by Amelia Grey
“I know how important that is to you. For now, you have all winter to decide if you want to enter the marriage mart next spring. And if you do, I’ll be there to help you.”
Arianna smiled at her new friend. “Thank you, Constance.”
***
Morgan hurried through the pelting rain and climbed into the waiting carriage. The landau took off with a jolt and a bump down the flooding street in Mayfair. He left his hat and gloves on, since it was only a short ride from his house to The Harbor Lights Gentleman’s Club. Autumn was less than a month away, but there was already a nasty chill in the early evening air.
He had taken the time to dress for a party he’d planned to attend later in the evening, but unless his disposition improved, he wasn’t sure he would end up going. He might just decide to spend the evening at the club, playing cards or billiards. He had spent the past two nights prowling the parties, dancing with young ladies he had no interest in, just to see if he could get a glimpse of Arianna. It was downright irritating that he hadn’t seen her at any of them. It was probably Constance’s blasted idea to have Arianna attend a crush like Lady Windham’s party and then have her disappear and leave all the women chattering and the gentlemen wondering about the new lady in town.
He had spent most of the day in his book room, catching up on correspondence and reading and signing documents his solicitor Mr. Saint had sent over. That man always had something urgent for Morgan to attend to. It had been slow and tedious because he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand. His thoughts kept straying to Arianna.
She had bewitched him, enchanted him, or something. He didn’t know what the hell she had done to him. He only knew he was aching to see her again. He wanted to be alone with her. He wanted to kiss her and hold her close. And damnation, he wanted to know what it was like to sit across the dinner table from her and enjoy conversation while they dined.
But the worst was that for no reason he could understand, he would suddenly see her dancing and twirling under the arm of incessantly annoying Lord Snellingly, or weak-kneed Lord Waldo Rockcliffe, or that fake Count Vigone. Knowing that Italian had even touched her hand made Morgan want to bloody the fop’s nose. And then there was the gentleman who looked so much like Gibby it was eerie even to have caught a glimpse of him before he walked off with Arianna. Why the hell had anger twisted inside him every time she had a new dance partner?
But then, there were times during the day when Morgan would find himself staring out the window, remembering how angelic she looked that night they were on the coast, when she experienced her first taste of ecstasy. And despite his best efforts at forgetting, he remembered the shock and then hurt he saw in her eyes when he had rebuffed her appeal for more.
What he didn’t know at the time was that it was easier to refuse her advances when there weren’t half a dozen men crowded around her, competing for her attention, looking at her with hunger in their eyes. Now suddenly, he was the one eager for more of her. He wanted to see her, talk to her, and hold her. He wanted to touch her again, taste her, and breathe in her scent.
Oh, yes, Arianna’s scent. As the carriage rolled along at a leisurely pace and the rain pounded the roof of the landau, Morgan leaned his head back against the cushion and breathed in deeply. He’d taken her empty perfume bottle in to his apothecary’s shop to have more of the scent made. The man had told him it might take some time to get it made, because he had to find an apothecary who could read the Hindi language to know the ingredients. Morgan made a mental note to check on that and see if the man had it ready for him.
Morgan made a tight fist and socked it into the palm of his gloved hand. “Oh, yes,” he whispered aloud in the quiet carriage. “I want to see her.”
The carriage rolled to a stop and, not waiting for his footman, Morgan opened the door and jumped down. Puddled rain splattered on his newly polished boots. He quickly darted inside the dimly lit club and handed off his wet coat, hat, and gloves to the attendant at the door. He then went in search of Gibby. Morgan knew the old dandy often enjoyed a light supper at the small private club before making his nightly rounds at the parties and any other clubs he might want to visit for a drink, a game, or conversation.
As Morgan rounded the doorway to the taproom, luck was with him. Sir Randolph Gibson was sitting at his favorite table, looking out the window, a smile on his face. Morgan wondered what he could be looking at that amused him. The rain was so heavy, no one was on the walkways, and it was too dark and foggy to see even the coaches as they passed on the street.
For a man in his sixties, Gibby was still a handsome, strapping fellow with a full head of silver hair and all his teeth, which was a miracle considering his boxing match. His wealth was quite substantial, too, though Gib had never earned a dime of it by labor. He’d been damned good at managing it until a year or two ago when, suddenly, he started investing in risky business ventures. Morgan and his cousins assumed he did it just for their attention.
Gibby’s father had made his fortune in the shipping business, when England was still trying to maintain control of its colonies across the sea. That war made the old sea merchant a wealthy man, and it all went to Gibby when his father died.
Over the years, Sir Randolph Gibson had been constantly sought after by young ladies wanting to better their station in life, and more recently, by aging spinsters and middle-aged widows looking to find a bit of romance or a comfortable life. But no one had ever caught his fancy enough for him to propose matrimony. He held to the fact that Morgan’s grandmother, Lady Elder, was the only woman he’d ever loved.
As of late, Gibby had been getting himself into one predicament after another. Morgan or one of his cousins would always bail him out. But Morgan didn’t know of any way to help him out of this latest situation. Morgan had to admit that even though his cousins and Constance had assured him the twins looked just like Gib, he hadn’t really believed it until he saw one of them for himself. The resemblance was stunning.
This latest escapade, if it could be called that, wasn’t anything like the balloon venture, the time machine, or even the boxing match Gibby was involved with a couple of months ago. Those things were eventually settled. How did someone go about settling the fact that two grown men looked just like you instead of their father or older brother?
Gibby prided himself on saying that Morgan’s grandmother, Lady Elder, was the only woman he ever loved, and Morgan didn’t doubt that. But obviously, she wasn’t the only lady he’d ever made love to. It was Gibby’s and his grandmother’s great friendship, that spanned thirty years, that made Morgan and his cousins feel responsible for the dapper old man.
Morgan walked over to the table where Gibby sat, put his hand on the back of an empty chair, and said, “Is this chair taken?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. I’m waiting for someone to join me.”
“Really?” Morgan questioned and gave him a look that said he didn’t believe him for a minute. “And who might that be?”
“Viscount Brentwood is joining me, not that it’s any of your business.”
That surprised Morgan. “Well, I’m impressed.”
Gibby picked up his wine glass and smiled. “The hell you are.”
Morgan smiled, too. “No, really, I am.” Morgan pulled out the chair and sat down. He caught the server’s attention and pointed to Gibby’s glass and held up two fingers. “So the two of you are going to talk?”
“We’re going to have a drink, but we’ll probably do a little talking, too.”
“I bet you do. And let me guess. I bet it will be about the twins?”
Gibby’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Morgan hadn’t seen the dapper old man’s eyes brim with such excitement in months.
“He’s the one who asked to meet with me. I have no idea what he wants to talk about.”
“I think you can easily guess that he plans to talk about his brothers.”
“The twins?” the cagey whipster questioned. “I don’t know
. As for me, I don’t have any plans. I take each day as it comes. As Lord Chesterfield used to say: ‘Every morning I wake up it’s a good day.’”
As the server placed a glass of wine in front of Morgan and put another in front of Gib, Morgan smiled. “I don’t think Chesterfield said that. I think you made it up just now as you were talking.”
Gibby smiled, too. “No, he said it. I heard him say it more than once.”
Morgan nodded and sipped his wine, though he was still unconvinced. Turning serious, he wrinkled his forehead and asked, “Gib, what the devil are you going to do about the fact that everyone in the ton is talking about Brentwood’s brothers looking just like you?”
Gibby held out his empty hands, palms up. “What can I do about what other people say?”
“You could say something like, yes, these men are my sons, or no, they aren’t.”
Gibby laughed good-naturedly. “Now why would I want to say anything like that? You should know without my having to tell you that the best way to handle gossip is not to acknowledge it.”
“That sounds like more wise words from Lord Chesterfield.”
“Yes, he probably said that, too.”
Morgan picked up his wine, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Gibby. The dandy loved all the notoriety he was getting, and it probably ratcheted up his virility and his ego, too. That’s why he wasn’t trying to clear up everyone’s questions.
Morgan took him to task by saying, “You don’t want to say anything because you are enjoying all the attention.”
“What’s wrong with attention? Now, instead of trying to mind my business, why don’t you tell me about Miss Arianna Sweet?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. It made his stomach clinch just hearing her name. “So you think it’s all right for you to remain as closemouthed as a turtle in its shell, but you expect me to spill everything to you?”
Gibby grinned. “Yes, I do.”
Morgan grinned, too. “It’s not going to happen, old man.”
“You do know that your not wanting to talk about her tells me quite a bit about what your real feelings are for her, don’t you?”
Morgan slowly sipped his wine. It was impossible to outsmart Gibby. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Excuse me, my lord.”
Morgan turned toward the server who had just walked up. “Yes?”
“There’s a man at the front door, insisting that he speak to you immediately. He said it’s quite urgent.”
“Me? All right, I suppose I can go see what he wants.” Obviously it wasn’t a member of the ton, or they would have brought the gentleman to him.
“Gib, I’ll come back and join you and the viscount after I see what this fellow wants.”
“Hell’s bells, Morgan, come back for what? We’re just going to have a drink together. I can manage my own affairs quite nicely without you and your cousins’ interference. Now go on, and you take care of your own urgent business. I’m doing quite well on my own.”
Morgan polished off his wine and nodded to Gibby before walking to the front door where the server said the man was waiting for him.
“Where is he?”
“He’s waiting outside, my lord.”
“All right.” Morgan opened the door and stepped outside. He saw his footman standing under the small portico, trying to stay away from the driving rain.
“My lord,” he said rushing up to Morgan.
“What is it?” Morgan asked, seeing real fear in the man’s eyes.
“One of your grooms just arrived from Valleydale, my lord. He says someone killed your servant Jessup, and that Post is at death’s door.”
Morgan’s stomach lurched. “Damnation!” he swore. “What’s going on? Did he say who did this and why?”
“He didn’t know the man, had never seen him before, my lord, but he said he was a foreigner, maybe from India.”
A chill ran up Morgan’s back and made the hair on the back of his neck spike.
The footman clasped his hands together in front of him and added, “He also said the man was looking for a lady named Miss Sweet.”
Nineteen
My Dearest Grandson Lucas,
You would do well to remember these words from Lord Chesterfield: “Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt never is. Our pride remembers it forever. It implies a discovery of weaknesses, which we are much more careful to conceal than crimes.”
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
As Arianna walked down the stairs, her slippers were soundless, her chest was tight, and her stomach felt jumpy. It was half past eight in the evening, and Mrs. Hartford just informed her that Morgan had called on her. It was sheer luck that Arianna was still appropriately dressed in a simple capped-sleeved high-waisted dress with a lightweight woolen shawl tied around her arms to keep away the chill.
What could have brought him to her door at this time of evening? It was well beyond the respectable time to visit anyone. And it had been storming for over an hour. Hardly the kind of weather or time of evening someone would make a hospitable call.
“Cook has already retired, Miss Sweet,” her housekeeper said, following in Arianna’s footsteps down the staircase. “Should I make tea?”
“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Hartford. The earl isn’t given much for tea. I had Benson pick a bottle of fine brandy. I know he likes that. I will pour it myself should he care for a glass while he is here.”
“What do you suppose he wants at this late hour?”
“I would have no idea, but I’m sure you know that the titled few feel quite entitled to call on whom they wish whenever they wish. He is an earl after all.”
“Very true, Miss Sweet.”
“You may wait in my music room until I call on you to show him out.”
“But that room is at the end of the other side of the house.”
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Arianna turned back and smiled at the woman. “I’m quite aware of that, Mrs. Hartford. Should I be so fortunate that the earl wants to ravish me, I certainly wouldn’t want you to hear him.”
The woman gasped so loudly that for a moment, Arianna wondered if the poor woman had choked.
“I apologize, Mrs. Hartford. My attempt at humor was in poor taste. I assure you that you have no need to fear. I will be perfectly safe with Lord Morgandale. If you’ll remember, he took me in when I was so ill I could hardly place one foot in front of the other, and I stayed in his care for more than a week.”
“Yes, miss, I do remember that.”
“Good. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’d love to hear you playing some of your lovely tunes on the pianoforte for me. That will remind the earl that you are nearby. I’ll call you when I need you.”
Mrs. Hartford hesitated but finally nodded and turned to the left toward the music room. Arianna went in the opposite direction and headed down the darkened corridor to the drawing room. When she rounded the doorway, she saw Morgan pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the window. Only one lamp was lit in the room. She couldn’t see him well, but she knew immediately something was terribly wrong. Her throat tightened, and a cold feeling of apprehension chilled her. She pulled her shawl tighter about her arms.
“Good evening, Morgan,” she said, walking farther into the room.
Morgan stopped and stared at her for a moment before striding toward her. “We have to talk.”
Arianna couldn’t imagine what had caused the concerned expression on his face. “All right, sit down. Shall I pour you a brandy?”
“No, I won’t sit down, and I don’t want anything to drink. What I want from you is the truth.”
That statement stunned her for a moment. She studied his face. She had never seen such strain around his eyes and mouth. Something disturbed him greatly, and that worried her.
Arianna moved closer to him and stopped by the upholstered side chair. She quietly said, “That implies I have lied to you, my lord, and I have not.”
She didn’t know exactly what he might have discovered about her but she was about to find out. “That can hardly be called a prevarication, my lord.”
“What happened in India that caused you to leave?”
Although she remained calm on the outside, all of a sudden her insides were shaking, “I told you my father died, and—”
He took another step toward her. His blue eyes pierced hers. “The truth, Arianna, I need the whole truth.”
Within a second or two he covered the short distance between them. He grabbed her upper arms and held her firmly. For a moment fear gripped her, but she quickly saw that he wasn’t really angry at her but at something else.
She gazed into his troubled eyes. “What’s wrong, Morgan?”
“I just received word that an Indian man went to Valleydale looking for you, and when he left, my groom Jessup was dead, and Post is barely clinging to life.”
“No, oh, no!” Suddenly, Arianna couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She managed to whisper, “He killed someone? Post is injured! How?”
“You tell me, Arianna.”
“I can’t. I don’t know. Beabe told me she thought she saw him, and I didn’t believe her. I should go to Post right away and check on him. I have medicines from my father that might help him.”
“Arianna, slow down and take one thing at a time. Your maid saw whom?”
“Mr. Rajaratnum. He was my father’s Indian bhagidar.”
“What? Blast it, Arianna, use English. This isn’t the time to use Indian words.”
“Partner. He was my father’s research partner in India. He killed my father and stole the formula he was working on.”
“Formula? What kind of formula is worth killing someone for?”
“My father discovered a cure for consumption. That is the kind of discovery that would bring fame and fortune to any man.”
