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.
