London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  “I can’t ask you inside. My maid is asleep.”

  “I know.” His voice smiled with his reply and she imagined he thought better than to chuckle at her reasoning.

  With that she realized how her words might have sounded. “I mean . . .” She floundered to recover but he didn’t allow her the chance.

  “And I can’t whisk you away to my home. Alas, tonight I chose to ride out. Had I the carriage—”

  “You rode? Does your leg pain you?” She wriggled in an attempt to size him up, but he wouldn’t allow her to escape his hold far enough.

  “I’m fit and fine.” His voice held a stern note. “Most anything that matters is within my capabilities.”

  “I’m sure,” she said at last. “I could never go with you anyway.”

  “I understand.”

  And she knew that he did. She rested her cheek against his chest, absorbing the warmth and strength he offered generously. “We leave this morning at first light.”

  “With Kirkman?”

  “I suppose. At least, that’s what we’ve planned.”

  They stood that way another moment, neither of them anxious to elaborate.

  “I’m glad you’re here.” She angled her head upward and her lips brushed his chin. Sensation rippled through her. Desire, the intense longing to be close to him, began an incessant demand.

  He lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss of infinitesimal tenderness. Her body craved a hard, claiming gesture. Something to singe her soul and relieve her unfulfilled yearning. Instead his kiss did all that and more by way of a gentle caress, his lips upon hers, the knowing sweep of his tongue and delicious taste of his mouth.

  * * *

  In the morning, Theodosia greeted Henry with mixed emotions. She’d known Lord Kirkman for most of her childhood years. Only when he’d left for formal schooling and his Grand Tour did they spend long spans of time apart, and even then they’d exchanged an occasional letter. Yet despite their lengthy friendship, when she examined his familial history now, she found herself at a loss to recall anything to explain his imperative to marry as soon as possible. She’d always accepted his friendship at face value, never wishing to pry or invade his personal affairs. That said, she had scarce information to offer as evidence. The need to marry could only be a contingency to his future solvency, or why else would a gentleman willingly upset the natural course of things and sacrifice all choice and preference with insistent determination?

  The return trip to Oxfordshire was quiet, and while Grandfather indulged in sporadic napping and cheerful conversation, Henry refrained altogether. His sullen expression displayed clear warning of his desire to be left alone.

  With an equal desire to be ensconced in solitude, she spent the hours reliving Lord Whittingham’s thoughtful consideration and midnight appearance at her guest-room door. The man was inordinately considerate. And thoughtful. And handsome. He possessed the gift of knowing exactly what she needed most when even she wasn’t certain herself.

  His kisses were another matter altogether. Passionate and reckless, they touched her soul and lived in her still, daring her to believe in the most potent magic or at least an enchanted version of physical chemistry only found in romantic literature.

  The reality that her life didn’t align with his, compounded how much she’d miss him, but her grandfather needed her most now. She wouldn’t succumb to a foolish flight of fancy simply because Matthew’s kisses melted her bones. Dr. Fletcher had advised she keep things as familiar and routine as possible. Uprooting her grandfather and transplanting him in London in a new home with different servants, away from the house he’d designed, was the most selfish act imaginable.

  Additionally, his distinguished reputation would be at stake. The ton liked nothing more than the latest on dit, anxious to exploit news or invent information, whether it hurt those mentioned or thrust them into a poor light. She’d already learned that lesson. She couldn’t foist that situation on her grandfather. One incident of public embarrassment, one sighting of his struggle, would overtake his prestigious accomplishments and label him foolish, or worse, mad.

  Her battle of forced decision and unsettled discontent wandered down many paths in the endless hours of travel back to Oxfordshire. Christmas would be somber with the knowledge Grandfather’s condition could progress until the impending outcome, when he might forget her identity altogether. That singular fact cleaved her heart most of all and weighed heavily on her mind. It stole the joy that usually accompanied the approaching festive season. She would plan for the sparsest acknowledgment of the holiday. There really wasn’t anything to celebrate this year anyway.

  She glanced at Kirkman, silent in the seat across from her. Feeling rejected, Kirkman would likely avoid Leighton House too. She struggled to form a convincing list of reasons to support the hypothesis that this development was for the best. She’d always found amusement in his company, at least until his recent string of proposals. Mayhap he would be forced to attend to his responsibilities, now that she’d refused him repeatedly.

  * * *

  Despite these grave misgivings, time passed quicker than anticipated, and a week after their return from London a delivery arrived with no explanation or card. The following days brought box after box, one and then another, all delivered by private carrier. Alberts had the cartons set in the front drawing room, and it wasn’t until a fortnight into December and things had settled back into normalcy that Theodosia lent them her attention. Once examined, the packages revealed labels marked fragile and perishable. Another one was addressed specifically to her. She placed that particular carton to the side and set about the task of opening the others. They contained no cards, but it was simple to deduce who’d sent the thoughtful gifts.

  There were finely crafted beeswax tapers of every variety, and stout lantern pillars with long-burning wicks in festive colors of green and white. One box contained nothing but decorative pine cones infused with the rich scent of cinnamon and cloves. The fragrance embraced the air with cheerful spirit as soon as she lifted the lid. A weighty carton contained a lovely set of silver candlesticks, their bases detailed with intricately etched snowflakes, along with several doilies of the finest blond lace, so light and gauzy they whispered against her skin as delicate as cobwebbing. She immediately recalled the sleigh ride she’d shared with Matthew and the wondrous beauty of the landscape after the snow. Her cheeks had stung from the bracing cold but his kiss heated her from the inside out.

  There were foodstuffs too, sweetmeats and candied orange peels, hardbake, peppermint comfits, and caramel drops. Her teeth ached at their mouthwatering appeal, though a smile curled her lips in amusement. They’d indulged in too many treats at Astley’s Amphitheatre. The memory of that day evoked a smile whenever she considered the tumblers and contortionists, the decorated ponies and jolly dogs in costume.

  And still there was more. With careful diligence, she unpacked lavish ribbon-tied boxes of apricot tarts and sugary cakes in flavors of lemon, poppyseed, and currant. Gingerbread biscuits and a canvas pouch of fresh chestnuts were also included. Scented tinder was packaged with long, elegant matches in a sleek tin case, as well as wide festive ribbons in gold and red hues strewn through crystal ornaments blown from glass so fine and delicate they appeared as if no more than a child’s daydream.

  Overwhelmed by the gesture and immersed in the spirit, she looked about the room with tears in her eyes. She hadn’t planned on decorating to a great extent but now realized she couldn’t forsake Christmas. This holiday might be the last she and Grandfather shared. Once again, Matthew had proven how well he knew the secrets of her heart. Like elusive ghosts of the future, his intuition provided her memories before she anticipated how well she would regret not having them.

  She touched a hand to her cheek, the thought bittersweet. Only two boxes remained. Incredibly touched by the sentiment found within each package, she approached the larger box, a heavy crate, and carefully lifted the lid to reveal four larg
e jars of marmalade, each a different flavor. Tears stung her eyes and overflowed this time. She bit into her lower lip, her heart thudding a melancholy beat. She might have stayed that way too long if she hadn’t heard the door open behind her.

  “Theodosia? What’s all this?”

  Her grandfather approached in his nightclothes and robe, a curious expression on his face. She smiled. She would always remember this evening.

  “A rather large shipment of Christmas, I believe. The holidays have arrived whether we like it or not.” She wiped at her wet cheeks and turned with a broad smile.

  He came to stand beside her and peered into the box she’d opened only moments before.

  “Marmalade,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Indeed, how your grandmother loved marmalade. She would spread it atop her bread every morning. I do miss her dearly.”

  Nothing was said after that. The fire crackled and Theodosia watched her grandfather, his eyes focused on the jars in the carton, his expression reminiscent and loving. Could it be his mention of marmalade, the demand for it, was really an outcry for the wife he loved so many years ago? Theodosia wondered if she’d had it all wrong.

  Perhaps in his episodes of confusion, Grandfather wasn’t behaving foolishly or being stubborn, but instead yearned for something else entirely. Someone else. For lost love. For times past. For her grandmother. His wife. Theodosia could never know.

  “I think I’ll retire now, Theodosia. Good night.”

  Did she imagine the note of longing in his voice?

  She watched him go and then turned her attention to the mess she’d made in the drawing room. She’d send in a few footmen to see to the food items, but the decorations could wait until tomorrow. Matthew had thought of everything save the evergreen garland and sprigs of holly. In the morning, she’d trim the Scotch firs and decorate with their boughs to bring a little of the outdoors in.

  She scanned the room again and her eyes came to rest on the box she’d placed aside. This one she would save for Christmas Day. For what it was worth, she’d like to have privacy when she unwrapped his last gift. A special moment, no matter what lay within.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Having already traversed this distance, I’d hoped the ride would pass faster.”

  Coggs voiced his complaint and Matthew paid no heed. “At least you’re inside the carriage this time.” He couldn’t help but taunt his valet for his insufferable mood. “Unless you’d rather ride with George. I’m sure he’d enjoy the company on the driver’s seat.”

  This comment was met with a stony stare.

  They’d set out at noon, and now as the hour grew later and the sun began to set, a chilling cold permeated the interior, no matter how finely made the carriage. They had several blankets for warmth, but the bricks near their feet long ago lost their warmth. Matthew stretched his leg as much as possible, the cramped confines and extensive travel not conditions conducive to comfort. But he had no complaints. In two days it would be Christmas Eve, and he’d managed to plan, prepare, and execute everything needed in just enough time.

  “You know I predicted this outcome, don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about, Coggs?”

  His valet leaned against the upholstered bench with a smug look. “Soon after the first time we journeyed out here, I mentioned you were taken with the lady.”

  “Lady Theodosia?” He bit back a smile. In less than an hour he would see her again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.” Coggs let out a bark of laughter. “Besides, it doesn’t suit you. At last I’ve discovered something of your person that isn’t achieved to perfection.”

  “I merely wish to bring some holiday spirit to Lord Talbot and his granddaughter. There’s nothing wrong with showing kinship and generosity, most especially during the Christmas season.”

  “I agree, although I see the way your eyes light whenever you speak of her.” Coggs chuckled again. “You may as well let me in on the truth.”

  “I just have.” Matthew pushed the curtain aside and looked out the carriage window. They were nearly there. Would Kirkman be underfoot? Matthew had poked around for details of the man’s whereabouts at White’s last night but come away with sparse information. Had the cad proposed again, or worse, somehow convinced Theodosia that marriage to him was a viable option?

  Matthew had intended to write. To check on her welfare and inquire if Lord Talbot was settled into his daily routine again. At first, he thought to allow her time to process the news Dr. Fletcher imparted. But after a week passed and he’d put pen to paper, the words wouldn’t come. He’d sat at his desk wondering how a letter that listed the words I miss you over and over again would be received. He didn’t wish for Theodosia to have sentiments forced upon her, feelings she’d rather keep at bay, and he made no assumption she held him in high esteem. She’d pointedly deflected his confessed sentiments at the British Museum.

  When letter-writing failed him, he had taken to considering the holidays. One couldn’t walk about the city without some reminder that Christmas fast approached. Theodosia would be somewhat alone with the physician’s recent distressing news. Before coming to London she’d likely accepted the changes in Lord Talbot and gone about life as usual, but having spoken to the doctor there would be no escaping the prognosis for the future, and that was difficult news to harbor by oneself at what was traditionally the most joyful celebration of the year. Besides, hadn’t she mentioned this season was usually a cheerful time to brighten the year’s end, before January and the memories of her parents’ death caused heartache?

  “I can’t remember a time when you’ve enmeshed yourself in the holidays to such exacting detail. The two carriages that follow are packed to capacity.”

  “I’m bringing Christmas to Leighton House. Did you expect me to leave anything behind?”

  “See, I told you the lady has captured your notice.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s more than that.” He smiled slightly. “I want her to notice—”

  “When you’re around?” Coggs asked too anxiously.

  “More so, when I’m not.”

  “I would wager Lady Leighton will be happy to see you.”

  “One can hope, though we’re arriving without an invitation this time. I hope the household receives us with good tidings.”

  He wondered now if this all wasn’t a mistake. Servants and staff were already overworked and extremely busy this time of year. His arrival would add unexpected duties to their schedules. Worse, he’d invited his sister and her husband, due to arrive before the week’s end. He hoped Theodosia welcomed his company. What was meant as a brilliant idea was fast becoming tarnished in his mind.

  They rocked to a stop and Matthew caught his walking stick from where it fell forward. The carriage dipped as George hopped from the box, the clack and slap of the wooden steps being extended the next sound that met his ears. Then, before the door fully opened and he exited the interior, a discordant sense of foreboding and ominous tremor of distress blanketed his jovial mood.

  * * *

  Theodosia wiped the tears from her eyes and entered the singed skeletal remains of her childhood home. She had slipped out of the drawing room where Grandfather napped by the fire, and with only her cloak for protection, kept a brisk pace all the way to this spot. She didn’t plan on staying outside long, just enough time to whisper a prayer to her parents and conjure a feeling of love and loss. It was her own melancholy holiday tradition and one she didn’t share with Grandfather for fear he would worry on her behalf.

  The holiday season always evoked tumultuous emotion. She had vivid memories of Christmas morning with her parents, the gift giving and delicious feast afterward, the laughter and utter happiness. But now the cold night air bit through her cloak and seeped into her bones, warning her to hurry. Too much time spent here would invite a chill from the inside out, and then who would take care of Grandfather? That dreadful thought echoed ove
r all others.

  She repeated a vow she told herself often. She could do this. She could care for the man who cared for her all her life. She didn’t need help beyond the household staff. Not Kirkman, or anyone else. She wouldn’t invite servants who might tell stories out of turn about her grandfather’s decline, or commit someone, Matthew, to a compromised life he wasn’t meant to live.

  The weight of these decisions sent her pulse skittering into an erratic rhythm and she moved farther into the ruined house, careful in the dusk on the uneven ground, where overgrown clumps of roots and other debris were abandoned to nature’s care. She didn’t enter the old house often. Too many memories, or mayhap, useless regrets, crowded in and caused her undue pain. She’d made an impetuous decision to come out here tonight, a sudden wish to connect with her parents, despite darkness approached and she’d be better off visiting in the morning. At times she believed she could still smell the scent of firewood ash and burnt memories, but often dismissed the thoughts as vagaries. Nothing more than a mixture of poor memory and wishful thinking.

  Life had settled since they’d returned from London, and while Grandfather still had a few episodes of upset, for the most part things hadn’t unraveled significantly. Of course, not many days had passed and the looming reality that the dementia could advance at any time without notice remained frightening.

  She cast her eyes to the sky and located a star in wait of a wish. Then she turned to hurry back to the house, careful to avoid the fallen beams and disguised footprint of the house she once knew as a child. She’d almost cleared the uneven remains when she heard an unexpected sound and crack of twigs underfoot. Her eye saw a blur of movement. She scanned the land before her though darkness fell rapidly now. The house aglow in the distance offered no light to where she stood.

  A flash of light caught her attention, and too intelligent to believe in ghosts of the past, she recognized her grandfather in his nightshirt.

  “Grandfather. You’ll catch your death out here without a coat.”