Devonny

Devonny placed the silver tea server carefully on the kitchen countertop, when what she really wished was to do was hurl it across the room. She gripped the edge of the countertop and reminded herself to breathe.

Gabriel Davenport was wearing on her already frayed nerves. And now he had a partner in crime. Abigail Benjamin, the vision who had been at Gabriel's elbow on the night of the Davenport party was more and more present in the Davenport household usually with of her simpering friends mooning over Elijah and her haughty aunt to watch over it all.

They were running her ragged. Not to mention the multitude of events that the Davenport household was to be holding before leaving off for the country. Between preparations for garden and dinner parties and packing, Devonny was exhausted. The household seemed to constantly be filled with people to wait upon and Devonny highly suspected that the sudden mêlée had a dual purpose: to keep her busy, and to provide Gabriel with the opportunity to have the lovely young Miss Benjamin in his home and in his company.

Devonny ignored the twinge of hurt. She knew she was fooling herself. She knew that she and Gabriel Davenport could never be. And she knew without a doubt that she was only hurting herself by caring. She was the wrong class and the wrong color.

No, she knew an interracial match was not unheard of in London. Blacks and mulattoes integrated and intermarried into poor white urban populations, sharing in the misery and historical anonymity of the British poor. However, for society's elite, such a match would mean an end to the family's prominence.

Even Devonny could not deny that Gabriel had found himself a good match. The young lady was beautiful, but she also had the family connections and money that would entice any suitor even if she had not been so comely.

Devonny swallowed the lump in her throat as she arranged small pastries on the silver tray. She squared her shoulders and cleared her face of emotion as she exited the kitchen. ***

Devonny waited patiently across the street from Madam Pomfrey's. It was her last free day before they were to leave for the country.

Madam Pomfrey's was an inconspicuous townhouse nestled amongst the bourgeois homes masquerading as a finishing school for foreign young ladies in need of a proper British education. It hosted only the most privileged clientele, thus maintaining its anonymity amidst its bourgeois neighbors.

When a young blonde woman with a face worthy of Botecelli's angels emerged and flounced down the steps, Devonny could not hold back a smile. Daintily lifting her skirts and giving the passing gentlemen a glimpse of stockinged and ankle, Cecile Marsh crossed the street to Devonny. "Darling!" she squealed throwing her arms around Devonny. "You look wonderful--beautiful as always--but trés sad, darling."

Devonny smiled at her friend as they linked arms and began to walk slowly down the street, ignoring the appraising looks the men passing gave the pair.

"So tell me, darling," Cecile urged. "Tell me where are you working? And your new employers? Madam told us nothing for fear that Mister Rochard might find you."

Devonny flinched unwillingly at the mention of that man's name. "I'm working for the Davenports." Her eyes were pleading. "Please don't mention it to any of the other girls."

Cecile patted her arm consolingly. "Of course not, chéri." Her blue gaze widened. "Davenport? Not Gabriel and Elijah Davenport.?"

"The same."

"Oh!" Cecile squealed. "Those two are the most gorgeous men I've ever laid eyes on. Bachelors...exceedingly wealthy. Lucky girl."

When Devonny didn't share her enthusiasm Cecile looked at her closely. "Oh no," she said solemnly. "Tell me you're not smitten over one of them."

Devonny decided not to let Cecile know how close she was to the truth. Instead she said, "Of course not. Actually, Elijah and I have become an odd pair of friends."

"Ah," Cecile grinned. "Not Mr. Davenport, or Mr. Elijah. Just Elijah, is it?" She lifted her brows pointedly.

Devonny laughed at Cecile's comical expression. "No, no. It's nothing like that. We are just friends."

"Hmm," Cecile mused. "Are you certain? Well," she said coyly. " I heard some gossip about Mr. Elijah Davenport spending an obscene sum of money on a new wardrobe for a new mulatto mistress. But I suppose I must be mistaken."

Devonny gasped. "No!"

Cecile smiled triumphantly. "Yes! And you had better tell me all about it."

Devonny stopped in her tracks and groaned, putting her face in her gloved hands. "Oh no, no, no, no, no," she moaned. She felt Cecile tugging her along and dropped her hands to continue arm and arm with Cecile.

Devonny stared at the ground in shock.

Cecile patted her hand consolingly. "Oh, it's nothing to be ashamed about, Devonny. He's a beautiful man. You could do a lot worse for yourself."

Devonny shook her head. "Oh, Cecile, you don't understand," she sighed. "Gabriel and I are truly just friends."

"But the wardrobe..."

Devonny rolled her eyes. "Gabriel decided that I was to go to the country with them and have and entirely new wardrobe to do so. There are no romantic feelings between us, I assure you...merely friendship."

Cecile pouted. "Ah, that's too bad, darling. What a catch he would make."

Devonny merely shrugged ruefully and shook her head. They walked on in companionable silence before Cecile asked the question Devonny knew was waiting.

"And what about the other one, Gabriel Davenport?"

Devonny sighed. "Hates me."

"No," Cecile cooed, but one look at Devonny's desolate expression told her everything. "Oh, honey. Why would you think that?"

"Maybe because he treats me like a bloody leper or because he only speaks to me in sneers."

Cecile gave her a sympathetic look. "Ah, I'm sorry darling."

They had reached the busy Piccadilly Circus and began browsing the windows and stopping at vendors.

Devonny wandered into her favorite book store, smiling at the shopkeeper who dipped his head in return. Cecile grew bored quickly and left Devonny to her own devices while she made her way next door for some new ribbons.

Devonny's nose was buried in William Thackney's newest novel when she turned right into a tall male figure. "Oh!" She dropped the book, bending quickly to pick it up. "I'm so sorry..." her voice trailed off as she stared up into the smug face of André Rochard.

Her heart dropped into her stomach, her breath coming in quick breaths. She moved to step back but his hand shot out and gripped her wrist, pulling her towards him. He wrapped and arm around her waist and held her tightly against him. The book crushed awkwardly between their bodies felt like a blessed shield.

She stared up into the pale icy blue gaze of André Rochard. His pale blonde hair was swept back gracefully from his finely chiseled face. His think lips were turned up in a biting smile. "Imagine running into you here, lovely. I've been looking for you everywhere."

Devonny's heart was beating rapidly. She was sure he could feel its pounding thrugh the book between them. "Please let me go," she gasped, her gaze wildly searching the back of the shop for someone, anyone. But they were quite alone.

Rochard lifted a hand to tug at a dark curl that had escaped her bonnet. "Let you go?" He traced a finger over her cheek. "But I've only just found you. We have unfinished business."

Terrified, Devonny opened her mouth in a scream but his hand covered her mouth before a single sound emerged. He pushed her against the shelves, removing his hand from her lips only to cruelly capture her lips with his own as his hands brazenly roamed over her body.

Tears were streaming down her face as she pushed futilely against him. Bracing her hands on his chest she brought heal of her booted heel on his foot, pushing him with all her might. He stumbled backwards with a cry of pain, reaching for her as she moved by him but only managing to grasp her shawl as she fled.

Dropping the book she carried, Devonny raced past the shocked shopkeeper and bolted out into the street. She ran, hearing Rochard call her name behind her.

Shocked pedestrians moved quickly out of her way. "Devonny!" A hand closed around her upper arm nearly jerking her off her feet as she was swung around towards him. She collided with his chest, fighting wildly as panicked whimpers escaped her.

He shook her. "Devonny, goddamnit!"

Devonny paused, blinking back tears to stare up at Gabriel Davenport's bewildered face.

Her knees buckled in relief as she recognized him and he quickly pulled her against his chest as sobs tore free of her throat and she pressed her face against his chest.

Gabriel held her, his face betraying her consternation. "Devonny, what the devil is going on?"

At that moment Gabriel heard a pair of hurried boot heels abruptly stop only feel from them.

Gabriel looked up to see a slightly flushed blonde man, obviously a gentleman breathing hard, clutching a woman's shawl. The man looked enraged, his gaze fixed on Devonny who had not lifted her face but trembled violently in his arms.

Gabriel's was deep and menacing when he spoke. "Who are you sir?"

Rochard grimaced and gestured to Devonny, ignoring Gabriel's query. "That girl accosted me trying to rob me. I demand you hand her over so that I may convey her to the proper authorities."

Devonny's grip on Gabriel tightened. Gabriel gazed down at her and using one finger he titled her chin and lifted her face to his. Her thick dark lashes fluttered downwards and were wetly spiked with tears that ran down her face. Her lips were bruised and the tender flesh around them was rubbed raw.

Fury suffused Gabriel's face as he pushed Devonny behind him. His voice was mocking as he faced the other man. "So this girl who is half your size attempted to rob you by force? And obviously managed to escape you as well?"

Rochard merely glared back at him.

"E-excuse me, sirs," came an elderly man's tentative face. The bookstore's shopkeeper was wringing his hands nervously slightly behind Rochard.

"What do you want?" Rochard sneered.

The shopkeeper directed his troubled gaze to Gabriel. "It's not true what he says, sir, about the girl. He followed the young miss into my shop. He didn't take his eyes off her and he looked up to no good. I heard them struggling in the back but she must have broke free before I could get back there." He glanced at Devonny. "That girl has been coming to my shop for years. She's a good girl. Never given me a bit of trouble."

Gabriel fixed his narrowed gaze back on Rochard. His voice was deadly calm. "I don't know who you are, sir, although I have a pretty good idea. It is no matter who you are. You will stay away from the girl or you will answer to me. Do you understand?"

Rochard's only answer was the clenching of his fists and the hardening of his face before he turned on his heel and stalked away, flinging the shawl on the ground at Gabriel's feet. The crowd that had stopped to gawk at the scene was dispersing with low mumers.

Gabriel picked up the shawl and dusted it of lightly before handing it to Devonny whose head was lowered, the brim of her bonnet hiding her face. She pulled the length of fabric against her chest and was silent.

"Devonny--' he began but was cut off by a light feminine squeak.

'Darling!" Cecile raced from the crowd and threw her arms around Devonny. Placing her hands on Devonny's cheeks she searched her friend's face. "That monster didn't hurt you did he?"

Devonny shook her head mutely.

Cecile whirled to Gabriel flashing him her most stunning smile. "Thank God you were here, sir. Who knows what might have happened had you not heroically intervened." She daintily offered her hand. "Cecile Marsh."

"Gabriel Davenport," came Gabriel's clipped reply before he reached out and gently lifted Devonny's face once more with a the lightest touch of his fingertips. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she replied softly.

Gabriel held Devonny's gaze. "I will be right back. Stay with Miss Marsh while I get the coach."

Devonny watched his broad back as he departed.

Cecile hooked her arm through Devonny's and followed Gabriel with her gaze. "Oh darling," she chided. "That man certainly does not hate you."

***

After hiring a hackney to take Cecile home, Gabriel settled Devonny into the coach before seating himself across from her. He rapped his ivory handled cane on the roof and the coach lurched forward down the cobblestone street.

"Now what the devil was that about?" Gabriel demanded.

Devonny's head jerked up and she stared at him wide-eyed.

"Well?"

She swallowed thickly. "Andre Rochard," she answered.

Gabriel's brows drew together. "I've heard of the man. Now what does he want with you? I doubt the two of you have a casual acquaintance."

Devonny dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap. "He's the reason I had to leave Madam Pomfrey's."

"Go on."

Devonny looked at him beseechingly. "Please, sir. It is improper."

Gabriel's gaze was penetrating. "That man just accosted you and chased you through the streets. I need to know how persistent he might be."

Devonny's face squinted as she fought back tears. She looked back to her hands folded in her lap. "You know what Madam Pomfrey's is like."

"I do."

"Well, Margaret liked to shield me from that as much as she could but I helped with the housework. I served as well when they were entertaining in the parlor. That's when André Rochard caught sight of me. He began bringing me presents although I refused them. One of the girls jokingly mentioned that I was 'only a naïve little virgin." Her lips twisted sardonically. "It only seemed to intrigue him." She glanced up at Gabriel. "He offered me...plaçage. He was unrelenting. He offered vast sums of money. But I refused and Margaret wouldn't hear of it."

Garbiel quirked a dark brow. "Plaçage?"

Devonny's lips pressed into a thin line. "I assume he learned of it in the American south. It is an arrangement between a white man and a woman of color. They are quite common in the south in America."

Gabriel seemed to understand. "You would be his mistress."

Devonny snorted. "His whore." She shook her head. "He started following me or having his thugs follow me when he could not. The girls thought I was stupid. Rochard was handsome they said, and rich. Not only was he offering to buy my virginity, he was offering me my own apartments and my own carriage and staff. He said I could have anything I liked."

"And still you refused?" came Gabriel's incredulous response.

Devonny's honey eyes flashed to his, filled with fire. "Just because I am mulatto does not mean that I cannot wish for more than being some rich man's whore." Her voice was steadier and she looked him in the face. "Besides, he had a reputation for being cruel. I heard about the bruises and beatings he gave his last mistress who disappeared suddenly." She lifted her chin. "And I did not love him. I will give myself to a man out of love. I will not settle for anything less."

She dropped her gaze once more and picked at the fringed edges of her shawl. "But he was not easily dissuaded. Nor was he accustomed to being refused. He caught me alone in the kitchen one evening." Her pretty brow wrinkled and Gabriel felt dread pool in his stomach. He did not want to hear this.

"He forced me onto the kitchen table and pulled up my skirts. He was fumbling around when I managed to grab a bottle of wine and hit him over the head with it. He was unconscious but when he came to he raged and shouted promises that I would be hisone way or another. He would not let me go."

She shrugged although there was nothing nonchalant about the gesture. "And so here I am." She snorted. "And in such a state."

Gabriel leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. In the small space of the coach, he looked into Devonny's troubled face. His voice was steady and sure. "You are safe now. No one will harm you. I promise you this."

***

"HE DID WHAT?!" Elijah bellowed shooting out of his chair in the study.

Gabriel calmly lit his cigar. "Calm down, Eli. She's alright."

"You should have taken his bloody head off!" Elijah was striding back and forth angrily. "Some pervert tries to maul her in a public place and you say she's alright? Blast it, Gabe, you didn't just pat her on the bum and tell her to shake it off did you?"

Gabriel frowned and regarded his brother through the curling wisps of smoke drifting up from the end of his cigar. "I didn't get anywhere near her bum."

Elijah growled at him. "You're a bloody cold bastard, you know that? She was probably terrified out of her wits."

Gabriel examined the end of his cigar. "I wouldn't doubt it."

Elijah halted in his tracks and fixed his brother with an intent look. "You don't have to be so hard and unfeeling all the time. I know you feel something for the girl. I've seen the way you look at her when you think she's not watching."

Gabriel merely grunted.

Elijah glared at him. "Why do you have to be so damned heartless? Just because Isabella--"

Gabriel silenced him with a scowl. "Don't ever speak of her," he gritted out.

"Well maybe you need to talk about it and get you over this--"

"Eli," Gabriel growled.

"Fine, fine," Elijah grumbled. "I'm going to go check on her."

Gabriel said nothing.

Elijah found her in Gabriel's bedroom closing the drapes and lighting the oil lamps. He watched them from the doorway as she pulled back the sheets and made sure the bed curtains were secure.

"You alright sweetheart?" he spoke nearly causing her to jump out of her skin.

"Elijah!" she gasped, her hand flying to her breast.

Elijah held up his hands. "Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you. Are you alright?" Taking a deep breath as Elijah came towards her, she nodded.

Gabriel took her by the shoulder and looked down into her face. "Are you certain?"

She nodded.

"Good girl." Elijah lightly chucked her chin. "See, now you must go to the country. Can't leave you here by yourself." He frowned. It was as stern as she had ever seen him look. "And until then you are not to leave the house by yourself. You will take Miles, or Prince, or one f the footman. If none of them are available you will wait and then I myself will accompany you."

"Sir, I cannot ask you to--"

He cut her off with a slash of his hand cutting through the air. His voice was humorless. "This is not request. You will obey me in this."

Devonny lifted an ebony brow. "Yes, my lord," she said and dropped a low exaggerated curtsy.

A corner of Elijah's mouth tilted upward, marring his attempt to remain stoic. "I do believe you are growing cheekier by the day, Devonny." He seemed to consider this. "I quite like it."

Gabriel grumbled something unintelligible as he entered the room.

Elijah gave her a quick wink and jerked his head towards the door.

Devonny suppressed a smile and left the two brothers alone.