Henry stared at her for a long time before he suddenly pulled her into an embrace so tight, she could barely breathe. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you,” he whispered into her hair.
“Wanted?” she repeated.
“Want,” he amended. “Tonight I will take you with me to your father and ask his permission to marry you. On the morrow, I will acquire a marriage license—”
“After your sitting,” she interrupted. “And do you really need to ask my father’s permission? I am nearly of age.”
He swallowed the rest of his words regarding his plans for a license. “I wish to show him the courtesy,” he finally managed. “Then, tomorrow night, we’ll go to Lord Weatherstone’s ball, where I shall kiss you in the gardens and announce our betrothal.”
She gave him a nod. “Before that, will you give me a tour of the rest of this beautiful house?”
Henry’s eyes darkened. “We may not make it past the third story,” he warned.
“What’s up there?” she asked before she blushed a bright pink. “Henrí,” she scolded.
Grinning, he let her out of his hold and offered his arm. “Now, where should I start?”
Laura stared at him before a brilliant smile lit her face. “The third story?”
They laughed the entire way up the stairs.
Chapter 32
A Truth Revealed
Later that night at Harrington House
The servant who had been sent on horseback to Fairmont Park had returned the hour before with word that his message had been relayed to the butler there.
Meanwhile, a footman from Fairmont Park had arrived at Harrington House with a message that had been given to Potter. The ancient butler nodded his apparent understanding, and when Lady Mayfield was about to order the sixth course be served, he appeared at her side.
“What is it, Potter?”
The butler bent to whisper in her ear, “An invitation from Fairmont Park for Mr. Wellingham to join them for the dessert course, my lady.”
Temperance’s eyes widened, and she allowed a chuckle. Noting how everyone else at the table had turned their attention on her, she said, “It seems great minds think alike.” She lowered her voice for her instructions to Potter. “Is the footman awaiting a response?”
“He is not. He took his leave upon delivering the invitation. A verbal invitation, I might add,” he said with obvious derision.
“I’m quite sure the situation did not allow for the niceties, Potter,” she gently scolded, wondering if Edward had managed to pen a note before sending the Harrington House footman to Fairmont Park.
“Yes, my lady.” Potter managed to appear admonished.
“That will be all.” She watched as Potter shuffled out of the dining room and considered the options.
The footman who had been dispatched to Fairmont Park had already returned, and he had also not waited for a response.
Temperance feared if she sent Graham on his way to Fairmont Park, Hannah might well be on her way from Fairmont Park back to Harrington House, and the two would pass one another in the night.
A possible reunion would be pushed off until the following day.
If she kept Graham at Harrington House, Hannah would return eventually—she lived there, after all—and a reunion of the two long-lost lovers would happen.
Right before her eyes.
What a dazzling first-person account it would make for The Tattler!
“What is it, Grandmother?” Edward asked, noting how the countess seemed to study her wine glass with an unwavering gaze.
“It seems your idea of sending a footman to relay an invitation for the dessert course was thought of by someone at Fairmont Park,” she murmured.
Graham straightened. “You have word from Lady Harrington?”
“Not from her, no,” Temperance replied on a sigh. “Just an invitation for you to join them for the dessert course.” When Graham looked as if he was about to launch himself from his dining chair and take his leave, she added, “But I forbid you to go.”
Graham settled back in his chair. “My lady?”
“Lady Harrington will be returning here when dinner there is done. I shouldn’t want you two acting like... like two ships passing in the night, never to see one another again.”
His brows furrowing, Graham allowed a nod. “I see your point, my lady.”
“Why, that’s brilliant, my love,” Mayfield said, his words slurred from too much wine.
“It is a good plan,” Edward remarked, his mood having sagged over the course of the dinner. His best laid plans had failed, and he feared Graham Wellingham would want nothing to do with him after this night.
When the clock struck half-past ten o’clock and Hannah still hadn’t appeared in the dining room at Harrington House, Temperance motioned for the footmen to deliver the dessert course.
“I have business with my cousin this evening,” Temperance said once the sweets were delivered to the table. “Will you and Edward play billiards after dinner whilst we talk?” she asked of her husband.
Mayfield exchanged a glance with Edward. “We will indeed.”
“You can join us in the billiards salon when your business is complete,” Edward suggested, his attention on Graham.
“If my attentions are not directed elsewhere, then I shall,” Graham replied.
“When you’re finished with your port, do join me in the front salon, won’t you?” Temperance requested as she rose from the table.
The three men stood in unison, and Graham gave her a nod of acknowledgement.
Although he would have preferred a game of billiards with Edward, he knew her summons was of a most serious nature.
A half-hour later
“My lady?” Graham asked from the threshold of the small salon at the front of the house.
“Oh, Graham, do come in and sit down,” Temperance said. She held a missive in one hand, a cup of tea in the other, and she looked as if she might be about to cry.
“What is it, my lady?”
Passing the note to him, she allowed a sigh. “It seems there won’t be a reunion for you on this night. Hannah has gone to her parent’s townhouse to spend the night there. It seems Lady Simpson has arranged for a family portrait to be painted—”
“By Miss Overby, yes,” Graham interrupted.
“Their sittings are at eight o’clock in the morning,” she complained. “You know of it?”
Graham nodded. “I made the acquaintance of Miss Overby when I stopped at my parent’s townhouse in search of my own parents. She is the daughter of one of our brokers at Wellingham Imports and was... boarding there whilst she painted portraits of my mother,” he explained. “I think she might still reside at the townhouse while she paints the Simpsons. As for the time, I rather imagine the sittings must be that early to accommodate Henry’s schedule at the bank.”
Nodding her understanding, Temperance straightened on the small settee and changed the subject with her next query. “I am not blind, Graham.”
Graham blinked and furrowed his brows. “I did not think that you were,” he replied carefully.
“My grandson?” she clarified.
“Are you referring to Edward? Or... or one of Julia’s boys?” he asked, remembering that Charlie’s sister, Julia, was married to Alistair Comber and had at least a couple of children. At that moment, he appreciated how his mother’s letters had included news of everyone on her side of the family.
“Edward, of course. You referred to him as your second cousin, but... is he really your son?”
His head jerked back as if he’d been slapped across the face. Graham stared at the woman he had known all his life as a great aunt. She wasn’t, not really, but she was a cousin and had accepted his mother as if she were her true niece.
“Oh, dear. If he is, you didn’t know,” Temperance whispered, her mouth left open in wonder.
“My lady...” Graham started to say before he dipped his head. “If he is...” He pause
d and started again, not about to admit to anything scandalous. Temperance was the editor of London’s premiere gossip newspaper, after all. “I wish he was. He’s an excellent young man. Well read and far older than his years would suggest.” He swallowed. “May I ask why it is you would think such a thing?”
Once again, Temperance looked as if she might cry. “I learned the truth about Charlie long before he proposed to Hannah. You see, it’s my business to know of all the gossip.”
“My lady?”
“I feared if he didn’t marry as young as he did, word would get out, and he would be discovered. End up in Newgate or dead, even if he was the only heir to the Mayfield earldom,” she went on, oblivious to Graham’s growing confusion. “Silly me,” she said as tears streamed down her face.
Graham was quick to offer a handkerchief. “Are you saying Cousin Charlie was a...?” He stopped and swallowed the rest of his query.
Charles Harrington had been one of the most amiable of all his cousins. A happy boy, a charming young man. He made friends with everyone. Girls flocked to him at garden parties and soirées.
Graham had always thought it was because Charlie was the heir to the earldom, but Hannah had professed once that she wished Charlie were her brother rather than Henry, for Henry had already begun to exhibit his serious nature, insisting on providing protection as if their father was already in the grave.
Charlie wasn’t the least bit serious. Charlie was friendly and funny, engaging and enthusiastic, clever and cunning.
“It’s all my fault,” Temperance murmured. “I knew what he was, probably from the time he left for Eton.” When Graham merely stared at her, she said, “Come now. I’ve owned The Tattler for over twenty years. I know all about... homosexuality,” she whispered. “So I encouraged his overtures with Hannah. Gave him the rings to give to her. Told him exactly what to do. Except in bed, of course, because I sorted that Mayfield would have already explained it all or... or taken him to a brothel.”
Graham felt the heat of embarrassment color his face as the countess struggled to tell her story. “It was up to Hannah to agree to the match,” he reasoned.
“Oh, no. I knew Lady Simpson championed you, so I appealed to her father. Did you know he was once a butler?”
Nodding, Graham said, “My father mentioned it a long time ago, when I might have complained that Hannah was beyond my means to marry.”
A new round of tears escaped Temperance’s eyes. “It was poorly done of me. To go to him like that. To bribe him with the opportunity for his only daughter to be a countess, and all he need do was encourage her to accept Charlie’s offer.”
Graham stared at Temperance, a cacophony of emotions briefly rendering him mute. “It was still her decision,” he argued. His thoughts had already gone back to that night before he had left Hannah for the last time, though. To the one and only night they had spent in a bed together.
She had gifted him her virtue, he thought as a penance for her having accepted another’s marriage proposal. Now, given what he was learning from his great aunt, he thought it might have been for another reason entirely.
“Charlie needed an heir,” he whispered.
Temperance inhaled softly as she nodded. “He did. And I think I have you to thank for that,” she whispered as one of her hands clutched his. “It’s brilliant really. Of course Edward would resemble you—you’re second... or third or fourth cousins,” she said with a sigh.
“He... he might not be my son,” Graham warned. “He could be Charlie’s,” he reasoned. Only Hannah would know, but even then, would she know for certain?
Drying her cheeks with the handkerchief, Temperance allowed a nod. “He could be,” she agreed. “But I rather doubt it.”
The clock on the mantel struck midnight, and Temperance blinked several times. “Well, I trust you and Hannah will have your reunion sometime later today,” she said before she sniffled. “Perhaps in the gardens during Lord Weatherstone’s ball. That would be appropriate. More marriages have resulted from trysts in those gardens than probably any other location in all of England,” she claimed, a hint of amusement lighting her features.
Graham winced, deciding he wasn’t going to wait that long. “Actually, that’s where I intend for our betrothal to be announced,” he said as he considered how he might arrange it. “I have every intention of finding her long before the ball. In the meantime, I will go to the billiards room and give my regards to the earl and his heir.”
Temperance nodded, once again giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s on the first floor, next door to the parlor,” she said. “You’re not terribly angry with me?”
Shaking his head, Graham said, “Of course not, my lady. Especially now that you’ll do the same for me as you did for your son.”
Allowing an impish grin, Temperance said, “Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Thank you for dinner.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, Aunt Tempy.”
Graham took his leave of the salon and made his way up the stairs. Despite the revelations Temperance had divulged on this night, Graham felt a surge of self-satisfaction.
He was fairly sure he had a son. And he was determined to be a father.
Chapter 33
A Different Sort of Dinner
Meanwhile, at 9 King Street
“I cannot believe this is the best I can do for our first meal together,” Henry murmured as they sat before the fire he had set in the mistress suite. A supper of bread, cheese and apples was spread out on the carpet in front of them, all of it pilfered from the pantry in his parents’ townhouse, and they each held a glass of wine.
“I think it’s charming,” Laura argued, taking a sip of her wine as she regarded the empty wall above the fireplace. Although a clock was positioned on the mantel, there were no other accoutrements, no decorations or plasterwork.
She decided a painting would be most appropriate in the spot.
They had just returned from her family’s townhouse. Laura was relieved her father had agreed to meet Henry without an appointment. William Overby had offered port and a chair in his study as if he were already good friends with Henry.
Although Laura had spent all of Sunday—the day before—with her family, her siblings had greeted her with enthusiastic hugs and pleas for attention. Once they spied Henry, though, they quickly remembered their manners and quieted, the second youngest running for Lady Overby to hide behind her skirts as she held the baby boy.
With the men ensconced in the study, Lily insisted Laura join her for tea and explain how it was a man had accompanied her to their home and was now asking for permission to marry her.
Laura hadn’t said anything the day before.
“I admit our courtship has been brief—”
“Has he ruined you?”
Laura’s eyes widened as her mouth dropped open. “Mother, no,” she replied.
“But surely he’s kissed you,” Lily insisted.
After a pause, Laura said, “He has kissed me. And I him. This afternoon. In the park. When he... proposed marriage.” She didn’t add anything about Henry’s initial disapproval of her painting portraits anywhere other than in her studio. Better her mother believe her husband-to-be was supportive of her avocation.
When Lily’s face brightened in delight, Laura relaxed, but only for a second. “I expect he’ll want to take your virtue next.”
“Mother!”
“Which will be his right. That is, if your father gives him permission. But I rather think he already has since they’re still in the study. Probably enjoying a brandy.”
“Did Father.... did you and Father...?” Laura clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to ask such a personal question given her youngest brother seemed to be listening to their every word.
Lily dipped her head as an impish grin appeared. “Not because of your father.”
Laura blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Leaning toward her daughter and loweri
ng her voice to a whisper, Lily said, “I might have paid a call on your father at his bachelor quarters. To...” She waved her free hand in the air. “To expedite our betrothal.”
“You didn’t.” Laura’s mouth had dropped open and looked as if it would stay that way for some time.
“I did. I was quite insistent that we spend the night together. And if you tell any of your siblings before I do, I shall deny it and instruct your father to do so as well.”
Laura closed her mouth when her baby brother grinned, as if he had known for some time that his mother had seduced his father. “I’m not going to be the one to suggest we spend the night together,” she whispered, wishing her little brother wasn’t staring at her with such a huge grin on his face. She felt doubly embarrassed by what they were discussing.
“You do know what to do?” Lily half-asked.
Rolling her eyes, Laura gave a sigh. “I looked at that book you insisted I read,” she replied. “I must say I was not expecting color plates and illustrations,” she added as her face bloomed with color.
“I thought that one rather tame. There are some from France that—”
“Mother! The baby,” Laura whispered hoarsely.
Lily glanced at the babe she held and grinned at seeing his delight. “I’ll be sure he reads the same book,” she said in a teasing voice. “Before he has a chance to tup anyone.”
“Mother!”
Ignoring her daughter’s rebuke, Lily continued to grin. “I understand Mr. Simpson’s townhouse is even finer than this one,” she remarked.
Blinking, Laura stared at her mother in confusion. “How is it you know about Mr. Simpson’s townhouse?”
Lily couldn’t hide her glee. “My mother had dinner with us. She had the Simpson coach drop her here rather than at Fitzsimmons Manor,” she explained, practically giggling in delight. “She took her leave not a half-hour ago,” she added in a hoarse whisper.
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