed the encounter as potentially volatile. Her inclination being to side with the weaker opponent, she stood and placed a protective arm around the girl. “Tipton, are these grounds not wondrous? They are your sister’s design.”
He was silent as if weighing the significance of Devona’s vocal stance. “I do not recall approving funds to restore the gardens,” he finally said.
The girl gave a careless shrug, the stiff action betraying that she was feeling anything but nonchalant. “Talk of funds and distribution does not interest me. Only the gardens. If it has been a waste of time then it has been mine to waste.”
“Then if I ordered that these beds be salted and burned, you would not care?” he asked, delivering the threat so calmly that even Devona was astonished by his cruel suggestion.
