London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  “I believe he requested a tray as well.” Dora attempted to stifle her laughter, though she wasn’t successful.

  “What is it?” Theodosia cast a glance over her shoulder, causing several pins to drop to the floor.

  “It’s nothing more than a bit of girlish tomfoolery, but three different maids asked to deliver the tray. I doubt we’ve ever had a guest who earned so much attention.”

  Theodosia couldn’t believe the nonsense going on belowstairs. Matthew was handsome and charming, and true, the house rarely saw visitors, but to vie for the opportunity to deliver a tray of food . . . she smirked at how ridiculous it sounded. Her mind didn’t operate that way. Or mayhap she had never been exposed to society’s expectations to create the flirtatious habit. It was just another reason on a long list why she’d never fit into London society. The somber reality didn’t warrant any more thought, though she secretly wished a footman had taken Matthew’s breakfast tray up.

  “Well?” She twisted on the stool and waited for her maid to continue.

  “I hope I haven’t gotten anyone in trouble, milady.” Dora’s cheerfulness fell away. “It was only a bit of amusement in the kitchen.”

  “Not at all.” Theodosia patted her braid and stood. “My hair looks wonderful. I have a busy day ahead.” She hesitated, almost embarrassed to ask the next question, though as lady of the house she needed to be kept abreast of all goings-on. “So who delivered the tray?”

  Spoken aloud, the question sounded more foolish than when kept in her brain.

  Dora’s smile returned. “Mrs. Mavis scolded the girls and sent one of the footmen upstairs instead.”

  “Very good.” She felt a sense of relief that was uncharacteristic and absolutely absurd, but she didn’t say more and hurried down the hallway. She paused before Grandfather’s room, unsure whether to knock. Sometimes the smallest disruption caused the largest problem, like not having marmalade on the table for every meal or having marmalade on the table for every meal.

  And too, they would be together at lunch and if he didn’t come out of his rooms then, she would definitely visit and speak to him. Perhaps a little distance was necessary today.

  Confident in her decision, she hurried on in the usual manner and stopped by the kitchen to gather what she needed. She headed toward the gallery, the walk through the extended corridor an ideal chance for her to arrange her schedule before she reached the workrooms. Until she saw Matthew. He stood before the farthest frame on the wall, his attention focused on the glass. She hesitated in disturbing him and didn’t mind having a few minutes to take him in.

  The kiss they’d shared last night came back in a hurry, the tingling sensation and giddy, bubbly feeling that spread throughout her body with every beat of her heart. She quickly squashed these emotions, unwilling to allow them control. She needed to concentrate on her calculations. The last thing she wished was to appear a bird wit. For some reason, now more than earlier, she wanted to show her abilities in the best possible light.

  “What did you say to me last evening? Either come in or leave already?”

  He remembered? He remembered. A faint smile teased her lips. He turned then and the sunlight from the far windows limned his face in a golden glow. No wonder the maids were squabbling. He cut a dashing form. Dark hair, broad shoulders, tall and strong with enough charm for three men. His wardrobe proved impeccable and tailored masterfully. Her gaze fell to his left leg and she shot her eyes up again in a clumsy gesture she wished she could erase.

  “Better. Bearable. I’ve overdone it with my travel and exertion the last day or two, so I’d still appreciate the salve you mentioned.”

  She looked away and shook her head slightly, upset with the awkward situation she’d created. “Of course. Would you like to do that first? I thought we would compare maths before we went to the apothecary. Sometimes I need to change my clothes after mixing potions.” Her voice trailed off as he approached and she started toward him to cut the distance by half.

  “What kind of elixirs? Magical mist? Warlock spells? Love potions?” he questioned with brows raised, and she laughed before she thought better of it.

  “Nothing of the kind, although your suggestions sound intriguing.”

  They met in the center of the gallery, and for a moment they both stood there looking at each other. What she wouldn’t give to read his mind.

  “The sun has decided to visit Oxfordshire at last.” He indicated a nearby window with the tip of his walking stick. “The roads should be clear in the next day or two.”

  “Of course. You’ll want to return to London.” An odd twist squeezed her chest tight and she wondered if breakfast disagreed with her. Perhaps it was only trapped air or an unladylike hiccup. Not that she wanted to experience either malady in his company. “Let’s not waste any time then.”

  She reached in her pocket for the chatelaine of keys and they proceeded down the corridor.

  Chapter Ten

  Matthew followed Theodosia into a small sitting room at the end of the hall. The interior was sparsely furnished with two mahogany armchairs and a rectangular table with fine woodwork inlay. A large pedestal sideboard held books, quills, and paper items instead of the usual crystal liquor decanters, and between the velvet-draped windows sat a writing desk as cluttered as its cousin on the opposite wall.

  Wall sconces provided ample light, though the first thing Theodosia did after she unlocked the door was to draw the curtains wide and allow sunshine to chase away the chill.

  “You lock the doors . . . for your grandfather’s benefit.” Matthew waited for her to sit before he assumed the other chair beside the table.

  “His safety, mostly.” She busied herself with the arrangement of a sheet of foolscap. After she pulled the inkwell closer, she turned to him and continued. “At times, he’s the man I’ve known all my life. Brilliant in his work and warmhearted in every other way. He raised me, you know. My parents perished in a house fire when I was five years old.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.” The words sounded hollow, thoughtless, and in that moment, he began to truly understand the unfair composition of Theodosia’s life. How much happiness had she known? Had the majority of her life been spent here, tucked in a house with her grandfather and otherwise disconnected from society?

  He didn’t wish to bring a pallor to the day. He would likely depart tomorrow; if not, the day after. If he could make their shared time entertaining, she would have a few amusing memories after he’d gone. It wasn’t much, but it was easily achieved. And he welcomed the obligation.

  “We don’t need to dwell on it. I don’t.” She picked up a pen and dipped the nib into the ink pot. “We can’t predict our future nor change our past.”

  His mind raced, anxious to transform the threat of melancholy into something lighthearted. “Well said, Bookish.” He picked up his pen, at the ready to review the formula in question. “Not that I would change one second of last evening in the library.”

  He was rewarded with a sweeping crimson blush along her cheekbones and a twitch of her petal-soft lips.

  “That was rude.”

  “I’m not accustomed to being categorized as such.” He couldn’t help but tease and intentionally misunderstand. “Whatsoever is rude about a reference to Dalton’s New System of Chemical Philosophy? It was an enthralling read from cover to cover.”

  She laughed softly and her eyes regained their sparkle. “Your explanation is not sound or substantiated by valid evidence. You discovered me in the library and therefore had no time to read as we—” Caught in a conversational trap, her blush reappeared, as did her smile.

  “If you’re going to be all scientific now, I suppose we should work on the calculations in question.” He began to scratch numbers on the paper. “Do you have the work you referenced and your notes?”

  “I do.” Seemingly anxious for the diversion, she hurriedly flipped pages in a notebook atop the table. “Here are my equations for the chemical ratios
and compounds.” She indicated a series of numbers. “This is where I thought we should begin.”

  They worked diligently on reproducing the result for over an hour, but Matthew couldn’t verify her calculations no matter which equation or leap of faith he employed.

  She appeared utterly deflated.

  “The rules of math are challenging and unforgiving.” He placed his pen down on the blotter and leaned back in his chair.

  “Are you going to notify the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society journal and reveal I’ve made a mistake? Will you expose me for the imposter that I am?” Her face worked through a series of uncomfortable emotions.

  “No. Of course not.” He almost chuckled. “Whoever approves the articles printed in the monthly journal should be held accountable for shabby research, not you.”

  “Thank you.” She barely whispered the words. “I’d rather not have been humiliated.”

  Something painful flared in her eyes before she looked away.

  “I propose we leave off for a bit and take a walk to the orangery. I liked it there very much and my leg could use the exercise.”

  “Oh.” She quickly tidied up the desk. “I didn’t realize.”

  “How could you?” He chuckled. He stood and reclaimed his walking stick, quick to head toward the door so she wouldn’t see his grin. She really was a delightful secret hidden away here in Oxfordshire.

  They moved toward the conservatory, the mood light and conversation easy.

  “What has provoked your interest in botanical studies?” He followed her inside. With the sun shining brightly, the glass panels along the ceiling and walls warmed the room considerably and again he was impressed at the extensive attention to detail.

  Theodosia approached a glass bowl and lifted the wire lid. They didn’t explore this area when he’d first visited two days ago. Two days? That’s all? Most likely it was due to the length of time they spent in each other’s company, but it was as if their relationship was more comfortable than those he’d had in London for months, maybe years.

  Of course, in the city, everything from fashion to friendship was held to a judicious standard. Theodosia would have had a maid trailing her throughout the day, and he’d have been obligated to leave her company after twenty minutes, his visit acceptable only during calling hours. Restrictions like that made acquaintances less familiar.

  And then there was their kiss. It would have been much more difficult to achieve.

  He blinked away his mental musings and refocused his attention, but as he did so his brows shot high in surprise. “Are you wearing a . . . snake?”

  “A garden variety, and a completely harmless one at that.” She smiled at the creature and stroked a finger down its scaly back.

  He cleared his throat and shifted his position, all at once at odds. Bloody hell, there was something strangely erotic about seeing Theodosia in her mint-green day gown with a snake twined around her arm. He had no explanation for it, but he recognized a physical problem, a growing one, in fact. He forced his eyes to a row of seedlings and attempted to change the subject while angling his body to disguise his state of semi-arousal. “What are you nurturing here?”

  “I’ll explain in a minute.” She walked closer and the snake climbed higher, its head against her lace-trimmed bodice. “Snakes are fascinating creatures. This one is a common variety, but the boa constrictor, a large snake indigenous to Central and South America, can grow to more than fifteen feet long.”

  “Indeed.” He watched the sleek reptile continue its travels toward Theodosia’s shoulder.

  “Surprising, isn’t it?” She flashed a brief smile. “The constrictor strangles its prey before ingestion and is the only species capable of asexual reproduction.”

  “That hardly sounds like fun at all.”

  She giggled, her unexpected reaction a pleasant surprise.

  “Would you like to feed William?” She canted her head to the left to indicate the reptile near her shoulder. “He doesn’t bite.”

  “William?” He darted a look to the snake and back again.

  “Yes. William. William Snakespeare. I name all my animals, even though they’ll return to nature as soon as they heal. I’ve treated owlets, baby badgers, and a few hedgehogs too. If I happen upon an injured creature or animal in trouble, I can’t help but to offer aid. I suppose I sound stranger than you’d thought me already?”

  “No.” He looked at her then and his mind spun in another direction. She wasn’t strange at all. Remarkable was the word on the tip of his tongue. The ladies he knew in London would scream their heads off at the sight of a mouse, never mind walk about casually with a reptile wrapped around their arm. Theodosia’s desire to help injured animals was admirable.

  A more disturbing suggestion interrupted his contemplations. Did she view him as a lame creature who needed her attention? Was that why she’d offered to make him salve? Or was it simply the fact he was a houseguest? A lame houseguest. It did provide opportunity for her to practice her apothecarial skills. These thoughts bombarded his brain and collided with common sense. By the time he muddled his way through the tangle, Theodosia had fed Snakespeare and returned him to his temporary home.

  “Most ladies would swoon at the mention of a snake, never mind the thought of wearing one as an accessory.” He came to stand beside her as she moved to another display.

  “I don’t swoon.” She laughed again and the sound was infectious. “I can’t fathom anything meaningful enough to cause a faint.” She lifted the lid of the bowl on a low wooden table. “Come here.” She waved in his direction. “You may as well meet everyone. This is Isaac Newt. He has only three legs.” She pointed to a brown lizard the color of strong coffee. “The most important member of my menagerie has free run of the house.”

  “Dare I guess who that might be?” He released a long-held exhale. “Sir Thomas Mole? Sir Francis Drake? I find I’m not half as clever as you, Bookish.” And then, against better sense, he asked a question that burned a hole in his brain. “Are these your only companions? Have you no other acquaintances?”

  He’d prodded too deeply and all amusement faded. She blinked several times at his questions, her slender brows dipping over her lovely gray eyes. Valiant as a soldier though, she regained balance, quick to answer.

  “The milder months bring social events to Oxfordshire. Grandfather and I often have outings and the villagers are ever kind to us when we visit.”

  He wouldn’t point out the bleak and problematic reality in that statement. Theodosia was a beautiful, vibrant—bloody hell, too intelligent—woman to waste away in the countryside. What kind of existence was this? Didn’t she realize how fulfilling her life could be away from here? He would suffocate from boredom, his mind and studies malnourished from the lack of stimuli. No wonder she compartmentalized her day into scheduled work sessions and befriended outcast animals. By god, she gave them names as if they were her friends.

  “Come to London.” The words were out before he could stop them. Never mind the impropriety of the suggestion, he had a tight knot of problems awaiting him when he returned, but the words burst out as if they had a life of their own, more command than request.

  “What?” She laughed, and it was the happiest he’d seen her all day.

  Relief coursed through him. Why was that? Why? It doesn’t matter why. She clearly liked the idea.

  “I’m not going to London.” She brushed her fingers over the downy leaves of a potted meadowsweet plant. “I thought that was decided when my grandfather tried to accept your invitation. London is the last place I’ll ever visit.”

  He examined her face, searching for the slightest betraying emotion, but found none. “Just a thought.”

  He moved away from the aisle and further toward the lemon trees. He’d miscalculated more than the math problem earlier. What was he thinking?

  I wasn’t.

  There lay the problem. He needed to return home, recalibrate his purpose, and forget ab
out this unexpected anomaly.

  His heel caught the edge of the slated path and his leg jarred enough to arouse a dull throb of pain. “Let’s proceed to the apothecary. I’m interested in the concoctions you create there.” At least he could provide unmatched conversation. Of that, he had no competition or doubt.

  * * *

  Theodosia followed after Matthew this time as he kept a brisk pace down the corridor. Her mind raced with equaled fervor. Why had he invited her to London? Considering the scene Grandfather had caused at dinner, Matthew had to know she remained in a delicate predicament. She couldn’t leave her grandfather in Oxfordshire, nor could she take him along. The weather, lengthy travel, and his current state of mind precluded that decision. But it was of no consequence anyway. London held nothing for her except painful memories, and she wouldn’t volunteer to revisit the past.

  They arrived at the apothecary door, and with a click of the lock silently moved inside. She lit several lanterns and stirred the coals in the grate. Flames sprung to life in the box, eager to add light and warmth to the room.

  “You’ve evaded my questions too many times to count, so I’ll ask again. How does a woman like you become interested in botanical science?” He came up beside her at the worktable where she crushed aromatics with a pestle.

  “A woman like me?” She darted her eyes in his direction before she returned her attention to the task.

  “Young. Pretty. How old are you anyway?”

  “Four and twenty.” She tapped the pestle gently against the marble. “And you?”

  “I’ve five more years.”

  “Botany was one branch of science I could share with Grandfather where he didn’t already know everything.” She added shaved beeswax to the ginger paste in a bowl and stirred it thoroughly. “I’m not creating anything special. Any herbalist might have made you this same ginger mixture.” She glanced over her shoulder as she reached to a high shelf to retrieve a bottle of white liquid. Her fingers slipped and the bottle slid backward.