Dark Star by Callie Russell

Chapter One

South Devon, September 1835

Ross Trevellyn, the 4th Earl of Devonshire, was not a sentimental man.  Determinedly methodical in all his decisions, he approached life with the confidence of one who believes there to be a solution to every problem, and an explanation for every behavior and feeling, however initially difficult to discern.

As his carriage swayed eastward along the deeply rutted road from Padstow to Lydford, he therefore wondered at the vague sense of disquiet that had hovered over him throughout much of the journey. A persistent southwest wind, heavy and moist, foretold a coming storm, and seemed to echo his mood.  He looked out over the wild, open moor, heather and bracken stretching endlessly in a muted blaze of yellow and purple, and shook his head, as if to dispel the fanciful thought. Frowning, he urged the horses on.

The task before him was straightforward. A letter from the family solicitor had arrived a fortnight previous, and its instructions, though unexpected, were clear. He thought of Hugh, and of the disastrous choices his younger brother had made in his short life, and his mouth tightened. A brief, unhappy marriage, heavy gambling losses, the slow, but inevitable widening of the gap that had always existed between them.

It had been six years since Diana had left Deveral House and returned to London, still young at one and twenty and determined to begin her life again after Hugh’s death. He had not seen his sister-in-law since, and had assumed her to be happily ensconced in her father’s house in Mayfair, fully engaged in the social whirl of the Season. Then came the letter from Mr. Colburn, and he had been unprepared for his own reaction to its revelations. Yes, he told himself, he would see it through, and with luck, be back at Deveral House by nightfall.

A sudden gust of warm wind shook the carriage, and beside him, Billings grimaced as he scanned the leaden sky.

“It’s the devil’s breath a-blowin’ now, milord,” he grunted. “It’ll be no night for the road, that’s certain. Best we don’t bide long.” A saturating mist had settled in, nearly obscuring all but the ancient granite peaks crowning the ridge.

“Th’ Penrose place be up ahead, a mile or two past yonder hill.”  The old groom pointed to a copse of tangled trees edging the highroad in the far distance.  Ross nodded, impatient for this meeting to be at an end, and increased their pace as the carriage approached a bend in the road.  He controlled the horses easily, using his considerable strength and skill, and the big bays stretched their legs.

As the road curved left and began an ascent, he caught a sudden movement in his side vision, obscured by the mist. Too big to be rabbit or grouse—what the hell was it?  The mare checked, then stumbled, and Ross pulled back hard on the reins.

The sweating horses reared up and pawed the empty air, eyes rolling in fright as he fought to control them. The carriage swerved, pulling the horses sideways, then careened toward the side of the road and plunged into a ditch, one wheel aloft and spinning. Nearby, a solitary curlew, disturbed, rose into the air above them with a loud, plaintive cry.

Swearing, Ross swung down from the box and ran forward, then stopped and drew a deep, steadying breath. In the middle of the road stood a small boy, no more than seven years old, clutching a stick in one hand and staring back at Ross with frightened, familiar eyes.

**************

Merryn Penrose, perched on a gnarled oak branch high above the road, swatted the dense leaves aside and looked down on the scene below with a mixture of fury and relief. I told him to wait. I told him!  Why doesn’t he ever listen to me? I should never have let him come.

Her heart still pounding, she watched the tall gentleman jump down from the wrecked carriage and began striding swiftly toward William.  Frantic, she began picking her way down the tree as fast as she dared, her boots scrabbling for purchase, legs outstretched, hands scraping against bark.

“Are you all right, my boy? Who brought you here?” His deep voice floated up to her, and with reckless determination she jumped the last six feet to the ground, landing in an inelegant heap on the grass. Her breath jarred out of her lungs, she lay stunned for a moment, her skirts above her knees, gazing up at the heavy gray clouds above her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tall gentleman start toward her.

“William!” She scrambled to her feet and ran to him, ignoring a twinge of pain shooting up her left ankle, and spared the gentleman the briefest glance. She lowered her voice, and bent toward the child, turning his shoulders to face her.

“How could you do something so foolish?” she demanded.  “You were supposed to wait for me!  You might have been killed!” Furious as much with herself as with him, she pulled the boy to her, holding his thin body tightly, and looked up at the man now regarding her with interest.  She returned his appraisal with frank curiosity; clearly, he was not from Lydford, as she knew most everyone in the small, remote village.

He was dressed simply, his blue coat well fitted to his muscular, athletic frame and contrasting with his dark hair and eyes. A plain cravat, tied in a loose knot, showed very white against his tanned skin. His left eyebrow grew into a slight peak at the center, giving him an expression of perpetual mischief, though his firm mouth held no trace of amusement.

What an attractive man he is. Merryn registered the thought absently, then flushed with embarrassment, aware of her own disheveled appearance and thin muslin dress.  What in the world had happened to her bonnet? Her tangled hair blew across her face and she pulled it back with one hand, trying to restore her dignity.  As if reading her thoughts, he strode toward the tree, where Merryn saw a white scrap of material hanging forlornly, impaled by a low branch. He reached up one long arm and removed it, handing it to her with a slight bow.

“Thank you, sir.”  Her cheeks hot, she shoved the ruined bonnet in her pocket and pulled William in front of her in a protective gesture.  “And I thank you for your quick action in avoiding my—my William. He was told not to wander. I hope your carriage…” she glanced behind him, where a wiry groom maneuvered the plain, black carriage out of the ditch, grumbling to himself all the while.

“The carriage is fine,” he said evenly. “I am glad the boy appears to be, as well. It was indeed—a very close call.”  The faintest hint of a reprimand hung in the air, and she flushed again.

“We are not accustomed to much traffic on these roads, sir, nor are they suitable for high speeds, particularly when the fog is in. I did not hear your horses approach until it was too late. I could not have anticipated…”

“No, indeed, I am sure you could not.  Despite what must have been an excellent view of the road.”

“On the contrary.  The fog is so thick I could not possibly…”

“Exactly so,” he nodded.  “Impossible to see—or be seen.”

She inclined her head, exasperated that he seemed bent on winning the point.

“You’re perfectly right, of course.  However, I was not admiring the view.  William and I were on an expedition of sorts, gathering…”

She broke off, frowning, annoyed to find herself offering up explanations to a complete stranger.

“Birds’ nests!” supplied William helpfully, as if she had somehow forgotten.  He grinned up at the man beside him, his freckled face full of earnest excitement. “We found an egg, too, but it was rotten.  Merryn, she draws pictures of ‘em, good ones, for the journal, and…”

“Again, sir, I thank you. William, we must be on our way.”

She nudged him into a bow, and curtsied to the tall gentleman, who stood staring at William with an odd, unreadable expression.  He turned to her, and seemed to be on the verge of a question, then changed his mind.

“I will take you home, of course,” he said, with a pointed look at the threatening sky.  She thought of her ankle, and was tempted, but shook her head and smiled, aware of an irresistible urge to oppose him.

“No, thank you, sir. We are less than a mile from home.  We will walk—of course.”

She thought she saw a flash of irritation in his dark eyes, but he merely nodded and turned away.  Leaping with an effortless, catlike grace onto the carriage box, he took his whip in hand and the horses plunged forward. She noted the odd fact that he, rather than his groom, was driving, and wondered why he hadn’t introduced himself.

Then, with a shrug, she walked away through the mist, heading for the short cut through Wistman’s Wood, holding William’s hand tightly and trying not to limp.

****************

“…This is to inform that one William Arthur Trevellyn, age six years, lately of Mayfair, London, and currently residing in Lydford, in Devon, son of the late Hon. Hugh Trevellyn and his wife, is hereby relinquished to your care at the request of his grandfather, Mr. Vernon Penrose…”

Ross mentally reviewed the contents of the letter he carried in his pocket, long since committed to memory, and paced back and forth before the hearth in the small sitting room.  He did not care for surprises of any kind, much less ones with no logical explanation. Why hadn’t Diana told them about the child? And what the hell was the boy doing here in Devon?

Mr. Colburn’s information was minimal, though he had stressed that there was no official transfer of custody, merely a request for temporary guardianship. Not bloody likely, thought Ross.  He had every intention of pursuing custody as soon as possible, had known it from the moment he’d read the letter and felt a queer jolt of an emotion he couldn’t name.  Hugh was gone, their conflicts left permanently unresolved, but his son was here—and Ross was determined to bring him home.

He calculated that Diana must have been expecting at the time of Hugh’s death, and wondered if his brother had known.  He could not conceive of her reasons for keeping the child’s birth a secret.  Admittedly, he had not known her well, as he had chosen to stay in London for the brief time she and Hugh had been married.  He realized, somewhat cynically, that he had not known, nor understood his brother very well either.

He took a sip of watery tea, and set it aside. The morning mist had changed to a heavy rain, which now lashed with a fury against the narrow windowpanes of the small cottage, and he realized that he and Billings would most likely have to seek out an inn for the night.  He glanced around the comfortable but spare sitting area, and wondered where the hell she was. Only a mile, she had told him.

He’d known the boy immediately; his blue eyes the very image of Hugh’s — there could be no doubt of his parentage.  He did not recognize the girl, but from the letter, presumed her to be Merryn Penrose, Diana’s cousin, who, for some reason, appeared to be in charge of William.

An attractive young woman, he thought absently. Rather tall. Silky, dark blonde hair…a wide, mischievous smile that revealed a slight gap between her two front teeth…lively golden brown eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. A charming face, and from what he could tell, a slender, curved body beneath her modest cotton dress.  Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he reminded himself sternly that she’d nearly allowed the boy to be run down.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. Kirkby entered with an apologetic smile, her hands aflutter. She appeared to be around fifty or so, tending towards plumpness, with a pink, placid face now wearing an anxious expression.  There was a sharpness in her blue eyes, however, and in her pettish tone.

“Beg pardon, my lord, I’m sure I don’t know what’s keeping my niece. She should be here directly. These jaunts of hers, you know, traipsing about in all sorts of weather, I don’t hold with it, myself.  And the boy!  She won’t leave him behind, no matter what I say. Reckless, I call it.  Er, would your lordship care for more tea?”

“Thank you, no.  How long have you and your niece lived here, may I ask?” he inquired.

Mrs. Kirkby, surprised but flattered at being engaged in conversation by his lordship, settled herself opposite him and leaned forward with a confiding air.

“It’s been close on five years, my lord, since William and I left my brother Vernon’s house in London, and I cannot say they have been happy ones for me. It’s a lonely life here, to be sure, when one is accustomed to the city, and all its amusements. But Vernon insisted it would be better for the boy, you know, and of course he knows best.”

“Better in what way, precisely?”

She waved her hand in a vague gesture, and said airily, “Oh, Vernon had a notion the country air would be better for William’s health.  He has always been small, you know, like his mother, and not very strong.”

“And why is his mother not with him?” Ross asked bluntly.  Mrs. Kirkby shifted in her chair, and gave a delicate cough.

“My lord, as to that, I’m sure I cannot say.  Mrs. Trevellyn— has not been well for some time.  William is quite attached to Merryn, however, and she to him. ‘Twas lonely for her, I’m sure, before we came.”

“I see. This is Miss Penrose’s home?”

“Yes, yes, this was the home of my youngest brother, George, Merryn’s father.  He passed several years ago, and of course Vernon wanted her to live in London with us, as was proper, but no, she would have none of it. She went for one season, you know, when she was sixteen, but hated it, and refused to go back. Refused, mind you! The girl has a streak, you know, just like her father.  Now that one…”

She broke off abruptly when the slamming of a distant door rattled the house, shaking the teacups on their tray. Footsteps sounded in the corridor, along with a child’s laugh.  He had a glimpse of Mrs. Kirkby’s comically horrified face as Miss Penrose burst through the parlor door and stopped short on the threshold, her wide smile fading at the sight of him.

Her dress was soaked through, and clung indecently to her body; her hair, darkened by the rain, hung like a heavy rope down her back and dripped onto the floor.  Her huge brown eyes stared at him in disbelief, and as he looked back at her steadily, a slow flush crept up her neck.  Without a word, she spun on her heel and left the room, droplets of water flinging out from her hair in a wide arc.

Mrs. Kirkby, clearly appalled, hastily excused herself and pursued her niece down the corridor, closing the door behind her.

Alone, Ross took a deep breath. He needed a moment to regain his composure, which had deserted him completely at the sight of Miss Penrose’s magnificent body, her full breasts and curving hips clearly outlined through the damp fabric of her dress. He recalled his first sight of her, lying on her back in the grass, her long legs bare and sprawled apart…

Another door slammed, and he was jolted out of his fantasy.  Feeling slightly dazed, he shook his head, arousal still humming through his body. He couldn’t allow this to happen, not now. Growing up as he had in a family ruled by their emotions, he had sought order and control at an early age, and had deliberately cultivated those qualities in himself. He had done so with such success, that the intensity of his reaction to this girl was completely unexpected.  And unwelcome.

He shrugged, reminding himself that her charms, though considerable, were no match for his will, and he would not be distracted from his purpose.  He consulted his pocket watch.  He would give her five more minutes before searching the house.

****************

“He is the Earl of Devonshire? Are you certain?  I didn’t see a carriage!”

“Yes, Merryn, now hurry up!  He wants to talk to you, and from the look in his eye when I left, he’s not a man inclined to wait. It won’t do at all to just leave him there cooling his heels!”

“Aunt Prudence, for heaven’s sake! Would you have me take tea with him dripping wet? I had no idea of having any visitors today, and I will not be rushed!”

Tight-lipped, and eyeing her niece with disfavor, Prudence Kirkby left the room, closing the door with rather more force than necessary.  Irritated, Merryn began stripping off her wet things, throwing them on the floor of her small bedroom as Susan bustled about, laying out a white muslin dress and chemisette.

Forcing a calmness she did not feel, she twisted her damp hair into a topknot and pinned it up.  Her ankle ached, a reminder of her embarrassing fall at his feet, and the way he had looked at her.  That same look, more intense, only minutes before, had caused a strange warmth to unfurl in her belly.  It means nothing, she scolded herself. Remember who you are, and who he is.

She entered the sitting room to find him standing by the window, looking at his pocket watch.  He replaced it carefully, then turned to greet her, his impersonal gaze touching briefly on her tightly coiled hair.

“Miss Penrose,” he murmured, and bowed, brushing her hand with his lips.  His eyes looked straight into hers, and up-close, they were mesmerizing, thick-lashed, the irises a dark smoky grey. Her heart gave a curious thump, and she took an awkward step back, wincing.  He frowned.

“You are hurt?”

“No, my lord, the merest tweak. I didn’t see your carriage when I arrived,” she added baldly.

“Oh, I’m sure Billings has gone into the village to engage an inn for the night. He’ll be back directly. And I do apologize for not introducing myself earlier. A regrettable oversight. Quite sensible of you to refuse my offer of a lift.”  He glanced down toward her ankle, then back up again, his eyes shuttered.

She caught the veiled sarcasm, but chose not to respond. Her decision to walk, though perhaps ill advised, was none of his concern, after all.  With a tight smile, she indicated two wing-backed chairs flanking the hearth.  As they seated themselves, the drumbeat of rain on the tin roof suddenly intensified, its enveloping roar seeming to create an atmosphere of intimacy in the small, dimly lit room. She smoothed a tendril of hair back from her forehead and looked at him expectantly.

“Miss Penrose, I’ve come to take my nephew home to Deveral House,” he said, without preamble.  “I plan to leave in the morning, so I trust that will be sufficient time for you to prepare him for the journey.”

Her mouth went dry. The feeling of intimacy, real or imagined, evaporated as if it had never been, and she stared at him blankly.  Had something happened to Diana?

“Is—is his mother—has she…”

“I have no information whatsoever regarding Mrs. Trevellyn.  I’ve simply come to collect my nephew, and I would appreciate your cooperation,” he repeated, a faint edge creeping into his voice.

“But this—this is most unexpected, my lord,” she said at length, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. “Please, allow me to explain our situation, as it must seem strange to you.  I have cared for William since he was a baby. This is the only home he knows, and he is still young. I ask you to reconsider, if only for a year or two.”

“Impossible,” he said flatly. “The boy will adjust, Miss Penrose. He is a Trevellyn, and he belongs at Deveral House.”

His eyes flickered around the small, plainly furnished room as he spoke, and she flushed, feeling her home had been assessed and found wanting. She could not dispute his words, and felt a rising frustration at being caught off-guard and uninformed.  Did Uncle Vernon and Diana know of this arrangement?  Why had she not been told?

“He may be a Trevellyn, sir, but you are a stranger to him as is everyone else in your family,” she replied tartly.  “It would be a most difficult adjustment.”

He leaned back in his chair, expressionless, and stared at her, saying nothing.   Driven by some irresistible urge to prick him, she continued, “I understand now your reluctance to identify yourself earlier; did you imagine we might flee the premises had you done so?”

He watched her intently, his gaze an odd mixture of amusement and anger.

“It never occurred to me, Miss Penrose.  Though you do seem capable of such an impulsive act.”

“Indeed? Your assessment of my character from only a few minutes conversation is impressive, my lord,” she said sweetly. “Would you be interested in my opinion of yours?”

“I would not presume you to have an opinion of me, Miss Penrose,” he shrugged, appearing to lose interest in the topic.  There was a pause, and realizing there was nothing to be gained by fencing with him, she did not mince words.

“My lord, it was my understanding that your family had no interest in raising William. May I ask why you have not contacted or inquired after him before now?”

“You may certainly ask, my dear, but that is a matter I have no intention of discussing with you.  I can tell you that I will be calling on your uncle and his daughter in the near future, to clarify—certain matters.”

“So he knows of this?  He knows you have come?”

“I do not know what he knows.”  His voice hardened, and he seemed suddenly angry. “But it seems clear to me that my nephew has been most poorly treated, hidden away in this isolated place as if he were not my brother’s legitimate son, abandoned by his mother for some unknown reason, running wild throughout the countryside with…”

“He does not run wild!” she snapped. “And he has not been poorly treated. He has been raised with love. He has been happy here. Diana does visit him from time to time when her health allows, which is better than…”

“Ah, yes, better for him, is it?” he rapped out, “No doubt better for his mother, as well, to be free from the encumbrance of a child who might hinder her pursuit…”

“You speak of something you know nothing of!  Nothing! What do you know of Diana’s feelings? Or William’s for that matter?  As to abandonment, it’s my opinion that you are the one who must answer to that!”

Anger surged within her, and she stood up, as did he. Leaning forward, he grasped her shoulders, his big hands burning through the material of her dress, his hard mouth mere inches from hers. He smelled of leather and wool and tobacco, and he was so close, she could see the beginnings of dark stubble along his jaw.  He spoke quietly, emphasizing each word.

“Miss Penrose, I am leaving in the morning.  The boy belongs with me, and I am taking him home. Kindly have him ready.”

Her heart pounding, she stared for a moment into his dark eyes, trying desperately to think. Then, with sudden clarity, the solution came to her.

Yes, indeed, I will have him ready, my lord.  And I will have myself ready, as well.