“You’ve narrowed your social calls to one lady. I only assumed.”
“Assumption. A flaw of the idle-minded and addlepated.” He speared his valet with a meaningful stare as he enunciated each word.
“It seemed the natural course of things and expected conclusion to your pursuit of the lady,” Coggs persisted. “Besides, you’ll be lonely in your later years.”
“Never mind my old-aged self.” A scoff escaped before Whittingham could stop it. “You need to keep your nose on your face and out of other people’s business, most of all mine.”
“It’s not uncommon to be intrigued by the unusual,” his valet continued. “I thought it curious how Lady Leighton captured your attention at great length.”
Of course, Coggs would overstep. Hadn’t he given his valet every reason to believe he could? Over the years their relationship was more friendship than one of employment. His valet had witnessed struggles of every kind, and their relationship long ago lost its formality. Matthew’s damned impairment and unpredictable pain crippled in more than one manner, causing him to depend on others, sometimes for the simplest, most humbling tasks. At its worst, the pain was like a hook under his flesh, debilitating and relentless. He’d learned how to prevent such attacks through compromise in activity, but he’d also experienced episodes that left him temporarily immobile, and Coggs had seen him at such times.
He bit back a curse, angry at his own failings. It wasn’t his valet’s fault. By nature of their relationship, Matthew’s injury provided a sense of security in the servant’s position that enabled unsolicited advice and unequivocal opinion.
Still, he wouldn’t lose his balance or his temper in this conversation.
“Lady Leighton is none of your concern, nor mine, for that matter. We’ve barely left the estate drive and I’ve no desire to spend the long journey poking holes in your poorly assembled theories.” He leveled a glare at Coggs that conveyed the valet should seal his mouth permanently.
“I only meant to express that women have certain expectations. You can’t—”
The carriage came to an abrupt halt and both men swayed with the unanticipated movement. Matthew rapped on the roof and with immediacy George climbed down from the box to stand at the door not a beat later.
“It won’t be but a few moments’ delay, milord. A tree has fallen and blocked part of the roadway, leaving a narrow portion just wide enough for one-way passage. There’s an approaching gentleman on horseback and I’ll allow him to move by, before I maneuver the carriage further.”
“Excellent decision, George. Thank you.”
True to his driver’s report, the thunder of horse hooves could be heard in the distance, although they slowed to nothing more than a trot the closer they came. Curious about the situation, Matthew nabbed his walking stick and exited the carriage. It would be good to stretch his legs and even better to escape Coggs and his convoluted thinking.
Not twenty strides from where he stood, the trunk of a decayed hornbeam tree lay over the left portion of the roadway, and beyond that a single rider came into view. The gentleman slowed his horse considerably, though he didn’t wait for the animal to stop, and slid from the saddle in a graceful leap that landed him solidly on his feet. Matthew bit back a curse at the stranger’s agility, blaming his foul mood on his valet.
George appeared behind him while conversation ensued.
“Whittingham.” Matthew extended his hand to the stranger in greeting and they shook heartily. It wasn’t customary to initiate an introduction in the middle of a thoroughfare, but if the roadway needed to be cleared, it would take more than one man to remove the fallen tree.
“Good of you to stop.” The gentleman seemed younger by comparison, although it was hard to tell beneath his winter attire. Unlike Matthew, he wore a beaver cap and cashmere scarf. The flaps of his black greatcoat caught the wind. “Kirkman here.” He gave a sharp whistle and his stallion, a beast of an animal, snorted in answer before it settled. “Are you departing Leighton House?” Kirkman offered a friendly grin. “I’m on my way there now.”
Matthew could only assume the devil was having a holiday. What other reason could there be for this coincidence? “Yes, we left this morning, though we haven’t progressed very far.”
“The weather has been unforgiving.” Kirkman walked toward the fallen tree and Matthew was forced to follow. George scurried ahead to assume the responsibility of the work, although Matthew labeled this courtesy as deficiency instead of entitlement. He wanted to look toward the horizon, admire the snow-covered trees and icy glaze formed by the temporal serenity of daybreak, but he forced himself to watch, no matter he curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist at his inability to do more.
Kirkman lifted the tree trunk with George’s assistance and the two men deposited it out of the road. This should have put all things to right, considering it would return him to London that much sooner, but it conjured several other emotions instead. A man shouldn’t have to worry about uneven ground or losing his balance by simply lifting a log. Let Kirkman assume the driver completed the task out of respect, but how Matthew would have liked to take it on instead.
Kirkman gave a nod before he swung effortlessly into the saddle, and with a flick of the reins galloped past. The draft created by his passage sunk deep into Matthew’s bones. He spit curses all the way back to the carriage, where Coggs hung out of the square window, his nose on the scent of details like a Newgate mastiff. Matthew squelched the desire to place his palm to his valet’s face and push him back into the interior.
“What was that about? Who’s the dasher?”
The questions began before Matthew had climbed into the interior.
“Kirkman.”
“Kirkman?” A fair degree of surprise reverberated in Coggs’s response.
“Now let that be the end of it.”
* * *
Theodosia wouldn’t allow herself to watch Matthew leave. She purposely avoided the front windows despite she awoke before sunrise. She took a tray in her room to ensure she didn’t cross paths with him in the front hall or breakfast room. She remained in bed and stared up at the canopy, a lovely lace design filled with ladybirds and florals, all in hope she could distract from the inevitable.
She knew she wasn’t a stunning beauty, nor was she unbecoming. She was ordinary, and that suited her. What did it matter anyway? She’d rather stay abed with her cat and not face the quietude of her existence. How foolish to feel lonely. She long ago accepted her lot in life and rarely bemoaned her existence.
When at last she dressed, she looked about for Nicolaus and his understanding companionship, but she didn’t find him and so resumed her normal routine. Yet this particular morning her emotions were scattered and she struggled to rearrange them in their usual confined order.
Before the Earl of Whittingham invaded my privacy.
Before he kissed me senseless.
Before he made himself known and I confessed every secret of my heart.
She was embarrassed to think a few days’ time could create such an impact or conjure so many emotions, but she was too intelligent to ignore what stared her straight in the face. She’d enjoyed his company and now he was gone, leaving an unsettling solitude that no longer felt comfortable.
In a habit that consumed a large part of her world, people left too often, their stories hardly told.
Determined to visit the conservatory and get lost in her plants and animals, she walked with hurried strides, unlocked the door, and shut herself into her personal sanctuary. She fed Isaac, silently stroked William down his long scaly back, and pruned an ornamental fritillary plant that didn’t need to be pruned. In spite of her efforts, the tears came anyway.
Resigned to sadness, she walked to the farthest corner of the conservatory and looked out at the rear acreage. She could see the burnt remains of her childhood home and clenched her eyes painfully tight in hope she could hear her mother’s voice or father’s laughter, but nothi
ng came.
Instead, the first sob caught her by surprise, but there were several after. Lost in utter despair, she consented to allow this one instance of weakness and get it out of her system before she returned to check on Grandfather. Through Dora she’d learned he slept soundly, and it was early yet. She needn’t rush her mourning. Wallowing seemed appropriate.
Eventually her tears slowed and her pulse evened. She pressed her forehead against the window. Broken exhales of heated breath fogged the glass where she stood, stealing the outside world from her blurred vision.
She didn’t realize what she saw at first. It took a moment of composure and clearheaded thinking, but when she recognized exactly what lay bare before her, her breath caught. On the glass where condensation gathered, Matthew’s fingerprints were revealed. She recalled how he’d examined the structure, impressed with the floor-to-ceiling panes and the ability to keep plants viable throughout the winter. Through that inspection he’d braced himself, his nose almost pressed to the glass so he could peer out to the acreage, much as she did now.
She stared at his fingerprints a good long minute. Then she wiped them away, not wishing to prolong her misery further. There was no logic in misplaced emotion. She couldn’t afford to allow her heart to be swayed.
She dried her eyes, locked the door, and made her way back to the main house. Moving quietly through the gallery, she’d almost accomplished the hall when she startled, shocked to find Grandfather there. His hair was disheveled and he still wore his nightshirt, though he’d layered a loose, belted banyan atop it. He was barefooted and perfectly still, as if he didn’t recognize his surroundings and stood, helplessly, in wait of rescue.
Her heart twisted with the truth of the scene and she rushed toward him, anxious to return him upstairs to dress properly. “Grandfather, are you well?”
It was a pitiful question to ask when one already knew the answer.
“There you are, dear.” He sighed loudly. “I thought you left with your gentleman. I saw his carriage take to the drive this morning.”
She swallowed a lump of emotion. “I wouldn’t leave without telling you. I would never leave.” She placed her hand within his, warm and secure, as he had done for so many years of her life. How frail he seemed in this moment. “He’s not my gentleman. Lord Whittingham came from London for a visit. Nothing more. He has read of your brilliant research.”
“My research?” The very idea seemed to surprise him.
“You’re a learned man. Science owes a great debt to your dedication.”
“Is that true?”
Conversation coaxed him forward, their words in sync with their steps.
“Of course, it’s true.” She leaned closer to his arm and smiled. “All of London knows the fine work you’ve done and how accomplished you are.”
“Yes, yes. I understand.” Though his brow wrinkled with the struggle to do just that. “When will we begin?”
“Begin?” She continued toward the entry hall, anxious to return her grandfather abovestairs before a footman or other servant intersected their path. The household staff were aware of the situation, but it was quite another thing to be faced with the unbearable explanation on a daily basis.
“Our trip to London.” Grandfather shook his head vigorously. “Your gentleman invited me.”
“Yes.” She forced the word off her tongue as her mind spun for a suitable reply. “We can’t travel in this weather. We’ll discuss a trip to London come springtime.”
They arrived at the front stairs and Alberts stepped forward. An expression of understanding creased his forehead, but he didn’t say a word. The knocker dropped and echoed in the silence.
“Go ahead, Alberts.” Theodosia nodded. “Answer the door and I’ll see to Grandfather.” She began the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief when her grandfather followed without complaint. Yet they’d only made it halfway when her notice was pulled below.
“Lady Theodosia.” Lord Kirkman stood in the foyer where Alberts accepted his coat and hat. Once he’d separated from the garments, Kirkman moved to the first step, his arm extended in a gesture of assistance.
“It’s fine.” She forced a smile to her lips in a strained effort. “Will you wait for me in the yellow drawing room? I won’t be long.” She turned away at the top landing so he wouldn’t see her bite her lip. “Come along, Grandfather. I’m sure you’d like to change your clothes before we meet with Lord Kirkman.”
“Yes, yes, I need to dress.” Holding tightly to her hand, he allowed her to usher him down the corridor to his bedchambers. Mrs. Mavis was there, as were two footmen.
“Please summon Collins to assist.”
Collins was the under-butler, and for reasons no one could decipher, Grandfather accepted his companionship without question while others, including Theodosia, failed to persuade or cajole him into cooperation.
Chapter Fifteen
Ten minutes later Theodosia returned downstairs. She’d had a fitful night’s sleep and myriad misplaced emotions, and all at once was exhausted, no matter it was only mid-morning. Still, Henry Hanes, Lord Kirkman, a baron by land tenure and a congenial neighbor, didn’t deserve her anger. He was a childhood friend and comrade for nearly her entire life. More importantly, he knew of her struggles now that Grandfather’s health failed. She took a deep breath and entered the drawing room with a forced smile.
“You look upset. Have you been crying?” Kirkman approached from where he’d waited near the window.
She sighed. A pitfall of knowing someone for years is found in not being able to mask expressions as easily. “It’s been a trying few days.”
“I wish I’d known, although I came as soon as the roads were passable.” His voice dropped with concern. When he reached for her hand, she turned away.
“Of course. Thank you.” She settled in a chair near the Hepplewhite occasional table, knowing he would be forced to sit on the other side, where the only chair in close proximity was located. “You shouldn’t feel responsibility. We get on all right here.”
“And thus, the tears.” He murmured this, though she knew he considered her in his care, and much the same for her grandfather. “I don’t know why you won’t marry me, Theodosia.” He blew out a breath of frustration that she experienced twice as deeply.
“Because we don’t love each other.” She might have laughed. She was exhausted and overwrought. The last thing she needed was to debate another of his marriage proposals. It seemed all the expected conversation abandoned them, his frustration palpable.
Kirkman stood and paced a few strides before he turned back. “Marriage becomes friendship eventually, and we’ve already two decades of that. I know you better than anyone else. You deserve more than this life, locked away in your home with little more than an interest in the sciences to keep you company. I can offer you more.”
“But we both deserve more than a loveless marriage, Henry.” She gentled the words, though she believed in them strongly. Let that be the end of the conversation.
“Do you find me so unappealing then?”
This time she laughed, though the sound was composed of wry cynicism. “Now, you’re being ridiculous.” Kirkman was a tall, strong, engaging man who would have no trouble finding a wife if he pursued the subject in earnest. Whatever kept him from doing just that she didn’t know, despite she’d questioned him in past conversation.
“Your grandfather isn’t going to live forever.”
His soft-spoken words intruded on her mental contemplations and she sobered, the truth in that statement all too real.
“What will you do?” he asked. “Live in this enormous house alone, with a few stray animals and an aging staff?”
“You needn’t be cruel.” How was it her existence was questioned twice in less than twenty-four hours?
“And you needn’t be stubborn.” He paced before the hearth.
Their conversation was reduced to the syncopated tick of the mantel clock.
“See, w
e squabble just like husband and wife.” He darted a glance in her direction.
“More like brother and sister.” She dismissed her own words with a shake of the head. “You deserve so much more than compromise, and marrying me for whatever reason you’ve decided would be just that. You have a long, wonderful life ahead of you. Wouldn’t you rather spend your days with a woman who’s captured your heart?”
“I’ve never known you to be a romantic.”
“I suspect there’s much more you don’t know about me, but that’s not the point. One doesn’t have to be considered sentimental to yearn for equal love and respect.” Would she never get him to understand?
“I didn’t come here to argue.” He sat down again. “I’m trying to help you see the reality of the situation.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have left so little time to find a wife. That was poorly done of you.” Without intent, her words acquired a sharp tone.
“I assumed I would eventually change your mind.” His brows rose as he spoke, apparently surprised at the realization that he’d failed to achieve that goal.
“That was equally foolish.”
“I didn’t anticipate your grandfather’s decline. Or the snow, for that matter.” He looked toward the window as he listed his excuses.
“So, my heart was to be won in a few months. I’ve known you almost my entire life. You’re like a brother to me. I do care about you, just not in the way that I should were we to be wed.”
The room fell to silence again.
“You persist, when it all becomes friendship in the end anyway.” He leaned forward, his eyes imploring her.
“As you’re fond of reminding me.”
“Because it’s true. Besides, I worry you will seclude yourself in Oxfordshire forever and ultimately be completely alone after your grandfather . . .” His voice trailed off.
She knew the unspoken words. “Don’t act as if you’re proposing for my sake, and don’t you dare pity me.” She struggled to keep her temper even, exhaustion and frustration causing her to have short patience.
“I worry for you. There’s a difference.” He exhaled thoroughly, his focus still intense.
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