London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  “Here. Let me help.” He came up behind her. “It’s the least I can do since you’re going to this trouble for me.”

  He reached above her to fetch the liquid and she twisted, anxious to move out of his way, but he’d come too close and unwittingly trapped her. They stood chin to nose for a moment before he spoke.

  “My apologies,” he muttered. In his hurry, he brought his arm down and by consequence brushed a bundle of lavender strung from the top of the cabinets. Tiny purple buds, as feathery and light as dandelion fluff, showered over them.

  “You’re destined to smell like a dainty lady after all,” she quipped.

  His eyes gained an intensity that caused her pulse to skitter and he took an abrupt step backward.

  “Wait.” She reached up and brushed several pieces of lavender from his hair, tentative at first. Then she smoothed through the too long strands with a familiar manner no salve or elixir could replicate. For a fleeting moment she savored the contact despite the impropriety.

  “Thank you.” He swallowed and placed the bottle on the worktable. “Shall I?” He canted his head toward hers.

  “No need. I’ll give my hair a good shake later on. For now, I’d rather smell like flowers than the salve I’m creating for you.”

  “Ginger,” he remarked. “I wouldn’t have considered it.”

  He watched as she placed the bowl in a pan of water near the fire.

  “I experiment often.” She glanced over her shoulder at a blue container on the far counter. “That’s my newest attempt at face tonic.”

  “What?” He nabbed the round tub she’d indicated and peeled back the lid. “What’s in it? Not what I fear, I hope.”

  She laughed and he seemed to relax, their congenial mood restored. There was safety from misplaced emotions in mundane conversation. She retrieved the bowl and continued their discussion.

  “Rose oil, bitter almond, and distilled water.” She tilted her chin and moved her head from side to side. “I use it every evening before I go to sleep.”

  “That’s a waste of time . . .”

  Her smile fell away and he hurried to finish his statement.

  “. . . when no lotion could ever improve upon your appearance.”

  At first, she could only return his stare. Her hand grew still. But before he spoke further she rededicated herself to the task and furiously worked the mixture in the bowl. She finished, sealed the container, and handed it in his direction.

  “I hope this helps. All you need to do is rub it over the muscles that pain you in a brisk massage as often as you wish. It should alleviate the pain, albeit temporarily.” She glanced at his leg and held back a hundred questions. Instead, in her usual manner, words peppered the air in a nervous habit to fill the void. “I can write down the ingredients, if you find it effective and choose to have someone prepare it for you in London.”

  “Thank you.” He tucked the container into his coat pocket and an odd silence settled between them again.

  “I should check on my grandfather.” She looked at the bracket clock on the wall before returning her attention to him. “It’s almost lunchtime, and if he hasn’t emerged from his bedchambers, he may need coaxing.”

  They left the apothecary, and as she locked the door she could feel Matthew’s attention so intently she hesitated in turning around. He must think her an odd collection of traits. Intelligence and isolation were often ingredients for madness.

  “It must be difficult for you.”

  He didn’t mince words. He was a scholar who knew the value of controlling a conversation. And while they were only acquainted with each other a few days, she could hear the change in tone, the unmistakable note of pity. She couldn’t bear it and quickened her steps, rushing away into the gallery.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You know the way back, don’t you?” She knew it was poorly done of her. How she ruined the day. An inordinate and delightful day that should be treasured for its rarity.

  Like the kiss.

  Like his kiss.

  But she couldn’t help it.

  “Wait.”

  The word sliced through her and she slowed her steps. A grumble of curses punctuated by the sound of his walking stick on the tiles followed. She should be ashamed of herself, but she couldn’t allow him to look at her with an air of scientific study, to dissect her existence as if some curious specimen caught under glass.

  She made the most of a difficult situation and didn’t complain. Nowhere in the plan did she intend to suffer a catalog of questions pertaining to her grandfather’s decline or her unusual existence.

  She paused and released a deep breath, the sound loud in the sudden stillness of the corridor. What had happened? Did Matthew no longer follow?

  At odds with her cowardice, she doubled back and found him in the gallery, his focus on the same hanging as when their day had begun. A day that had held promise, or so she’d believed.

  “I shouldn’t have left.”

  It was somewhat of an apology, and her words grabbed his attention, though he was polite enough not to remark on her disregard. “These walls are filled with intriguing articles and admirable letters of accommodation. It’s an uncommon gallery. I anticipated a stroll through your heritage.” He watched her when he finished speaking.

  “Instead you found Grandfather’s most esteemed contributions as a respected intellectual in the field of science for over two decades.” She drew closer, though the subject evoked a shadow of sadness. “He’s funded research and donated generously to medical foundations of every kind, sponsored education through university for countless students, and established a distinctive reputation as a scholar in several branches.” She already breathed hard from unsettled emotion, and when tears blurred her vision she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her composure. “So, I don’t want your pity.”

  “You don’t have it. Not my pity, at least.” He reached out and removed a stray lavender bud from her hair. “Though you’ve captured my interest, Bookish.”

  She swallowed, forcing herself to dismiss emotion, to push it down deep where she wouldn’t have to consider all she’d lost until it was nothing more than a disquiet whisper in the background of life.

  “I grew tired of the empty walls.” Her voice came out as a sullen murmur, but it regained strength as she continued. “Our family’s history in oils was lost to the fire all those years ago. I’ve no picture of my parents, other than the fading memories of my childhood.”

  “I’m sorry, Theodosia.”

  There was a wealth of sincere empathy in his words and not a shred of pity this time.

  “Thank you.”

  “You intended to check in on your grandfather and I’ve deterred you long enough, but I’ve a brilliant idea to chase away the somber mood we’ve conjured this morning. The sun is shining.” He glanced toward the oblong windows as if to confirm his proposition. “Snow melts as we speak, and I suspect the roadways will be passable by tomorrow. We shouldn’t waste a bit more of the weather.”

  She searched his face for a clue to his thinking.

  “I haven’t seen much of the property from my guest room window, so you’ll need to tell me if the mews are to the left or right once I exit the rear of the house.”

  “To the left.” She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the sudden merriment alive in his.

  “Two hours should prove sufficient.” He moved past her. “Dress warmly. Very warmly, in fact. And meet me in the front hall.”

  She watched him walk away, his uneven gait hardly perceptible, overshadowed by his stature and bearing as a good man.

  * * *

  “I’ll need my flannel stomacher and the woolen waistcoat I wore during the carriage ride here, Coggs.” Matthew washed the last bit of shaving soap from his chin with a cloth left beside the ewer, his final words coming out muffled as he toweled dry. “And two pairs of stockings.”

  He busied himself with further necessities as Coggs retrieved the requested art
icles. If he were to bring a bit of joy into Theodosia’s life for the afternoon, he would need to begin the arrangements.

  “If it isn’t fit weather for travel, why are you insistent on braving the elements?” Coggs screwed his face into an expression that displayed his opinion of the plan. “Walking about on snow and ice is hardly the recommended activity, especially when—”

  “I’m not defined by my impairment, Coggs. And that reminds me . . .” Matthew returned to the mattress, where he’d discarded the clothes he’d worn earlier. Rummaging through his coat pocket, he retrieved the container of ginger salve and placed it on the bedside table. “No doubt I’ll need that later.” This he muttered to himself.

  “Isn’t it customary for the host to provide entertainment for the invited guests, and not the other way around?” Coggs persisted, though he supplied the articles requested.

  “Under normal circumstances, I suppose.” Matthew continued to dress, his attention divided.

  “Is the lady not normal, then?”

  “I never said that.” He cast a glance toward Coggs that indicated it was he who stood on thin ice. “She’s the bookish sort and somewhat alone. I see no reason not to brighten her day with an outing. Do you?”

  A beat of silence followed before his valet answered. “Kirkman.”

  “Pardon?” Matthew pushed his Hessians aside and reached for his worn leather boots. They weren’t fashionable but they were far more comfortable.

  “The twice-proposing gent. I assume Kirkman would disagree with your intentions.”

  “I don’t have intentions. Nothing more than an afternoon diversion. How often do you think Talbot entertains?” He wrestled with one boot and then began with the other. “I’d wager our visit is as rare as a rainbow on Christmas Eve.” He stamped his foot and stood promptly. “Besides, no one appreciates a codnogger.” He added this as a reminder to Coggs’s propensity for gossip. For some odd, unnamed reason, Coggs’s comment fueled him to pursue his idea with additional determination.

  Several layers of wool later, he donned his multi-caped greatcoat and leather gloves, took the back stairs to the kitchen, and exited Leighton House at the rear. A gardener or other servant had shoveled a wide path from the main house to the stables, and bearing left, he followed the cleared walkway toward the mews. The passage was narrow, the cobblestones covered with a slick coat of packed snow and ice, and true to his valet’s prediction it made for poor traction. But nonetheless he reached the building, unlatched the gate, and entered. Inside, he found his driver, George, playing cards with two stable hands, and so he enlisted their help in his endeavor.

  “I’ll need your strongest draft horses.” He indicated a pair housed in the same stall, one golden blond and the other chestnut brown. “Show me the sleigh.”

  A young lad led him to the farthest corner of the stable, where, beneath what appeared to be a cord of wood, sat a grand wooden sleigh, its exterior once a polished Kelly green, but nothing more than a dusty reminder of Christmas past now. He’d assumed the estate would have some type of winter vehicle, although he’d rather hoped it wouldn’t be so neglected.

  “This may take longer than expected.” Matthew rounded the vehicle and inspected the leather straps for deterioration and long, metal runners for rust, but found nothing to deter his plan.

  “It’s not been used for years, milord.” The lad removed several logs as he spoke, tossing the firewood to an opposite corner of the stable and out of the way. “Must have been a dandy when she was new.”

  “Indeed, though we can do nothing for it now aside from give her a little life.” Matthew assisted with the unwanted wood until every trace of bark had been removed. Together he and the stable hand buffed the leather cushions and confirmed the safety of the sleigh. “She’s a beauty. A forgotten beauty, asleep for far too long, but a beauty nonetheless.” He ran his hand across the high dashboard, further insurance he or Theodosia wouldn’t be hit with a clod of snow thrown up by the horses’ hooves.

  “Shall I ride with you?” the stable boy inquired, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

  Matthew knew the extra weight at the rear rumble seat would lift the runners and allow for a smoother, faster ride, but he envisioned a different outcome. Despite the lad had helped without complaint, Matthew hesitated.

  “Let’s hitch up the team and test her out. Would you like a spin around the stable yard before I bring the sleigh up the hill to the main house?”

  “Yes, milord.” The lad jumped to attention. “Yes, I would.”

  With the horses secured and the stable doors wide, Matthew flicked the reins and sent the forgotten sleigh into the snow-packed yard. She glided smoothly on her runners, as if she’d waited patiently for someone to remember she existed, to find her and give her a purpose, if only for one day.

  After two full turns around the yard, Matthew reined in the horses, deposited the young boy at the mews, and sent the team up the sloping hill to the main house. He maneuvered most any vehicle with ease, his skill with the reins more than proficient despite he couldn’t tolerate a long ride in the saddle. His upper body had become unusually strong to compensate for his impairment. His leg betrayed him in the consistent control and strength needed to ride astride, so he rarely did, though he missed it, the feeling found atop a stallion, in command of the world from above.

  He paused near the rear of the house, where two footmen assisted with final necessities, and then with a snap of leather, he drove the team toward the front entrance.

  * * *

  “What do you think his lordship has planned? Why would he request you dress warmly? Will you be venturing far from the house?” Dora finished buttoning Theodosia’s fur-trimmed velvet riding habit, her questions as fast as her fingers.

  Theodosia was grateful for her maid’s assistance, no matter she chattered with curious excitement. It distracted from the multitude of thoughts bombarding her mind. At least Grandfather had eaten a satisfactory lunch and napped comfortably in his chambers. She breathed a little easier.

  An outing would be just the tonic needed to exorcise the effects of distress on her mind and body. She didn’t mind the cold temperature overmuch and she owed Lord Whittingham the courtesy after her less than becoming behavior this morning.

  And too, the recent snowfall offered a scientific wonderland to observe. The breathtaking symmetry of each lacy snowflake was a marvel she found difficult to comprehend, while icicles, long, lean, and piercing, hung from every branch and eave with delicate grace. Rare nacreous clouds in lovely shades of mother-of-pearl and nickel softened the sky, almost made iridescent by their shimmery existence. The world of science was renewed with every snowfall.

  Now having donned several petticoats, two pairs of stockings, a chemise, underskirt, skirt, and jacket, she was bundled, warm, and curious. What did Matthew intend?

  “I was only told to dress well and I have done so.” Theodosia checked her pocket for leather gloves and gathered her swan-down muff. Her hooded cape was lined with ermine so she eschewed an additional scarf, already overwhelmed by the weight of her garments.

  The sound of horse hooves and halters broke the quiet. Dora darted to the front window unencumbered. Theodosia was slower to follow.

  “He’s dashing, isn’t he?” Her maid whispered, though they stood quite alone.

  “He’s leaving tomorrow,” Theodosia answered, not sure who benefited more from the words.

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t have a wonderful time today.” Dora smiled and gestured toward the door. “Now, don’t keep the earl waiting after he’s gone to such trouble to please you.”

  That much was true. Theodosia knew the condition of the sleigh and the work it must have taken to prepare their outing, never mind the thick fur blankets she noticed on the bench and the brazier full of hot coals on the floor, poised to warm their feet.

  “I suppose there’s no harm in taking a short jaunt.” She started toward the door, working to draw on her gloves as she moved. �
��What could possibly happen on an afternoon sleigh ride?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Theodosia approached the sleigh with caution. She may have rationalized her decision upstairs and confidently deflected her maid’s interrogation, but beneath several layers of flannel and wool, her heart beat a furious rhythm.

  “What’s all this? You’ve taken on quite a challenge for one afternoon’s distraction.”

  Matthew had come around the other side of the sleigh and she noticed he seemed surefooted on the snow-packed drive despite the lack of a walking stick.

  “What good is a sleigh if it never sees snow?” He chuckled, and his deep tenor rippled through her. “Besides, the world is brand-new after a snowfall. I thought we might enjoy the scenery. At least until we decide it’s too cold to bear.”

  She watched him, her mind working now as hard as her pulse. He took her gloved hand in his and helped her into the sleigh. When she was settled on the seat, he climbed in beside her and arranged two fur blankets across their legs. All the while the heated coals in the brazier warmed the soles of her boots.

  “Are you ready?”

  He cast her a sideways glance, leather reins in hand, and she was struck by his handsome profile and the way fractured sunlight glinted in his eyes. He wore no hat and as he turned, the not-so-subtle wind lifted a fallen lock of hair across his brow. He must be quite popular within society’s chosen circle, a man as striking, intelligent, and generous as he.

  So why would he take time to arrange such a complicated diversion this afternoon?

  “Wait.” Her objection came out in a puff of breath as translucent and fleeting as a ghost from the past. She refused to allow him to feel sorry for her. “I’m not lonely.”

  “Nor am I, but I thought, today, we might be not-lonely together.”

  He smiled and something sparked inside her, a tremor of excitement that began at her heart and reverberated to her fingertips and toes. She returned his grin and before she could consider it further, he snapped the ribbons and the sleigh lurched forward. Wind stung her cheeks and snuck beneath her hood to nip at her earlobes, the sense of fast flight refreshing and invigorating. She tried to portray a more composed mien, not that Matthew’s opinion mattered or she considered herself lacking the city polish he was accustomed to, but once the sleigh took the drive and raced over a series of gentle slopes, her stomach dropped with delight and she couldn’t suppress her laughter.