“Will you share what you learn with me?”
Fairfax was imperturbable, as always. “If I believe that you should know, yes, my lord. Of course.”
Jonathan suspected that was as much as he was going to get out of him. Perhaps it was all he deserved after sending Matilda crying from the room not once, but twice. “Very well. Thank you, Fairfax.”
Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, Fairfax bowed and left Jonathan alone.
Chapter Thirteen
Theodora spent a restless night, thinking about that kiss. It was magical, it was...erotic. It was perhaps the most foolish thing she’d ever done. Lord Caxton had awakened feelings in her she’d thought long dormant. She was better off without them, given her situation. Indeed, her professional situation was very definitely at risk. She simply could not see him alone again.
Giving up on sleep at four o’clock, she went down to the kitchen. As expected, the countess was there, making scones.
“Good morning, my lady.” Theodora headed for the kettle.
“Good morning, Mrs. Milsom!” the countess trilled. Truly, she was the happiest person Theodora had ever encountered. If she weren’t so nice, it would have been annoying. “There is coffee, if you’d like some. Mrs. Appleton taught me how to make it.”
Theodora grimaced. “Thank you, my lady, but I have never quite acquired the taste for coffee.” She filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to heat.
“I adore coffee,” Lady Longley said happily, then frowned. “Although perhaps it’s why I never seem to be able to sleep for very long.” She flipped the dough out of the bowl onto the floured surface of the table, divided it, and patted it into two large circles. “But that doesn’t bother me. If I were sleeping, someone else would have to make the pastries.” She smiled radiantly and deftly cut each circle into eight wedges.
Theodora could not help but smile. She spooned tea into a teapot, then poured the hot water from the kettle into it, and tossed a teaspoon of sugar and milk into a cup.
“Lady Longley.” She brought the tea and cup to the table and sat. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course!” The countess arranged the scones on a baking sheet, and then popped them into the oven. She checked the time, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat opposite Theodora.
Theodora poured tea into her cup and stirred idly. “How did you meet his lordship?”
Lady Longley’s face was immediately suffused with a dreamy expression. “We met at my coming-out ball.”
Theodora smiled encouragingly, and the countess continued. “I was nineteen. I was a late bloomer and a terribly gawky girl. My mother always said she’d never find me a husband and was too afraid to try. But then I grew into my figure, and I was immediately put on the marriage mart.”
She wrinkled her brow. “I felt rather like a prize sow, but never mind. Peter was nearly thirty, almost ten years older than I, and he was there under protest. His father had told him to stop messing about and find a wife, or he’d be disinherited. Oh, his father hadn’t really meant it, but Peter was so angry he decided to comply with the substance of the request but not the spirit. He decided to attend every ball dressed inappropriately.”
She laughed and gestured at Theodora with her coffee cup. “Rebellion was very simple then.” She took a sip, her eyes focused on a spot behind Theodora, somewhere in the past. “He wore a ridiculous evening coat. It must have had at least a dozen different colors. He wore evening slippers, and his cravat was very badly tied. I don’t believe he had a valet at the time, or the poor man would have expired with shame.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Theodora chuckled. “It sounds perfectly dreadful.”
“It was! My mother had invited him to the ball—everyone did, as he was the most eligible bachelor that Season—but she did not expect him to come. He had thus far managed to stay away from the debutante balls. We were all quite astonished when he was announced—he had not even bothered to send a reply.” Lady Longley leaned in closer and whispered, “He still has no manners, despite all my best efforts to civilize him.”
Lady Longley took another sip of her coffee, as Theodora waited eagerly for more of the tale, so different was it from her own first meeting with Lucien.
“He walked into the room, and everyone’s jaw dropped. But I was speechless not because of his attire, but because he was quite simply the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His hair was dark, and his eyes were the crystal clear blue of a cloudless sky. He had a funny little tilt to his lips that made me think he alone was privy to a joke and would burst out laughing at any moment. But he didn’t. He was very serious, which was of course part of his act. A less serious man I don’t think I have ever met.”
She sipped again, a dreamy smile on her countenance. “Someone, I can’t recall who, brought him over to me. He looked me up and down, trying to stay serious, but he couldn’t. He grinned, and his eyes twinkled, and oh.” She shuddered with the memory and laughed. “Oh, I was completely lost.”
“So what happened then?” Theodora could not resist asking.
The countess grinned, her emerald eyes flashing. “Ah, then came my finest moment. I looked at him, my mouth opening and closing like a trout on a hook, and I said the first thing that came into my head.”
“Which was?”
“ ‘Wherever did you find that atrocious coat, Lord Caxton?’ ” She erupted into peals of laughter, and Theodora had to join in. “Peter laughed, and we were married a month later.” Lady Longley winked and then jumped up to retrieve the scones from the oven.
Theodora was silent for a moment, and then she said quietly, “I cannot imagine a man who could overlook such an insult, let alone laugh at it. Even my father, who was truly a dear man, had a rather limited sense of humor.”
Lady Longley paused in her efforts to slide the scones onto a cooling rack and looked thoughtfully at her. “Peter told me what happened last night, when you met him. He was dreadfully sorry he frightened you, poor man. Why on earth did you react to him that way, my dear? He is the gentlest of men, although I know his appearance can give rise to a certain apprehension.”
Theodora blanched. The man was so large he had utterly terrified her when he raised his hand. She couldn’t avoid flinching; she was so afraid he was going to hit her. But she certainly couldn’t say so; the last thing she wanted to do was offend this woman who had been so kind to her. “I am sorry, my lady. He just, well...startled me, I suppose.”
Lady Longley smiled sympathetically. “I hope that one day you will tell me what has made you so sad, my dear. I know that I was extremely fortunate to find my husband, but I also know that not every marriage is as happy as my own.”
Theodora shook her head sadly. “No, indeed, my lady. No indeed.”
“Will you at least tell me how you met your husband? It can’t possibly be as entertaining as my tale, of course”—she grinned impishly—“but I would like to hear it.”
Theodora was silent for a moment as she considered. She finally concluded she could relate the story without giving too much away. “My family was very close, my lady, and my mother delayed my season perhaps longer than she should have done. Like you, I was nineteen when I went to London for the Season. I didn’t move in the same circles as you did, of course.” She took a sip of her tea and remembered.
“He was astonishingly handsome, extremely intelligent. I met him at my debut ball. Our eyes met across the crowded ballroom, and it felt as though he could see into my very soul. It was...stirring. Thinking back I wonder if I should have sensed then how cold his eyes could become.” She shuddered and avoided looking at the countess. “In any case, he swept me off my feet. He showered me with gifts, and we took romantic walks in the park. He was wealthy and so charming. Within a few weeks, we were betrothed. My parents and I were certain it was a very good match.”
“But it wasn’t,” the countess said quietly.
Theodora shook her head. “No. No, it wasn’t.”
“What did he...?”
“He hit me.” Theodora rose and cleared away the tea things. When she turned back to the countess, she almost burst into tears at the sympathy on the woman’s face.
The countess looked ready to say something else, when she noticed the clock. “Oh, goodness, is that the time? Peter wanted to get an early start, but I lost track.”
Grateful beyond belief for the change of subject, but confused, Theodora said, “An early start, my lady?”
“Oh, no, did Dove not tell you?” Lady Longley looked even more distressed.
“Tell me what, my lady?”
“Peter, Julia, and I are going to London today. We shall be gone a fortnight at least. His sister Gwyneth was most insistent that we visit since she was unable to come here for his birthday, and for once he has given in. I expect it’s only because no one else will be in Town. Peter does so detest balls,” she muttered. “Abby, her husband, and the children will be going as well.”
Theodora was about to ask whether the viscount would be joining them, when the countess remarked, “The scones are for you and the staff to enjoy, although I do hope you will save one for Jonathan.”
“Lord Caxton is remaining here?” Theodora’s heart thudded against her chest.
Lady Longley removed her apron and frowned. “Yes, Jonathan decided to stay. Something about needing to tend to matters on the estate, although I imagine he’s still not ready to return to London, poor boy.”
Theodora was finding this conversation more puzzling by the minute. Why the viscount should not be ready to travel to London was a mystery.
The countess smiled. “Please do call upon Jonathan should you require anything while I am gone. I suspect he will frequent the local pub with our estate manager most evenings. He does not like to eat alone. Perhaps you will welcome the respite?”
“Of course, my lady.” Theodora curtsied as Lady Longley pressed a hand on Theodora’s shoulder.
“Do take care, Mrs. Milsom. I enjoyed our chat this morning. Thank you for sharing your confidence with me.”
Theodora smiled. “Safe journey, my lady.”
“Thank you. We shall talk again when I return, yes?” There was an earnest expression in her eyes Theodora could not quite interpret.
“Of course, my lady, if you wish.”
“Good.” Giving Theodora one last pat and a gracious smile, she whirled around and was gone, leaving a plate of scones and a cloud of flour.
Theodora sat back in her chair and grabbed a hot scone and nibbled on one corner. It was, as always, delicious.
****
Jonathan tried to stay away, he truly did, but he couldn’t do it. He found himself downstairs later that morning and could not stop himself from walking into the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, doing some sort of calculations on a slate, a book open in front of her. He leaned against the door frame and just watched.
Her fingers moved quickly across the slate, and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth as those striking violet eyes darted between the book and the slate. At one point she rubbed her arm against the slate to erase the writing. A strand of sleek black hair had worked loose from its pins under her cap. It was obviously tickling her cheek, since she kept swatting at it with her left hand. He wanted to tuck it back under her cap, and then take her lip gently between his own teeth. Would she would respond again the way she had before? He was growing hard, just thinking about it.
She raised her head then to try a bit harder to stuff the renegade hair under her cap. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she gave a breathy gasp.
“You startled me, my lord,” she said, her left hand to her chest.
“Apologies, my dear Matilda.” He pushed himself off the wall and walked to the table, and sat in the chair opposite her.
“My lord, please. You are too familiar.” She frowned and then looked away demurely.
“No doubt. Do you really mind?” He fingered the edges of her book, which revealed itself to be a cookery book. He picked it up.
She ignored his question, stood, and moved away from the table, but she kept looking back at him. He could tell she wanted to snatch the book out of his hands, but she didn’t. “Modern Cookery, by Eliza Acton.” He peered at her through his lashes. She hovered nervously.
He flipped through the pages. “To Theodora, from your loving Mama.” His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked up. She had paled. “Theodora?”
“Um, yes.” She paused, and her eyes darted around the room as if searching for escape. “Theodora was my sister.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Was?”
Matilda cleared her throat. “Yes. She...died.”
Jonathan was quiet for a moment as he digested this obviously fraudulent information. He would save it, he thought, for another time.
“You must miss her very much,” he said, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice.
“Yes.” She turned away.
He suddenly felt like a heel. What if she really did have a sister?
“I’m sorry. I’ve upset you.” He put down the book and came up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders, and felt her shudder. He hoped it was pleasure and not revulsion, but with this woman he could not seem to count on anything going the way he expected, or desired.
“No, I am fine, my lord.” She turned to face him, dry-eyed and clearly annoyed. “But I really must ask you to leave. Bess and Millie will be back soon. They’ve just gone to collect today’s vegetables from Mr. Doyle.”
“Are you all right?”
“I am perfectly well, my lord. But if you wish to have your luncheon on time, you will allow me to get on with it.” She wriggled away and turned his back on him again. This time she stood at the stove and started to stir something that bubbled there. Certain that he would pay for this later, he nevertheless walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder.
“What’s for lunch?” he whispered.
She pressed her back against him and exhaled a long breath. “My lord. Please don’t do this.”
“You feel it too, don’t you?” Jonathan pulled her more firmly against him and stroked her arms. They fell to her sides, and she stood there, unmoving. He rested his chin on top of her head.
“What I feel does not matter. It can’t!” She jerked out of his grasp and rushed to the other side of the table. She turned to face him. “Please. If you persist, I will have to leave.” Her eyes welled with tears, and she looked at him with the saddest expression he had ever seen. “And I have nowhere to go.”
He held up his hands in defeat. “Very well. I will leave you to your preparations. But you and I both know that this is not over.” He maneuvered around the table and lightly stroked her chin. Then he leaned down, and gently pressed his lips to hers.
She sighed, just for an instant, and then broke free. She shook her head defiantly and stood stiffly, her violet gaze focused on his chest. He turned on his heel and strode to the door. He couldn’t stop himself from turning back and was rewarded for the impulse when he saw her thoughtfully run a finger over her lips. He grinned and took the stairs two at a time.
Chapter Fourteen
The conversation Lucien had with Welles the week before had cleared his head. He had somehow known Theodora did not perish in the fire that had nearly killed him. She was a remarkably strong woman; much stronger, in fact, than he had ever imagined. She had left him, and that must have taken a strength of will he had not known she possessed.
He had left his club and rented a house in Mayfair for an extravagant sum. He hired a maid and a cook. And then, he planned.
Although he continued to maintain the charade of the grieving widower when he was around other people, when he was alone he committed himself to finding her, and bringing her home. He spent the next week interviewing people around King’s Cross. No one had seen a woman of Theodora’s description. He did not give up; he knew someone must have encountered her. She always thought she was invisibl
e, but she had no idea how memorable she really was. Finally he found the ticket seller who had been working the night of the fire. He showed the man a miniature he’d had painted of Theodora when they had first married. He had kept it in his chambers, so it had escaped the fire.
“Yes, sir. I saw a woman like that. Pretty little thing, but very pale and thin. I remember ’er because she looked a bit like me mam, and me mam got sick the next day. Terrible cough, she had, I thought ’twould carry ’er off, but she’s much better...”
Lucien growled impatiently. The man reddened. “Like I said, I remembered ’er. She weren’t wearing a bonnet, and there was a smudge of dirt on ’er for’ed. She paid for a ticket to Durham on the first train.”
Durham? What possible reason could she have to go there? He turned to the man again. “Did she say why she wanted to go to Durham?”
The man gave him a funny look, as if the very idea that a traveler would confide in him was absurd. Perhaps it was.
“No, sir, she didn’t. Just went off to wait for the train. Didn’t see ’er again.” Then the man seemed to think of something and narrowed his eyes. “Here now, whatcher want ’er for? Maybe I shouldn’t be tellin’ ye this.”
Ignoring the question, Lucien soothed the man’s scruples by giving him a sovereign. The man stuck it between his teeth, grinned, and stashed it in his pocket. He gestured Lucien to move aside and waited on the next person in the queue.
Lucien strolled to the timetable to see how often the trains north departed. There was a train to York every hour, but it only went as far as Durham in the morning. He would need to wait until tomorrow unless he hired a coach. Since he detested coaches more than trains, he opted to wait.
He was puzzled. He would have expected her to go to Northumberland, where she might have some friends from when she was a girl. Did she still have any friends? He didn’t care and had never asked. After a while she had stopped mentioning anyone.
He did recall the names of two or three of the girls with whom she had been friendly during her season and decided that while he waited, he would make some calls.
Stirring Up the Viscount Page 9
