Page 12 of The No Good Irresistible Viscount Tipton
FOUR
Rayne was surprised and disappointed that the bold Miss Bedegrayne had yet to figure out a way to contact him. If her father had any sense, he would have locked her in her room and set a guard at the door. Not that Rayne thought such high-handed tactics would discourage the lady. Still, five days had passed. There had been no notes, no seconds pounding on his door, none of the usual chaos he had come to expect from a Bedegrayne. If he didn’t know himself better, he would have had to acknowledge the edginess he was feeling as loss. Did he actually miss her? It was absurd.
It wasn’t boredom, that was certain, he concluded while covertly watching the older woman across from him. His mother. At forty-seven, Lady Jocelyn Tipton was still magnificent. Excellent bones, he thought, one side of his mouth lifting as if he had made a joke. Her once-blond hair was streaked with white and darker undertones. She had a quiet dignity that demanded respect.
She also was petrified to sit in the same room with him.
Call it perverse, but Rayne saw no reason to alleviate her fears. Some might even say he went out of the way to provoke them. If she saw her only living son as some kind of monster that needed to be shunned or killed, then who was he to deny it? True enough, he had stopped being her son years ago.
“The reasons for this visit must be fairly life threatening to abandon the safety of Foxenclover.” He avoided the family’s country estate just as fervently as she avoided London. Unfortunately, there were times neither could avoid their duty.
She met his gaze, then faltered. “We must discuss your sister, Madeleina.”
“Madam, why would I wish to discuss your daughter?” He never thought about the younger sister his mother had conceived after his so-called rebirth. It galled him to know she existed because his parents had tried to create another heir to replace him, after it was clear they had not considered him worthy of his birthright.
“She is fourteen this summer. She has been allowed to roam wild and it has given her some rather eccentric notions. I have done my best on the limited funds you provide.” Her tone sharpened despite her fear. “She needs proper guidance. A school for ladies, I think. Before long it will be time for us to think of presentation at Court.”
He shrugged carelessly, sensing the action would infuriate Lady Tipton. “She could take up snuff and wearing breeches for all I care.”
Her teacup clattered as she placed it on the table. “Care or not, the child is your sister. I will have you do right by her!”
“Polish or rough as gravel, I am certain I can find some farmer to remove her from our hands.”
Her pale complexion became a blotchy pink. “What do you think your father would say if he was alive to witness such callousness? You have permitted the country house to fall to ruin; we have been reduced to letting go most of the staff. The small stipend you send for our care goes for our food, a few dresses, and precious else. Your grandmother would be horrified by your lack of honor, sir!”
It was a barb meant to sting, and it did. “Mum accepted who I was, more so than you and my sire.” She had died four and half years after his illness, leaving a hole in him that never seemed to heal. Of them all, she had loved him best. Her death had severed his final emotional ties to the Wyman family.
“If it is your desire to punish me for all the sins of what I did and did not do, then that is your privilege. However, Madeleina is an innocent. She does not deserve this coldness.”
To hear his mother defend her, when there was a time he had needed her support and had received silence, had made his sweet, eccentric sister his natural enemy. “How long will you be residing in the city?”
Dry-eyed, her hate plainly visible on her face, she stiffly stood. “I am returning to Foxenclover forthwith. I can see I made this visit in vain.”
Rayne didn’t bother to reply. She thought she was disappointed. Her presence reminded him of all the grief, anger, and hatred he had not put behind. It disturbed him to discover that he was still being haunted by a fifteen-year-old incident.
“You were not the one groomed to be Viscount Tipton. However, once we lost Devlin, and your father… I thought you would find purpose in the title, something you seemed to have lost.” She started to walk toward the door, and then surprised him by stopping in front of him. “You are so removed from me, I cannot even fathom what you think of us. Are we a burden, or just an amusing instrument for revenge? Or maybe, just maybe we are a reminder that you once were human.”
“Still telling the parish that I’m the devil’s creature, Mother?” he taunted softly, the menace in his tone causing her to back up toward the door.
“Whatever you are, you are not my son. It would have been better if you had remained dead.” She turned her back and walked out of the room.
Rayne reached into a pocket, removing the small, smooth stone he liked to rub while working out his problems. It would take more than guilt to get him to change his mind about how he dealt with the Wyman family. It was their poor luck that the man they hated also controlled the family’s finances. It had to rankle his mother, and that amused him. Sadly, he had to take his joys where they landed. His thoughts drifted to Devona Bedegrayne, causing his smile to become genuine. She was the only one of late not wishing for his quick demise. He liked her spirit and her loyalty, something lacking in his own family. He ruefully shook his head, thinking what a handful she was. Rayne was also confident, if she was to be in any man’s hands, it would be his.
***
Devona was enjoying herself this evening despite her unwanted chaperones. Brock had been dismissed as useless, much to his relief. He still wanted to put a ball into Lord Tipton for kissing her in such a carnal manner, but even Papa had to agree the man had rescued her, and in front of witnesses. Some allowances had to be made.
The duty of keeping control of the family’s wild hair had fallen to Irene. Catching her eye from across the room, Devona made a face. Someone older might have been preferred; however, Devona thought her sister was stuffy enough to fill the skin of three maiden aunts. According to their father, Irene was an excellent example of feminine grace in action. Married at seventeen to a viscount, she promptly gave him three sons in five years. Now thirty, she was expecting again, although she was not far enough along to show yet. Irene felt it was her duty to lend a hand since Devona lacked a mother’s guidance. She was prepared to help their overwhelmed papa until it was time to leave for her confinement in the country. Her departure could not come soon enough for Devona. Still, she would have missed the Kissicks’ ball if her sister had not been such a paragon.
“Miss Bedegrayne, we missed you the other evening at the Goodmans’.”
Devona smiled at the man approaching her. “Mr. Lockwood, how are you this evening?” She glanced over at Irene and caught her approving nod. Devona tried not to groan. Obviously, her companion was on her sister’s approved list.
“Fine and well. Just trying to avoid dancing this evening. I fear I twisted my leg dismounting from my favorite mount. Why are you doing your best to blend into the wallpaper? Not your usual behavior, I must say.” The lines on his face deepened, his brown eyes teasing her into matching his grin.
He was a sweet man, she mused, close to forty if she were to guess. Someone once told her he had been engaged, but it had ended badly. She sensed he was attracted to her and would pursue her if she had shown any interest. She hadn’t. Whatever his feelings, he kept them in check, always prepared to be a cheerful supper companion or partner in cards.
As he still awaited her reply, she opened her fan with a Chinese motif. Lowering her voice, she spoke behind her fan. “I suppose I have made the gossip rounds again?”
