He chuckled and dipped his head in acknowledgment. “At times, that might have been an accurate description.”
They’d been happy times, now he thought of them. He glanced her way. “But what about you? You spent at least some part of each year in London, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but nowhere near as much as you. Most of the year, we remained at Walkhurst. Mama and Papa used to come up for the Season, of course, but only when each of us was very young did they bring us to town, too. Once we were old enough, they’d leave us at Walkhurst, given we had tutors and governesses and horses and more to keep us occupied there.” She tipped her head. “That held true through my years of being in the schoolroom, so over that period of my life, I only rarely visited London.”
Therese thought back over the years. “At Walkhurst, we were very much a local gentry family. There, we grew up largely unfettered by ton constraints. I recall rambling all about the fields and lanes, often in Christopher and Gregory’s wake, with no groom or governess in sight.”
She lifted her face, remembering the play of country sunshine over her skin. “We led a very active childhood—we spent as much of our free hours outside as we could.” She looked ahead and located the children, now tramping the banks of the lake, and grinned. “I was rather like Horry—or more accurately, she takes after me. I always enjoyed doing things. I never was one to sit and play with dolls.”
“So that’s where Horry comes by her intrepidity.”
Therese’s smile deepened. “We rambled and, later, rode everywhere. All the neighbors knew us, especially Ellen’s uncle and aunt at Bigfield House. They had no children, but loved to have us visit, and her uncle had his goats, even then, and they always provided some form of entertainment.”
She felt Devlin’s gaze, softly curious, pass over her features.
“I have difficulty,” he murmured, “imagining you getting into any mischief, even as a young girl.”
She chuckled and conceded the point with a tip of her head. “From a young age, I learned to stand back and let Christopher and Gregory take the lead in any endeavor that might land us in trouble.” Her expression turning coy, she admitted, “I might, once or twice, have alluded to the activity first, but if there were repercussions, I always let them claim credit, which, being male, they invariably did, as by then, they usually believed whatever it was had, in fact, been their idea from the first. I was merely the little sister who tagged along behind them.”
He laughed, then asked, “Did they ever realize?”
“As far as I’m aware, they remain oblivious to this day.”
Smiling, he looked at their three, now clustered by the bank and busy tossing bread crumbs to a flotilla of greedy ducks. “I wonder if I should warn Spencer and Rupert what they have to look forward to.”
She squeezed his arm. “No, you shouldn’t. It’s one of those things they have to learn for themselves.” Her gaze rested on Horry, who was trying her best to hurl bread crumbs at the ducks. “Or not, as the case may be.”
They joined the children. Devlin crouched between the boys and engaged them in a discussion of the behavior of individual ducks, while Therese bent over Horry and endeavored to help her daughter improve her throwing.
Given the season, the overcast skies, and the hour, there were few others in that section of the park—mostly nursemaids and children, with a few courting couples with eyes only for each other. No one interrupted their pleasant family interlude, and it passed off without drama. Throughout the moments, as Therese and Devlin shared the tasks of answering questions and directing bright eyes and attentions, she sensed, once again, a softening in their interaction, a relaxed closeness—not so much a physical one as on the mental plane—that she couldn’t recall being there months before.
Once the children had fed the hungry ducks every last crumb they’d brought, the flotilla lost interest and paddled off. Satisfied, the children stood and watched them go, and when Therese suggested it was time to head home, the three willingly turned toward the house.
Smiling, Therese took the arm Devlin offered her, and they strolled slowly in their flagging children’s wake, with the staff flanking the youngsters on either side.
Free to ponder, Therese’s mind returned to that curious closeness; now she thought of it, the feeling wasn’t so very novel, just novel in this setting. She recognized the sense of sharing—of shared purpose, shared emotions—as the same feeling she experienced with Devlin in her bedroom, in her bed. Considering that, she decided it was more a case of a subtle shield—one he didn’t maintain between them in the intimacy of the bedroom—lowering in other settings.
Until now, while out of the bedroom, he’d kept that shield in place, but she knew she wasn’t wrong in sensing a change.
Yet another indication of our maturing relationship.
Deciding she very much approved, she tightened her hold on Devlin’s arm. When he glanced at her, she flung him a smile. “I was just thinking that, although as a child, you spent more time in London than I, and consequently, our childhood experiences were somewhat different, those experiences had one element in common.” Catching his gaze, she tipped her head. “We were alwaysdoingsomething.”
Devlin followed her thinking, then arched his brows. “Active rather than passive?”
“Exactly.” Therese looked at the children; the boys were each holding one of Horry’s hands, and the trio were talking quietly. “And those three are the same.”
Devlin grunted. “Something for us to bear in mind in the years to come.”
She nodded, and they continued to stroll, taking a more direct line toward the Grosvenor Gate than the route they’d followed to the Serpentine.
Glancing surreptitiously at Therese, noting the small, satisfied smile playing about her lips, Devlin was very aware that she was relaxed, entirely comfortable, and that courtesy of tightening her hold on his arm, she was walking a fraction closer to him than was usual in public.
He’d told Martin that his principal motivation in helping Martin take his place in society was a wish to make Therese happy. Taking her to the opera had also made her happy, as had this excursion, minor though it had been.
And as he’d hoped, she was drawing closer, nearer, turning to him more openly.
His campaign was working, yet at this point, it was still very much a case of one small step at a time.
