by Lynn Landes
“Wonderful, David. I’m going to need to pay this Andrew Welsh a visit.” He laughs as he stands up and tucks the pistol in his belt, before pulling on his jacket.
“I thought you'd say that, I have the carriage waiting.”
Lady Hubbard waits until her husband leaves and orders the maid to clean out London's room. “Bring me anything you find that's out of the ordinary.” She’s disappointed when they find nothing. Walking slowly through the empty room, she stares at the table, holding a glass oil lantern and picks it up.
“We have become a laughingstock, as our daughter runs off with some boy, and the Mouse marries the Duke! I don't think so!” she throws the glass lantern on the floor, shattering it and watching the oil run along the wooden floor-boards. Her eyes narrow when she sees the liquid disappear beneath a plank of wood.
Dropping to her knees, she pushes on the board, discovering that it's loose. “Well, finally,” she sneers and pries it up. Inside she finds a 14-karat gold black enamel 2-picture locket. Black enameled front adorned with gold engraved leaves and flowers accented with tiny seed pearls. The back of the pendant is made with shiny black enamel. Inside there are two picture compartments covered with a glass of her mother and a picture of her as a child. Tessa lifts a group of personal documents, including a little black book with numbers recorded inside next to words she can't make out. Having never learned to read, Tessa is sure that anything worth hiding holds secrets. She replaces the floorboard and sneers. “Now, you will pay. Let's find out who you are.” Climbing to her feet, she hisses in irritation at having to get on her hands and knees like a scullery maid.
“Cook, I need a special dinner tonight. George was in a foul mood.” She needs him in a good mood when she presents the documents to him. It will have to be the perfect moment, and he will make sure that London pays!
“Yes, Lady Hubbard,” Cook gets to work as Tessa goes to change into his favorite dress.
“Nothing else can go wrong,” she whispers as she waits on her husband. “We are running out of money. I refuse to live simply.” She slips on the new locket she’d found and smiles as she traces the gold. “I’m going to take everything you love, Mouse.” Her wicked laughter echoes through the hall.
Chapter 21
London stares out the window of her private suite and watches Declan stride across the yard. For the first time in years, she feels safe. The Sheridan's private retreat in Connecticut is surprisingly a modest, two-story, red brick house. The six-bedroom, four-bath home sits on a private five-acre lot surrounded by a sculpted shrub wall. Her favorite spot has quickly become the secluded garden. There is a glassed-in gazebo where she loves to enjoy her morning breakfast and coffee while reading the newspaper. The first week went smoothly.
Declan spent most of his days in his workshop, leaving her to rest. At first, she felt out of place, but once she learned his routine, she planned her own day out. London spent time napping and healing, more than she cared to admit. It has been years since she had such luxury.
Monday evening, Declan escorts her to the family room, and they sit to enjoy a fire. He teasingly picks up a pawn from the chess set and asks, “Do you play?”
His teasing grin has her smiling back. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, they don’t,” he laughs. “Play with me?”
“If you insist.” She sits across from him, and they begin. A few minutes into the game, she feels him staring at her as she looks over the board.
“Who taught you how to play?” he asks, curious about her life.
“My Father,” she replies and bites her lower lip before moving her bishop.
Declan triumphantly takes her bishop and watches her closer. She moves without really thinking it through, “London, chess is a game of strategy, you should think about your moves before you act.”
Her eyebrows lift, and she nods, “Yes, of course,” and moves a pawn, which he sighs and takes immediately.
“Good move, Declan,” she smiles, but the light is missing in her eyes.
He frowns at her in outrage.
“Are you letting me win?”
“Of course, not,” she covers her mouth with a hand to hide the smile, but it’s too late.
“You imp!”
London glares at him and drops her hand. “I beg your pardon. What did you call me?” she snaps. A blush of anger colors her cheeks, and he is thrilled to see fire flood into her eyes.
“An imp, it means…”
“I know the definition, Declan! I wasn’t sure you could handle being trounced by a woman!”
“If you earn the win, I can handle it.” He leans forward and lifts one eyebrow. “Would you care to wager on this game?”
“A lady never bets, Declan. It's unbecoming,” she sniffs and glances away though curious about his dare.
The elegant way she holds herself hints at education and an upbringing that doesn't go with the persona of the Mouse. How did she end up working as a maid? He almost asks, but she glances at him and smiles.
“Besides, I'm going to win in four moves, Declan, that's not pride, it's a fact.”
His mouth falls open, and he laughs out loud, “I've been playing since I was a boy, you can't possibly,” she interrupts his speech by taking his bishop.
“One,” she says and wiggles the piece in the air with a laugh of delight.
“Is that how it’s going to be?” he moves his Queen, and she grins triumphantly.
“This is going to hurt you more than me, Declan,” she whispers and slides her knight into place, putting stress on his King.
Declan frowns, and his smile fades as he realizes she does know what she's doing. He moves a pawn into the center to control the middle of the board, and she teases, “It's too late for that move,” and slides her other bishop into place. “Checkmate,” she grins as he stares at her in shock.
“Lady Sheridan, you've been holding out on me,” he declares and laughs as he resets the board. “Play me again,” he demands, “but this time make me earn it!” The intensity in his eyes takes her breath.
“I don't think that's a good idea, Declan,” she sits back, but he refuses to listen.
“We are friends, are we not?”
“Are we?” she wonders at the quick flash of hurt she sees.
“I’d like to think so. Friends don’t lie or keep secrets from each other. I’d like to earn your trust, London.”
“I don't mean to hurt you, Declan, but we hardly know each other, and most men wouldn't be able to handle being crushed at chess every night by their wife.” She grins at his scandalous look.
“Every night? You should be humble, Lady Sheridan. Pride, doesn't suit you.” He quips and laughs when she shrugs her shoulders.
“Again, it’s not pride, Lord Sheridan, but fact.”
Declan is tempted to kiss her senseless and see if she still feels so sure of herself. The thought surprises him. “I like this new side of you,” he announces. “I look forward to proving you wrong.”
London giggles, and he's surprised at the joy that simple sound gives him. There is a shift in their relationship at that moment, and he wiggles his eyebrows at her, causing her to laugh again.
“I can see why there was such talk about you amongst the ladies.”
“You flatter me, London, but I'm onto your tricks,” he takes a pawn, and she remembers her father's word to school her features. Reveal nothing, or risk being taken. As she glances up into the eyes of the man across from her, she realizes not all men are the same.
“Declan,” she sighs, “you leave me no choice. This time I'm going to win in three moves.” She makes her move, and he laughs and sits back, stunned a few moments later when she does exactly as promised.
“You have to teach me!” he demands.
“A Lady never reveals her secrets,” she laughs softly and looks at him with surprise. “My face hurts from laughing. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“You’re welcome, now what other games do you pla
y?”
Chapter 22
That night things shift between them, and over the next two weeks, they spend their evening’s enjoying strolls in the garden, talking about music, reading from the bible, reviewing Sunday's sermon, and of course, playing chess. Declan is an unusual man. Good looking, smart, and kind. A knock on the door jars her from her reverie.
“Lady Sheridan, I have your dress,” the young maid, Mary, hurries inside, carrying her soft pink dress freshly pressed.
“Thank you, Mary, I’ll have breakfast in the garden, as usual,” she smiles when Mary nods.
Mary fixes her hair and helps her dress quickly. “Mary, I'll need a carriage to go to town after breakfast. Can you arrange that for me?”
“Of course, Lady Sheridan.”
London grabs an unused ledger book she found in the office and picks up her shawl. “Time to get to work,” she grins at Mary’s look of surprise at her words and hastens from the room.
Declan is standing in the entry admiring the way the light streams through the stained-glass double doors. The parquet wood floors shine, bouncing multicolored beams around the grand entry. It occurs to him that the simplest things are bringing him joy. He’s seeing the world around him in a new light and there is no doubt in his mind that it’s because of his wife. He grins, my wife, he thinks.
“My Lord, can I help you find something?” The housekeeper asks from the hallway.
“Yes, Mrs. West, I was looking for the newspaper.”
“Of course, your wife has it in the gazebo.”
“Oh,” Declan frowns, “Why?”
“Lady Sheridan has breakfast in the gazebo every morning with the paper while she works. Would you like to join her this morning?” Mrs. West suggests.
“While she works?” he frowns. “Thank you, I think I will go see what my wife’s up to.” He turns and strides from the room.
“This should be interesting,” Mrs. West murmurs with a chuckle.
Declan walks down the path leading from the back of the house to the gazebo. It's cold this time of year to be in the gazebo, but it's heated. He can just make out the top of it through the maze. He smiles, remembering the past two weeks. London has a quick mind. It didn’t take long to realize she was letting him win at chess. Her beauty is undeniable, but her wit and intellect have captivated him.
London sits in the gazebo sipping on her morning coffee, with the newspaper spread out in front of her. Ignorance is bliss, he thinks, as she is oblivious to his presence. She is reading, circling, and writing in what looks like a ledger book. Declan frowns in confusion. What could she possibly find so fascinating?
Her light blonde hair is twisted up, revealing her neck, and he’s awfully tempted to taste the curve and see how she reacts. Stepping up behind her, he bends close enough for her to feel his breath, “Good Morning, Lady Sheridan.”
London screams, tossing her ledger and almost spilling her coffee on the paper.
“Declan!”
He laughs and picks up the book from the ground as she jumps up. Looking frantic, she quickly tries to straighten the paper. “I'm so sorry, Declan, I thought you were at your shop, I didn't know…”
“London stop…” he demands. His eyes narrow on her, noting the blush, the trembling hands, and the way she is attempting to block the table with her body.
She is shocked by the command in his voice and does as he asks. He holds out the book and watches as she takes it from him and sighs in relief.
“What has you in such a state?” he tries to step around her, but she blocks him.
“Nothing, I was simply reading,” she stops speaking when she realizes how close he is to her.
“You smell amazing,” Declan murmurs, and his eyes drop to her lips.
London retreats, bumping into the table, “Thank you,” she turns to the table and grabs the paper to straighten it, but his hands drop on her shoulders.
“What are you up to, Wife?”
“I don’t know what you mean?” she whispers.
“Hmph, something has you in a state. I was told you were working,” he glances over her shoulder at the paper and stares at the financial section. She has circled multiple things, and his eyes fly open wide. “What is all of this?”
London turns in his arms, “I can explain,” she tries to say.
“May I see your ledger?” he asks, interrupting her. Her eyes narrow, she lifts her chin defiantly.
“It’s private,” she hedges.
“We don’t keep secrets from each other, Lady Sheridan,” he stares at her, with his hand out, waiting in silence, until she hands it over.
“That's not exactly true,” she murmurs. At his look of confusion, she continues, “What do you do all day in this workshop of yours, I’ve yet to see it?” She sits heavily and waits for him to shame her.
“Good point,” he replies as he flips through her ledger and glances at the paper, putting it together and remembering her comments on investments.
“How… what… London, what have you been up to?”
“Nothing illegal, Declan.” Glancing into his handsome face, she decides to trust him. “I have a mind for the stock market. I learned to trade from my father. It's how I made enough money to buy your shares.” She stops talking and glances nervously at him, wondering how he's going to react.
Amazement is painted on his features. “Women aren't allowed to trade, London. How do you manage to get around that?” he sits beside her. She anxiously straightens the paper and cleans up the table, as she explains. Declan covers her hand with his, stilling the apprehensive motion.
“That's not accurate. Women don't trade openly because of the attacks. I avoid that by using a pseudonym.”
“London,” she squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of her name. “Look at me,” he demands.
“Just get on with it,” she whispers and drops her face to her hands.
“I think you're extraordinary, and the more time I spend with you, the more captivated I become.” London lifts her head slowly and stares at him in astonishment.
“What?” she gasps.
“London, you have a brilliant mind. I'm supposed to be a businessman, and I can't make heads or tails of the financial part of my business. Come with me,” he stands and holds out his hand.
Instantly she grips his strong, calloused hand and follows him through the maze. “Grandfather had these gardens installed. They remind him of England.”
She quietly walks beside him, fascinated by the feel of his hand holding hers. In truth, he shouldn’t be touching her, but she can’t bring herself to let him go. Soon they come to the center of the garden, where the water feature is, but Declan doesn’t stop.
“Where are we going?” she asks as he pulls her through the second half of the maze, toward a grove of trees.
“Don’t you trust me?” Declan teases.
“Of course I trust you,” she answers instantly.
“Finally,” his voice is husky with emotion. The air is colder in the shade of the trees. Sun filters through the canopy painting them in dappled light.
“Look,” he points.
A white stone building with a red clay roof and two large bay doors. Outside massive logs are stacked in various states of decay or construction. London smiles and squeezes his hand gently. “It’s your shop!”
“Yes, come inside.”
Excitement flutters, and she realizes that this is important to him. It feels intimate, the sharing of secrets. Trusting each other and supporting each other's hopes and dreams. Was that in their vows? She wishes she could remember.
“Mind your step.” He releases her hand to unlock the doors and swing them open. He uses logs to hold the large sections open.
London walks slowly into the large room and is struck by the smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust. It covers the floor in a thick carpet. Squatting down, she lifts a handful and smells it. “Oh, that's lovely,” she murmurs, allowing it to rain from her hands back to the floor.
London is fascinated by the textures that fill the room. The walls are lined in shelves, tools, and projects in various states of creation. She runs her hands over the table, jumping when a splinter sinks into her finger.
“Let me,” Declan pulls the splinter, “you should be careful,” he whispers and stares down at her.
“Thank you,” she smiles, and chills erupt all over her body. Her eyes move past him to a corner of the shop. “Oh,” she gasps and walking swiftly. “It's a piano?” She asks, even knowing the answer. It's easily identifiable by the three-paneled jigsaw scrollwork. London runs her fingers over the filigree scrollwork and smiles at the brilliantly colored red silk backing.
“Yes,” he watches her hands and jealously strikes. Clearing his throat, he explains, “The silk serves two purposes. It permits the music to radiate out to the player and displays the intricate detail carved into the wood.”
“It’s lovely. What type of wood is it made from?” she asks.
“This one is made of mahogany and rosewood,” he is impressed that she cares to ask.
“I miss it. I used to play as a child, though not on anything this beautiful,” she explains. Her hand trails over the curved leg, “How did you get the curves? Do you hand carve them?”
“I'll show you,” he smiles and gestures to a corner. “I do like to carve some of the details. This shop is not set up like the one you visited in New York. I hope to bring Sheridan Furniture into the future with a larger set up using some of the most cutting-edge technology, like steam bending the wood.”
“That's fascinating, steam bending? How does it work?” she listens as he speaks with such passion about his work.
