Free The Luck of the Devil by Bárbara Metzger

sure."
    "She's a delicate female, boy, that's all. She was raised up quietlike, not like you rough-and-tumble lads."
    "She hates me," the younger man clarified. "She makes me feel overlarge and unkempt, as if she will shatter into a billion pieces if I speak too loudly. And of course I only want to shout at her for being such a henwit. Now there's a marriage made in heaven," he said dismally, then brightened. "Of course I could be killed in the next battle. That might sweeten the pill for Emonda, if I swear to do my damnedest to make her a widow."
    "You know, lad, I was betrothed once myself."
    "No, sir, I didn't." The old boy's mind must be wandering, Carey thought, but he was willing to follow the earl's direction. Anything was better than thinking of a parson's mousetrap and Emonda in the same breath.
    The earl struggled out of his seat and opened the top desk drawer. He took out a framed portrait, stared at it a moment, then handed the picture to Carey.
    Odd, Carey had one just like it, only smaller "Rowanne Wimberly. I'd forgotten you were related to the Wimberlys, my lord, but what has she to do with—"
    "No, it's her mother. Know my niece, do you? It must be true then that she's the image of Amalie."
    "If the painting is of Amalie, she is. Miss Wimberly's hair is unpowdered of course, a soft brown, and cut in curls around her face. Haven't you seen her for yourself? Pardon, my lord, my own difficulties make me forget my manners. You cannot wish to discuss your family with me."
    "You are wrong, I do. That's why I showed you the portrait. To answer your question, no, I don't know the chit. I always heard she took after her mother and I never thought I could bear to see that face again."
    Carey studied the picture, and his memories. "It's a lovely face."
    "But Amalie was not a lovely woman. I thought she was, at one time. I thought she was the moon and the stars too. I was the happiest man alive when she agreed to be my wife. Then she ran away with my brother Montgomery."
    "Did she give you a reason?"
    "She was courteous enough to send a letter with my ring. She never wanted me, it turned out, but her parents wanted the money and the title. They pushed her into accepting. When she found out I intended to devote my life to the estate, Amalie had second thoughts. By Jupiter, I was born to the land. I was brought up knowing High Clyme would be mine and every inch my responsibility. I had no interest in the glitter of London, and thought my precious bride would share my love for the country. More fool I.
    "Amalie and her mother came to High Clyme to see about renovating the countess's suite. It was harvest time and there was flooding and a hundred other things that required my attention. And there was Monty, back from Russia, off to India or Persia, I don't know what outlandish places, with his tales of travel and receptions at every high court, the latest gossip from London, the latest fashions from Paris. They left together. I never saw either one again."
    Carey could read the sorrow on the old man's face. "I am sorry, my lord. What a crushing blow that must have been to a young man's pride."
    "Pride? I loved her. Pride came later, when I refused to see them. I never married, of course, and with Monty providing the heir, I never had to. That would be my nephew Gabriel, a likely lad, so I am informed."
    "I've heard him spoken of highly in political circles."
    "He knows nothing of agriculture."
    "He's bright. He can learn."
    Lord Clyme poured another glass. "When I'm gone, when I'm gone. But I have a few good years in me yet, more if I skip my port and cigars if the quacks are right. And nothing but my pride for company."
    "Miss Wimberly?"
    "She's a Toast, just like her mother. She follows the beau monde from London to Bath. She'd never be content in a rural backwater like Blandford, and I would never ask it of Amalie's daughter."
    "I wonder if you misdoubt her, my lord. But…" Carey began to see where the conversation was