Harlequin Historical May 2020--Box Set 1 of 2

by Sophia James

  Desperation held depth. Of all the people in the world who might know that, it was him. She’d lied and she had kept on lying.

  The clock in the corner chimed three thirty and there was a lightening in the eastern sky.

  Theodora’s gossip about the man named Alexander Thompson also came to mind. Had Adelia lied about her virginity and her innocence, as well? Somehow he suspected that she must have for Peter Shelman had visited him today with the ledgers and he’d seen Alexander Thompson’s name listed alongside a sum of money provided for non-specific services.

  The awkwardness of all these truths was wearying and he had no idea what would happen if he confronted her about them. Innocence was a ploy many a young girl had used to their advantage and who was he to judge her for relationships he himself had enjoyed for years? It was the lying he abhorred.

  He shook his head and tried to think.

  God, the dinner party looked less and less appealing, yet he was committed to attend.

  He would contact the dressmaker in the morning at least and pay the woman well for her immediate services. With an appropriate gown Adelia might be less likely to try to get out of her promise to help him, though he wished again that he had not accepted the invitation in the first place for civility had the sound of severity to it.

  What exactly did it mean?

  He had not seen her for over a month since the wedding. He had not bedded a woman in all that time either and he was coming to the conclusion that he was a man who needed to feel intimacy again. Teddy was off limits because of his marriage and he could not find it in himself to visit one of the high-class prostitutes that catered to private and anonymous needs such as his own.

  His marriage began to have a bite to it that he had not expected, the sting of celibacy a barb that dug into his skin and made him irritable. Tonight as his wife had been drawn from sleep, her soft curves on show, feelings had awoken in him that he had tried hard to ignore.

  This marriage kept changing on him, that was the problem. The certitude he’d felt on going into such a sham had diminished as he’d understood his lack of options. His childhood had been full of men who were fickle and unpredictable, his mother’s poor decisions adding to the problem. He’d promised himself that disloyalty in the marriage bed would never be his lot and stuck to widows or courtesans instead. Until Adelia had rushed headlong into his life with her deceits and promises and he had washed up on the impossible foreign shore of no choice.

  He wished he could go back and handle this another way, but he had been caught in her bed by his own mistake and now there was no route of escape.

  Civility. For all the many years of his life. Civility stretching into for ever. Simeon had the sudden thought that Lionel Worthington must be laughing at him all the way from his place in hell.

  Finishing the rest of his drink, he looked at the clock. An hour till he could get dressed and leave the house. He’d go and see Tom Brady for an early breakfast and then he would send a note to the dressmaker.

  He was not a man who had ever waited for life to happen to him. His uncle had put it succinctly when he had told him again and again that the habit of waiting was unproductive. He smiled, imagining Jamie seeing him here, so ambiguous, so undecided. No, after this dinner party, things would move on from where they stood now between himself and his very new wife. He would make certain of it.

  * * *

  Adelia was dressed in the most beautiful gown she had ever worn. The silk of the coffee-coloured dress swirled around her, the low neckline and elongated bodice showing off her figure as nothing else had. The sleeves were tight at the top, but expanded at the elbow to fall in a funnel shape to her wrists. She wore a horsehair crinoline for shape, extra layers of flounces and petticoats further emphasising the fullness of her skirts and narrowness of waist.

  The late morning and early afternoon had been spent in the company of the dressmaker, Madame Sylvie Ferrier, as she had run through her stock of ready-made gowns and finally settled upon this one. Another few hours of pinning, fitting and primping had produced the result Adelia now saw and she couldn’t remember a gown that moulded to her body so well or felt so comfortable.

  Christine had braided her hair into three plaits and tucked them up in a style that was complicated. Two silk roses in pale cream sat in the roll of hair on her left side. Long white gloves and silken slippers completed her outfit.

  Looking in the mirror in her chamber with her maid beaming behind her, Adelia barely recognised herself.

  ‘It is not too low?’ Her fingers fussed with the bodice, trying to pull it up a little.

  ‘You will upset the line of the ruching if you do that, madam.’ Christine stepped forward and tugged it down again. ‘See. It is made to be exactly this way.’

  Today she was wearing the emerald earrings Simeon Morgan had given her on the night of their wedding. Her hair shone pale in the light, small tendrils of wayward curls escaping round her face and softening the effect of the thick braids.

  Christine had also applied some make-up, something Adelia was initially shocked by, but the end result was highly flattering and very understated. Her eyelashes looked darker with the kohl and her cheeks were pink from the moistened red-tissue paper that had been dabbed on sparingly.

  ‘All the women wear it, madam, even though they say they don’t. I like to keep up with these things, you see, because one day I shall be a proper lady’s maid and won’t have to work at all the tasks downstairs.’

  ‘Well, you have done a wonderful job, Christine, and I thank you for it.’

  The small maid smiled. ‘You would look beautiful in a sack, Mrs Morgan, and that is not something I could say about anyone else.’

  For so long now Adelia had received compliments about the way she looked so that they were almost a routine part of meeting new people. The only one who had never truly complimented her was her husband. Her thoughts then went to the red-headed woman at their wedding. Perhaps he preferred a more overt beauty, more voluptuous and worldly.

  Dabbing some rose-scented cream on her wrists and her neckline, she took a steadying breath and began to walk to the stairwell.

  * * *

  Simeon looked at the clock and finished his brandy. His wife would be down soon, he was sure of it, his housekeeper’s assessment of how wonderful she looked highly reassuring.

  He hoped that tonight would go well. He hoped that they would seem sufficiently like a happy couple to pull the charade off. He needed Lord Grey’s capital to complete this portion of railway line for without it the whole stack of his other investments could fall into pieces leaving him with a gaping hole in his resources.

  He seldom gambled on anything that he had and he did not like the feeling one little bit. Swearing beneath his breath, he placed his empty glass down on the mantel just as Adelia came into the room.

  She looked completely different from how he had ever seen her before. She looked regal and majestic and noble, a daughter of high society elegantly on show from the top of her coiffured flower-strewn hair to the heels of her bejewelled satin slippers. She looked untouchable.

  He felt like a six-year-old again, sent by his mother to the back doors of the fancy houses to deliver the face creams she had begun to make.

  Not belonging. Out of his depth.

  ‘The colour suits you.’ His hand waved in the general direction of the gown even as he tried to determine what the name of such a hue was. Neither brown nor cream, it sat halfway, the material catching the light and moving in a manner that was fascinating.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Her smile was secretive and her cheeks glowed pink.

  ‘Would you like a drink before we leave? There is still some time before the carriage will be brought around.’

  When she nodded he poured her a brandy, refilling his own glass in the process and holding it up.

 
‘To tonight.’

  A fleeting humour filled her eyes, but then some other emotion crossed her face.

  ‘I have to warn you that I did leave society under a cloud after my Season.’

  ‘But you have the umbrella of my money now and wealth speaks with an eloquence duly noted here in London.’

  ‘A lucky thing, that.’

  He was unsure whether the words were exactly as she said them and he swallowed, trying to find his balance. Adelia had knocked him sideways this evening with her beauty, like a butterfly hatched from its cocoon and knowing full well how it now appeared.

  She was his wife in name only, though she had once offered to be a lot more. That thought both aroused and annoyed him at one and the same time and this made him frown further. In all truth the promise between them was shaky and false and, looking as she did now, he knew that she was bound to attract the attention of every eligible man in the room. He chased that thought away and concentrated on what he did have. At least she was wearing the earrings. The emeralds matched her eyes, her eyelashes dark against the paleness of her skin.

  The bodice was low. He could see the rise of her breasts easily above it. Would she wear a shawl to cover the flesh? Should he say something about the display? Should she be more covered, with less on show?

  For heaven’s sake. He was becoming the sort of man he had always hated. Irresolute. Undecided. Insecure.

  He set his jaw.

  ‘Lord Grey will want to know what you think of me. If you concentrate on the words responsible, trustworthy and sensible, that should be enough.’

  Her raised eyebrow worried him.

  ‘Do you think I am those things, too, Mr Morgan?’

  He could not understand her drift as he answered, ‘I do not know you well enough to say.’ He realised the moment he had spoken that this was exactly what she was after.

  ‘Touché,’ he added quietly and smiled.

  ‘It might be good if you tell me a little about your hopes for the railway line you wish Lord Grey’s help with.’

  She said this simply, with no sarcasm in it, so he formed an appropriate reply. ‘It’s a northern route and the roads in the west are in poor condition at the moment and make slow travelling for goods or passengers needing to be transported between Birmingham and London. The speed that trains travel despite any sort of weather means healthy perishables can be delivered more cheaply and reliably, something that can only benefit those with smaller resources who are largely unable to access such products now.’

  ‘You are a socialist then, Mr Morgan? A man who would have wealth shared around?’

  ‘I’d say I am more of a realist and it’s not all altruistic. Unless this part of the route goes ahead a lot of the other lines that I have had a hand in putting into place will fail to prosper.’

  ‘And who would the rights to lay down more railway lines revert to if you cannot deliver?’

  ‘Those who have held the ancient privileges will undoubtedly say it is in their domain. But I believe that progress now lies in the hands of men who would dream of what is to come, men who know the other side of luck and would strive for the betterment of everybody.’

  ‘Merchants like you?’

  The question came back quickly and he frowned. ‘To be a merchant is not quite as base as you might think it. Men with vision can now claim a part in the future with as much certainty as those who have ruled in the past.’

  She did not answer his declaration. Instead, she asked another question entirely.

  ‘Where did you learn about all this, Mr Morgan? What learning formed your thoughts?’

  ‘My great-uncle was the instigator and he saw to my education in various engineering workshops around Manchester. After that I opened my own firm where I quickly learned everything else that I needed to know.’

  ‘A man of wide experience, then. That should please Lord Grey.’

  ‘I imagine he knows all these things about me already, Adelia. No one invests great amounts of money without checking on the past of the one they are entrusting with their hard-earned fortune and that period of my life is easy to verify.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt Lord Grey’s fortune was hard earned. It is said his grandfather left him everything after his father disappointed the family.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Did you know that his wife is from Scotland and that her great-grandfather was one of the powerful Northern Barons? Many say he was an evil man, a man who threw tenants off his land with an alarming carelessness and thought nothing of it.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Which in itself goes to show that very few in society have a past that is lily-white, Mr Morgan. Dig deep enough and there are hidden skeletons in every affluent aristocratic closet.’

  ‘Including yours?’ The two words held more gravity than he intended and she turned at that and finished her brandy.

  ‘No one is perfect and if your motives for this railway are as honourable as you state them to be, then that is all the armour you will need.’

  The thought of being in society left him cold. The only reason any one of these lords had given him purchase was because they knew he could make great sums of money for them. He was seldom invited into the inner sanctum of their private social occasions.

  Tonight was different and he knew that it was only because of Adelia that the invitation had been sent to him in the first place. He wondered again how the night might go and what sort of impression they would leave.

  ‘Grey is expecting a newly married couple. If you could find it in yourself to remember that…’

  ‘And pretend?’ she shot back.

  ‘I imagine that you would be very good at that.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right.’ Her voice was quiet.

  When the butler knocked at the door a moment later announcing that the carriage was ready, Simeon straightened his shoulders, waiting patiently as she donned a light cloak, and then followed her out into the night.

  * * *

  The three rooms on the first floor were large, opening out on to each other with sets of double doors and the walls were covered in elaborate papers, Old Master paintings and gilded mirrors, every surface holding porcelain, silver and glass.

  The middle dining room was appointed with large tables, buffets and sideboards, the placements set out ‘à la Française’ style, in which the food, when it came, would allow the host and hostess to display their wealth and prestige through the sheer size and splendour of the table.

  She had never been to a town house of such magnificence before and she could well see why it was said to be one of the most elegant examples in the whole of London. She was also aware of the sidelong glances given her from the others present, a woman who was not quite welcome here because of the various rumours that had swirled about her early exit from the London Season and the instability of her family.

  Simeon, however, looked relaxed beside her, his large stature in a room of small men making her smile. He did not appear to be the least bit overawed or uncomfortable, which made her wonder anew at his need to have her here.

  There were many more guests present than she had thought there would be and she recognised some of them. One of the woman, Mrs Mavis Trenwith, came straight across to her, her eyes wide with supposition. Adelia remembered her as being a close friend of Mr Rodney Anstruther, the suitor who had tried to kiss her in the park. Simeon was speaking with a man she did not know to his left and so Mrs Trenwith held her full attention.

  ‘I heard you had snared a fortune in marriage, but barely believed it, Mrs Morgan, for we have not seen you back in London at all, especially after your hasty last exit.’

  ‘I have been busy organising Athelridge Hall and Mama has been unwell.’ She remembered the woman’s meanness when she had been here last time with an ache of worry, though as if on cue
Simeon turned, his smile taking in the woman in a way that made Mrs Trenwith blush vividly.

  ‘We decided we should probably spend some time in the city, didn’t we, Lia?’ He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. His nickname for her was new, as was the way he glanced across at her, his intensity giving the impression of a groom more than proud of his new bride.

  ‘I did not hear much about your wedding.’ Mrs Trenwith stated this, though with much less confidence than she had appeared to have a moment ago.

  ‘It was a small one and then afterwards we were too busy celebrating the nuptials to worry about others.’ Simeon’s explanation was returned with warmth.

  ‘A fortuitous alliance, then?’ An undertone of criticism was evident.

  Adelia knew that she should be adding something to Simeon’s efforts of make-believe and so she joined in.

  ‘Indeed it was, Mrs Trenwith, and because of it we shall be forever blessed.’ Her grip tightened on her husband’s arm as Lord Grey came forward and she was relieved when Mavis Trenwith moved away.

  ‘You don’t like her?’ This was said quietly, though, and as Adelia shook her head he turned to acknowledge their host.

  ‘Lord Grey.’

  ‘It’s good to see you here, Mr Morgan, and I am so glad you could both come. My wife is most eager to speak to you of your wedding and here she is now, scurrying over. Mr Morgan, you must come and meet my brother and his business partner as they have asked me for an introduction. Would you allow me a moment with your husband, Mrs Morgan?’

  ‘Of course.’

  But she did not take her hand from Simeon’s arm easily, the sense of safety she felt here next to him diminishing rapidly as he went.

  Lady Grey was all quiet attention and kindness. ‘Oh, my dear, I am most interested in hearing every last detail about your wedding. I said to my husband that Mr Morgan deserved a singular wife to stand by his side and I know he will have found it in you—’

  But she broke off that train of thought and began on another.

  ‘Tell me how you met your elusive groom, for Mr Morgan so seldom graces any of the society events.’