The Devilish Montague Read Free Page B

lordling should lose his home after causing others to lose theirs.
    Perhaps he ought to consider his father’s offer for the pure gratification of seeing “Carrion’s” expression when he learned who now owned his family estate.

2
    “That is my bird,” Jocelyn Byrd-Carrington said, seething, as the Duke of Fortham’s stout nephew, Bernard Ogilvie, crossed the lawn some distance away with a piteous African Grey parrot on his shoulder.
    “Surely not, dear,” Lady Isabell Belden replied, languidly flourishing her fan as they strolled toward the latest entertainment. “A duke’s nephew has no reason to steal a molting fowl. He is merely attempting to impress you with his knowledge of birds.”
    “I vow, that is Percy. My brother Harold must have sold him to one of his wretched friends. And I told you before, duke’s nephew or not, Mr. Ogilvie will not suit me as a bridegroom. He’s as old as Harold, and twice as mean-spirited, and I want my bird back.” In frustration, Jocelyn twirled her parasol and stalked after their host.
    It was August. The Season was well over, and Jocelyn could not decide on a suitor, although she’d certainly had offers. She did not particularly wish to marry, but living alone would limit her ability to go about in society, and she dearly adored the parties and salons her lovely inheritance had opened to her these past months.
    This house party was one last chance to consider a suitor. The Duke of Fortham had offered the use of his estate outside the city—purportedly in hopes of marrying off Ogilvie, his heir. That Jocelyn had been included suggested that His Grace must be desperate to find a bride for his nephew. She was merely the half sister of a viscount, and the fact that her father had been the duke’s good friend hardly signified.
    The party had seemed an opportune time to examine her marital choices in a charming rural setting. So far, Jocelyn was even less impressed with London’s gentlemen in the country than in the city.
    “It’s the duke’s bird, dear,” said Lady Belden. “Surely you are not thinking of starting another aviary?” A youthful widow, the dark-haired dowager marchioness glanced at Jocelyn in concern. “I doubt there is a house in London that could hold one.”
    “No house that I can afford,” Jocelyn admitted. “I have enjoyed my recent return to society very much, and you cannot know how much I appreciate the opportunity you have offered by opening your home to me. But as much as I have dreamed of London, I see now that it was foolish to believe I could return to town as the carefree child I once was.”
    “You were not a child when your father died. You were seventeen! I truly cannot understand why your father’s heir would throw you from his home when he could have given you a Season and arranged a suitable marriage.”
    Jocelyn shrugged. “Our house was too small to hold the disparate personalities of my family. My mother insisted on ruling the study as she had always done when my father was alive. My younger brother, Richard, threw tantrums if anyone disturbed his birds in the conservatory. My sister-in-law didn’t wish to spend coin on a Season for me, and Harold, who thought inheriting the title meant he should be stuffy, was embarrassed by poor Richard’s admittedly erratic behavior. The arguments were quite fearful. Harold solved his difficulties by foisting us off on my half sisters. They got a nanny and nursemaid in me, although at the cost of poor Richard’s birds and my mother’s eccentricities. It is all quite simple.”
    The sensible marchioness did not protest. She knew of Jocelyn’s family liabilities and patted her arm. “It is a sad pity that your father had no unentailed wealth with which to support you, but now that you have my late husband’s bequest, you have choices. I will not hurry you into making a decision that will affect the rest of your life. If your family comes first, so be it. But your social flair would be