London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  The office door opened, then closed, and Dr. Fletcher took a seat behind his desk, forcing her to focus on the present.

  “Lady Leighton, thank you for visiting me here in London.” Dr. Fletcher shuffled through a few papers atop the blotter before deciding on which one provided him the notes he needed. “It has been a pleasure to meet both you and Lord Talbot.”

  She leaned forward on the chair and attempted to read a few lines of his writing, albeit upside down, but he must have anticipated her interest and slanted the page upward, out of sight.

  “Naturally the time I spent with your grandfather was limited and provided only a partial understanding of the difficulties he has experienced of late. The extensive information you provided combined with the hours I spent in his company yesterday proved useful in observing the interruptions pervading his otherwise typical daily life.”

  He paused, and Theodosia was unsure if she was meant to comment. She matched eyes with the doctor and offered a curt nod. She didn’t trust herself to speak yet.

  “It is my medical opinion that your grandfather suffers from dementia.”

  “Dementia?” Emotion raised her voice higher and she laced her fingers tight in her lap to evoke better control. “I don’t understand. Please explain.”

  “Of course. Dementia is a state of semi-awareness, almost as if being out of one’s logical thought processes while awake. Episodes of this kind range in length and may occur with no predictability. They can be long lasting, or frequent and abrupt, as well as cause drastic shifts in mood. Otherwise good-natured people may become angry or disagreeable, and the reverse is true. At least that has been my finding as I’ve studied the human mind and its decline in the later years.”

  She forced a cleansing breath and tried to quiet her nerves. “Is there medicine to help improve his dementia or stop the episodes?”

  “Unfortunately, there’s nothing that will reverse the impact of the condition, but I can offer recommendations to help ease your grandfather’s mind, and perhaps provide him a smoother transition into his final years.”

  “Will this cause his death?” She hardly whispered the question, but Dr. Fletcher answered promptly.

  “Not as far as I’ve researched, although you should be prepared, Lady Leighton.”

  “Prepared?” She was having trouble breathing, every inhale a labor. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry, but my research has shown that the situation will not improve.” Dr. Fletcher’s expression became graver still. “It’s always possible the dementia will not advance, but I’m aware of only a few such instances. More likely, the condition will worsen with time.”

  “Worse than now?” She clenched her eyes closed and opened them again. She could do this. She could care for her grandfather. She was strong and resilient. Life had forced her to be.

  “Yes.” He replaced the page on his desktop. “Lord Talbot may forget uses for everyday items and places he has visited many times before. He may repeat stories or forget familiar memories as the dementia progresses and his awareness declines. There may come a time when his behaviors become difficult to manage. He may act withdrawn or argumentative.” The doctor paused and his voice gentled. “I’m afraid in the most serious incidents, people suffering from dementia lose a great deal of independence and need assistance to function through their basic daily routine. At its worst, Lady Leighton, your grandfather may not recognize his own family or the people who care for him every day. There may come a day when he forgets who you are.”

  She gasped. Spoken aloud, her greatest fear was a knife to the heart. She’d lost her parents so soon. Sharing her grandfather’s company since the age of five didn’t make the reality any easier to accept. She sagged against the chair and looked down at her hands, clutching her skirt so tightly her knuckles were white.

  Then after what seemed a moment of unending length, she drew a shuddered breath, then another, and straightened her shoulders much the same way she’d managed all those years ago in finishing school. She would take care of the man who’d cared for her almost all her life.

  “He’s such an intelligent man. He’s always possessed the sharpest mind. I don’t understand how this can happen.” Her voice sounded little more than a whisper.

  “The human brain is a complex organ. I wish I had a more concrete explanation for why this occurs in some individuals and not others. I acknowledge your grandfather is an insightful, highly educated man, but in the case of dementia, education doesn’t come to bear.”

  She looked toward the physician, beseeching him to offer her more. “What can I do? Please tell me how I can help him.” Desperation laced her questions.

  Dr. Fletcher cleared his throat and reached for a different piece of paper. “I have recommendations and will write a detailed report to forward to you. During the interim, try to carry on as normally as possible, with no sudden changes to disrupt your grandfather’s current lifestyle or cause distress. Keep things familiar. I’ve found increasing evidence that participation in cognitively stimulating leisure activities that neither tax the brain nor agitate it may reduce the risk of the impairment becoming worse over time. He’s an avid reader and should continue to do so. Conversation without censure is also a good idea. Don’t contradict or correct him if his mistakes are unimportant. Allow him as much freedom as possible as long as he is safe.”

  “I understand.” The doctor stopped speaking and she rose slowly from the chair, her mind numbed and her heart torn in two. “Thank you, Dr. Fletcher.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry the news wasn’t more encouraging.”

  Forcing back her tears, she exited the office and returned to the waiting room, where Kirkman matched her attention as soon as he saw her. Grandfather stood by the window facing the street, apparently occupied by the traffic and flow of pedestrians outside.

  “We should go.” She eyed Kirkman and he stepped forward immediately, concern etched into his expression as soon as his eyes met hers.

  “We’ll go straight to the hotel. The carriage is right outside.” He offered his elbow and she accepted, relieved to have someone to lean on, if only temporarily.

  “Grandfather?”

  He turned and smiled.

  “It’s time to leave.” She extended her hand.

  “This was a pleasant visit, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed past a lump of emotion. “It’s time to collect our things and return home.”

  “A brilliant idea, Theodosia.” Her grandfather joined them as they approached the door. “An absolutely brilliant idea. What a fine time we’ve had here in London.”

  The skies had cleared and when they exited Dr. Fletcher’s office and stepped out onto the pavement, the sunlight nearly blinded her to the bustling crowd. Lost in distraction she allowed Kirkman to lead her to his carriage and the three of them climbed inside, though her brain seemed to have ceased functioning with purposeful thought, so strong was the unbroken litany. Soon grandfather will forget you. He will be gone and you will be alone.

  “Are you all right, Theodosia?” The soft-spoken question broke through her quietude and she looked at Kirkman with an expression of devastating loss.

  “It’s worse than I’d feared.” She wouldn’t elaborate despite Grandfather had closed his eyes, intent on a nap.

  “I’m sorry.” Kirkman shook his head slowly. “I’d hoped the physician delivered better news.”

  She didn’t say anything to that.

  “You don’t have to be alone through this,” Kirkman suggested. “I know I’ve presented my suit and circumstances, and you’ve politely refused me. Twice.”

  “Henry.” She was too tired, too sad and devoid of feeling to have this conversation.

  “Hear me out.” Kirkman glanced at her grandfather attempting to sleep on the bench, and back again, assured he wouldn’t be overheard as he whispered, “If things are to grow more difficult, then having a husband and someone to rely on will benefit you. I need—
”

  “I know what you need.” Her words came out razor sharp, but she couldn’t stop, desperate to release some of the tension twisting her inside out. “You need a wife. Any wife. You’ve made that clear several times. And I’m sorry, Henry, truly I am. I don’t know why you need to marry or why you need to hurry, but now isn’t the time. We don’t love each other. Not in the way of a husband and wife. All my life the people I’ve cared for have left me, through circumstances beyond my control. When I marry, when I finally find love, I want it to be everlasting. I’ll do everything in my power to make that true, and forever cherish that gift.”

  She closed her eyes tight and forced away the ready image of Matthew. But it was too late. Envisioning him and remembering his kisses incited her anger toward Kirkman twofold. She didn’t want Kirkman and she couldn’t have Matthew. She wouldn’t remove him from a city he loved, where everything he’d worked for was centered and thriving, and displace him to the countryside in near isolation to care for her sickly grandfather. She loved him too much to do that. Matthew would grow to despise her, and any love he declared would soon turn to resentment. “How dare you take advantage of my vulnerable mental state.” The irony in the words wasn’t lost on her and she blinked hard to stop the threat of tears.

  “Forgive me, Theodosia.” Henry pushed back on the bench to withdraw further. “I meant no harm. It was a suggestion to ease your worry. We could help each other. We need each other.”

  “No.” She released a long-held breath. “In time we would recognize it for a rash mistake at a time of distress. We would begrudge each other for stealing away the chance at a different future, a better life. One composed of happiness instead of panic and fear.” She said the words to Kirkman, but she knew they mirrored every reason she couldn’t give her heart to Matthew.

  Kirkman fell silent, and remained turned toward the window all the way back to the hotel. At last the carriage stopped. With only a brief word of parting, Theodosia led her grandfather upstairs where Collins waited. Once alone in her rooms, she washed her face in the basin and told herself not to cry, but the tears came anyway and she was powerless to make them stop.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I’m going out. I’ll need my coat.” Matthew stopped wearing a path into the rug in his bedchamber and waited for Coggs to act.

  “To your club, milord?” The valet moved toward the wardrobe. “It’s rather late, almost midnight in fact.”

  “I didn’t ask for your counsel. I asked for my coat.” He had successfully resisted the urge to interfere in Theodosia’s meeting with Dr. Fletcher, though he assumed the physician delivered a grim prognosis.

  Had she prepared herself for such devastating news? Was she distraught? She showed the world a brave front, but he knew better. To that end, was Kirkman soothing away her despair at this very minute while Matthew battled with indecision? He wouldn’t put it past the man to take advantage of Theodosia’s vulnerability.

  “And have Apollo saddled and brought around.”

  “Apollo?” Coggs censured his tone belatedly. “It’s dark, and that beast of a horse is a rogue. I can have the carriage—”

  “The carriage will slow me down and I’m in a hurry.” He snatched his coat from his valet and started toward the door. “Why aren’t you moving yet?”

  “Yes, milord.” This time Coggs’s tone implied every unspoken word.

  He would pay for his foolishness tomorrow when his leg enacted revenge. Traveling by horseback was barely manageable, but he’d wasted too much time vacillating to travel by carriage. He hadn’t wanted to complicate things by showing up where he didn’t belong. And yet, something inside wouldn’t allow him to ignore the situation either. The bond and physical chemistry he shared with Theodosia were undeniably strong. That said, it would be a miracle if he achieved his goal and found her awake and willing to hear him out.

  His valet might have considered him a nodcock, but true to his request, Apollo stood at the ready outside the town house on Cleveland Row. The horse was impressive, the strongest in the mews, and Matthew meant to capitalize on the animal’s speed to deliver him to Mivart’s Hotel as swiftly as possible.

  Now that he’d climbed atop the Arabian he wondered why he’d hesitated, and with a knowing kick to the horse’s flank they sped into the night. One luxury of such foolhardy travel was that the roadways were desolate aside from a few random coaches near Pall Mall. He made excellent time and dismounted with care, and a good thing he did. His leg already begged for relief. He ignored the pain and handed off the reins to a waiting stable hand behind the hotel. Then he moved inside with composed stealth, no matter his heart thundered in his chest. A few coins confirmed Theodosia remained a guest at the hotel, and he advanced to the stairwell, lost in concentration of what he would say when they spoke.

  Upstairs the hallways were kept dark, but he strode directly to her guest room door without trouble. He refused to believe she would be asleep. If he perceived her reaction correctly, Dr. Fletcher’s news would preclude the luxury of even fitful rest. He tapped lightly and waited, his effort rewarded immediately.

  The door cracked open and just like the previous evening, Theodosia appeared on the other side, although tonight her lovely face portrayed sadness and defeat.

  “Collins?” She widened the door a few inches more. “Is something wrong with Grandfather?”

  “Bookish.” He knew the one word would identify him if she didn’t recognize his voice.

  “Matthew.”

  Did he imagine he heard relief and pleasure when she’d whispered his name? He stepped closer, so much so only a few inches remained between them.

  “Are you all right, Theodosia?” He gentled his tone, though he waited anxiously for her reply.

  “The doctor’s report . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence and she didn’t have to.

  “Will you step into the hall?”

  As expected, she was in her nightclothes and wrapper, nothing more than a scrap of white silk between him and her warm, soft skin. The wrapper clung to her body, leaving little to his overactive imagination. He forced the images away for later deliberation.

  All he wanted was to offer her a shoulder of support and the knowledge that she didn’t need to be strong at this moment. She wasn’t alone.

  She stepped across the threshold and left the door open a crack, just enough for lantern light to leak through. He noticed her hands were trembling, and when she followed his line of sight, she clasped her hands together in an effort to disguise her distress.

  * * *

  “You’re here.”

  “I am.”

  Theodosia couldn’t believe the one man she wished most to see had knocked on the door as if she’d conjured him from pure desperation and longing. How had he known she needed him?

  Mayhap he didn’t.

  At least not for her reasons. She would ask.

  “For a clandestine meeting in the hotel hallway?”

  He flashed a quick grin. “To offer understanding and a shoulder to lean on.”

  He’d known.

  “Although . . .” he continued, “I’m not opposed to the other.”

  Without hesitation, she fell into his arms and nestled against his coat, the wool heated despite the cold night air, the brush of his cravat a comfort against her cheek. A strong shoulder indeed.

  She sniffled, but tears didn’t come. For some reason, his being there and the knowledge he sought to ease her worry lessened her heartache. “Thank you.”

  He enveloped her in his arms tighter. “Your gratitude isn’t necessary.” He released a breath that teased the hairs on her forehead. “That’s what”—he hesitated before he continued—“friends do for one another.”

  “Friends.” She repeated the word and slid her hands inside his coat for added warmth. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  They stayed that way for a long minute.

  “Because we are friends, aren’t we?” His voice was soft, though it r
umbled through her as she pressed to his chest.

  “Of course.” She tilted her face upward as he lowered his chin, his mouth in direct line with hers. “Good friends.”

  “Yes, good friends.” He murmured the words within his kiss.

  She refused to think it wrong to seek comfort in his arms. Every minute of every day and night the reality of her grandfather’s condition weighed heavily on her mind. A moment of respite and unexpected pleasure shouldn’t cause her the slightest guilt. She needed to escape.

  And his kiss became just that. An escape. An indulgence in thoughtless sensation. Pure pleasure and feeling. She allowed herself to soak up every nuance and secret them away in her heart. She pressed against his warmth, wrapping her arms tight while her hands smoothed over the muscles in his back. He groaned deep in his throat as she continued her exploration. Meanwhile, the kiss deepened, each stroke of his tongue evoking another rush of wanton desire, pulling her into his heat, wanting to be closer with no barriers in between.

  “Very good friends.”

  He whispered across her cheek as he broke away from their kiss. She wondered if he, like she, wanted so much more but knew it was impossible.

  “I wish I could change the circumstances concerning your grandfather’s condition.” His voice was low and husky in the darkness. She savored it, another balm to her unrest.

  “I know.” And she did. Unlike Kirkman, who sought to alleviate his own distress to her disadvantage, Matthew offered unselfish empathy.

  She withdrew far enough to view him, but in the darkness caught the scent of his shaving soap more than the look in his eyes.

  “I can’t believe you’ve inconvenienced yourself in the middle of the night just to check on my well-being.”

  He didn’t move, the corridor blacker than pitch. The beat of his heart against hers, strong and determined. “It’s my pleasure.” He shifted and separated them further, though she’d already detected the extent of his ardor. “So here we are in the hallway again, Bookish, you in your wrapper and me in my coat.” There was an odd note in his voice as he spoke. “It’s becoming a habit.”