by Rose Gordon
“I don’t think I could attend otherwise,” Juliet said weakly, pressing her lips together in a way that would suggest she was trying not to cry. Rae doubted it was that important to Juliet, given normal circumstances; however, every time her mother increased she turned into a watering pot about the most inconsequential things. Juliet was no different, it would seem.
“How about we do it here. In August?” Rae suggested. “That will give you plenty of time to have your grand event and not require that you travel, and everyone will be getting ready to leave London for their country homes so they can come here first.”
“Whoever would have known that the wedding of the Season would be held right here at Crumbles?” Drake commented dryly, shaking his head.
“I suppose we can make this happen in August,” Juliet said primly, her eyes bespoke a different story: she was just as excited as Rae that it’d be able to happen sooner. “But we’ll have to send for the modiste this afternoon, and you will be fitted for a proper gown.”
That didn’t bother Rae so much; there was only one thing that concerned her at the moment. “Will I have to stay here until the wedding, or will I be allowed to visit London?”
Juliet’s triumphant smile would have annoyed Rae even a day ago, but today it made her all giddy and excited like a young girl. “Of course, far be it from me to force you to resort to scandalous measures to see your beau before the wedding.”
“Oh, so I won’t be staying with Lady Townson this time?” Rae quipped.
“Perhaps the dowager. I hear she can tell stories about her wedding night that will make even the most experienced madame find a way to attach weights to the hem of her skirt.” She winked. “But I won’t subject Simon to that.” She jotted down a few notes. “How about in a week?”
A week seemed like an eternity, but she’d survive it if it meant she’d be in London and able to see Simon every day until they married.
“I think I can manage another week,” Simon said. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was necessary. For as much as Simon would have loved to leave for Scotland that very minute, he was somewhat relieved to know he had a little while yet to get things settled in London—namely a house to take his new bride home to! A week should give him plenty of time to find such. And then there was Giles. Not that Simon had any part in helping Giles plead his case of competency, but he did need to see to their clients’ investments while Father helped Giles or there wouldn’t be any money to spend on a wedding trip with his new bride.
“Now, about the decorations…”
Simon ignored Juliet and looked to Rae. She looked just as excited about this talk as he felt. He reached for her hands and gave it a light squeeze.
She squeezed back, her face relaxing marginally.
“Perhaps you could wait to torture Henrietta until after her beau has left,” Lord Drakely intoned, looking as disinterested as Simon felt.
Simon gave a curt, grateful nod in the man’s direction. “Shall we take a turn of the garden before I have to leave?” he asked Rae before her sister could press forward with more details.
“I’d be delighted to,” Rae said, standing.
Simon was on his feet less than a second later, holding his arm out to her.
“Perhaps while the two of you are out there, you can be thinking about wedding flowers,” Juliet said helpfully.
“I’m sure that’s exactly what they’ll be doing.” Drake’s lips dripped sarcasm.
“This way,” Rae murmured. “Through that door.”
Simon opened the door and ushered her out. Then as soon as the door closed behind them, Rae’s lips were on his. He reveled in her taste and pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against his chest. Winding her arms around his neck, she dug her fingers into the back of his hair.
His blood thundered in his veins and his kiss became more needy. Rae responded by parting her lips beneath his. Simon took advantage of her parted lips and swept his tongue inside her mouth. She tasted of plums, sweet. Simon pressed even closer to her, his body thrumming with excitement.
“We should stop,” he panted, pulling back.
Rae blinked, her kiss-swollen lips, forming a perfect O, drawing him right back to her like a moth to a flame.
Cupping Rae’s face, Simon kissed and tasted her supple lips and she matched him kiss for kiss, passion for passion.
“We really should stop,” Rae murmured between kisses. “You need to leave.”
“I do,” he agreed, kissing her again. Then again. “But not yet.”
“One more?” she asked, her lips already against his.
“One more.” Simon kissed her once again, pressing his body so close to hers he was certain she could feel his erection but couldn’t bring himself to care. Besides, she didn’t seem to mind. If she did, surely she’d put some space between them.
“I need to go soon,” he said, drawing her lower lip between his then running his tongue along it.
She gasped and curled her fingers tightly into his hair. “I know.”
“But I can’t.” He pulled back, taking in her exquisite features. “Not yet.”
“Perhaps one more kiss,” she suggested.
Simon obliged her with one more kiss.
Then another.
And another.
And then perhaps one more.
23
Three days later
Rae’s body hummed with anticipation as the coach drew near the outskirts of London. She’d been able to think of little else except Simon and his farewell kiss…well, kisses, to be precise.
Just how might he greet her, she wondered, another wistful smile stealing over her face.
According to Juliet, all week she’d worn that same smile.
On Sunday afternoon the modiste had arrived…
“Oh, that is a beautiful design,” Juliet cooed. “What do you think, Henrietta?”
“Uh huh,” Rae nodded, feigning interest so she could keep Juliet occupied with something while she thought about Simon’s warm kisses that had the power to still make her lips tingle hours after he’d gone.
Juliet shook her head. “You could fashion her a grain sack to wear and she’d be content,” she teased then pointed at the modiste. “But don’t.”
Monday they’d gone to the bakery…
“Which flavor of cake sounds good?” Juliet asked Rae.
“Can’t Cook make a cake?”
Juliet cringed. “Only if you like cake that tastes like dirt.”
Rae shrugged “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Sighing, Juliet spoke to the baker and Rae took a seat at the table she and Simon had occupied their first day in the village.
Tuesday, they’d visited with Drake’s gardener who was overseeing what kinds of flowers were in the hothouse at Briar Creek, the actual seat of Drake’s viscountcy.
“Lilacs, violets, and roses are all we have this year. Of course each would be lovely for a wedding,” he said, scratching his temple.
“Which would you like to see in your bouquet?”
Rae bit her lip. “Tulips.” Mr. Stone had said tulips, hadn’t he?
Mr. Stone stared at her blankly, neither he nor Juliet saying anything.
“Yellow tulips,” she clarified.
“That sounds perfect,” Juliet said with a clap of her hands. “You shall wear a grain sack, eat dirt, and carry imaginary flowers.”
“Well, it is my wedding,” Rae pointed out.
Juliet flinched as if Rae had slapped her. “You’re right,” she said. She quickly dismissed Mr. Stone. “I’m sorry, Henrietta. I shouldn’t force you to do all of these things. You’re the one marrying him. It should be how you want it.” She smiled. “And when you want it.”
For the first time since Simon had left two days ago, she pushed him out of her mind long enough to be in the present. “What do you mean?”
“Go back to London tomorrow. Talk to Simon and marry him when and where the two of you want. Marry at St. Gregory’s in Lo
ndon in three weeks or hie off to Scotland and send me a letter.”
“You won’t be angry?”
Juliet laughed. “No.” She looped her arm through Rae’s and led them toward a little bench along the west side of the conservatory. “I remember the summer I got married, you used to recline on Mama’s old settee as if you were a regal queen. You’d prop pillows up behind you so you were at a perfect forty-five degree angle and always positioned away from the window so you wouldn’t get sun spots.”
Rae grimaced at her own foolishness. “I used to think it’d be so grand to be a lady.”
“And now that you are one, I wanted to make sure I did everything a Matchmaking Mama—or sister in our situation—would do. Fawning and fussing and demanding there be nothing held back in your Seasons or with your wedding.” She nudged Rae. “To be honest, it’s been quite exhausting being your chaperone. But, I wanted you to be happy.”
“Oh, Juliet, I had no idea you were being annoying on purpose.”
“Thanks,” Juliet said dryly. She reached forward and readjusted Rae’s hatpin. “The truth is, I want you to be happy, and to me, I think what will make you the happiest is going back to London.”
“But what about the wedding?”
“I’ve already told you, you have my permission to elope. Or if you want to plan it while in London—keep in mind, Brooke might be more annoying than me when it comes to wedding plans, so you might want to find someone else, but not her mother…” She shuddered. “Whatever you want to do, Henrietta, I’m game for.” Juliet’s arm came around her shoulders. “Just remember to send me a letter…”
As buildings came into view and commotion floated to her ears, Rae’s heart squeezed. She wasn’t sure if she’d suggest to Simon to elope immediately. His parents were well known residents of London, they might prefer there to be a wedding at St. Gregory’s.
The coach pulled up to Lord Townson’s townhouse just as Brooke and Andrew were going out for a walk.
“You came back?” Brooke gushed.
“Juliet insisted.” That was true enough. “Can I stay?”
“Of course!” Brooke barked orders to the coachmen while Andrew went back inside his townhouse, returning with the butler.
In no time, Rae’s things were unloaded and being unpacked in her guest room.
“Come, walk with us.” Brooke’s offer held no question.
Rae smiled and joined the duo. “How was the house party?”
“Tedious,” Andrew answered for his wife.
Brooke shook a finger at him. “It was only tedious for you because you had to behave.”
“It’s so much more fun when I don’t.”
Sighing, Brooke turned toward Rae. “Andrew and the Duke of Gateway detest one another. Unfortunately for both of them, they married sisters.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad for Madison to become a widow,” Andrew said jovially. “Then she could marry proper.”
“I’m assuming her husband would say the same of Brooke,” Rae ventured.
Andrew scowled, and Brooke laughed. “I daresay, you have them pegged,” she said.
“So if the two of you don’t like each other, how do visits work?” Rae asked. Simon and Giles didn’t seem to like each other from what she’d gathered. Perhaps Andrew and the duke’s method could work for them.
“Well…” Andrew said slowly.
“They’ve both been threatened,” Brooke said.
Rae frowned. She doubted Brooke actually threatened her husband.
“We just make it work,” Andrew said softly. “Our dislike for one another began long before either of us met our wives and is of little consequence now. We just like to goad the other.” He tipped his left shoulder up in a careless shrug. “And if the opportunity presents itself to make the other look like a fool, we don’t hesitate.”
Rae couldn’t see Giles and Simon doing that, either. No matter. If the earl and duke had found a way, surely Simon and Giles would, too.
24
Simon whistled and hummed and even tapped his toe as he went about his work. Any time he started thinking about Rae and her perfect body molded against his, he’d get louder and speed up the beat. He needed to keep his attention on finishing up the last of the files and then he was going to see a townhouse Mr. Nelson had found for him that would be perfect for him and Rae. Apparently it was easier for a man to find a suitable family home than it was for bachelor’s lodgings. Or perhaps that was because Simon paid him a small ransom to make this his top priority.
Either way, the house was already empty and would be ready to move into within a week.
Simon glanced at his pocket watch. He still had two hours before he was to meet with Mr. Nelson.
He eyed the papers scattered on his desk and sighed. His need to stay so occupied so he didn’t have time to think of Rae had pushed him to finish all the work that had piled up during his series of brief absences this Season. All that remained was sorting them and putting some away and sending others out.
With a sigh, he set to work. At least it’d keep his mind on something else until it was time to leave.
“Mr. Appleton,” Mr. Crabtree, the secretary, said, poking his head in the door. “A missive has just arrived for you.”
Simon frowned at the man. Each day the post and any other messages Mr. Crabtree had received during the day was delivered at precisely two o’clock every afternoon. “Is this urgent?”
“I don’t believe so.” He lifted the letter up near his bespectacled face. “But it is scented, so perhaps you might think so.”
Simon snatched the missive from the insolent man and broke open the wax seal.
Dear Simon,
I have returned to London early! I look forward to seeing you again.
Yours,
Rae
All hope of Simon being able to function from this very moment until the wedding had just flown out the window.
“Crabtree, these papers need to be posted.” He picked up a haphazard stack of papers and handed them to the man. “The rest, file.”
The man nodded his understanding with such vigor as Simon brushed past him his silver-rimmed spectacles slid down his nose.
Thirty minutes later, Simon was practically flying up Lord Townson’s front steps.
Impatiently, he banged the knocker and waited for the butler to answer. His impatience had reached new heights by the time the door opened. Simon shoved his calling card in the man’s direction and blurted out the reason for his visit.
The older man’s lips formed a tight line, causing deep wrinkles of disapproval to appear. “Very well,” he clipped. “This way.”
Simon dogged the man’s heels all the way to the drawing room, then stepped inside and halted. Rae was breathtaking sitting near the window, washed in the sun’s light.
“Hullo,” she greeted.
“Hullo to you.” He removed his hat and gave her a low bow.
Before he was back to his full height she was on her tiptoes in front of him, her lips scant inches from his.
He closed the gap and brought their lips together.
He’d been waiting for this since the moment their last kiss had ended.
“Eehmmm,” came a voice from across the room.
Simon slowly pulled his lips away and looked over his shoulder to see a very curious Lady Townson.
“I do believe the mystery has solved itself,” she said, flashing them a wide grin.
Simon turned his head to the side. “What mystery?”
“Your whereabouts while I was away at the house party.” She casually picked up a piece of paper in front of her and extended it toward Simon.
A numb feeling came over Simon as he separated himself from Rae and strode over to retrieve the paper from Lady Townson.
That numb feeling only grew worse when his eyes scanned the lines.
…a certain young miss with double initials and her mere, twice-bitten mister have both turned up missing since last being seen togeth
er walking in the park last week…
Dread washed over him. “I’m sorry, Rae,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to have you embarrassed this way.” Though to be honest, he couldn’t regret having gone to Crumbles.
“It’s all right.” He couldn't interpret her tone.
“What would you like for me to do to make this right?” He handed the paper back to Lady Townson, imploring her with his eyes that she’d suggest something sensible.
“Marry her,” Lady Townson said.
“I already planned to do that,” he bit out.
“Oh, did you now?” Lady Townson’s airy tone gave him pause. Had Rae not told her chaperone of their plans?
“Not now,” Rae clarified. “In August.”
“August?” Lady Townson’s aghast tone mimicked his own feelings. “By then there could be a whole whirlwind of gossip circulating.” She sniffed. “I daresay you and Edwina’s husband, Sir Wallace, are two birds of a feather. Gossip follows you both like a hound to his master.”
“My apologies,” Simon said sheepishly, then bit his tongue so as not to remind Lady Townson about the cloud of gossip she created her first Season in London. He might not have reached his majority yet when she first arrived, but if even he knew about her scandals, they were hair-curling indeed.
“Pish posh. Apologies aren’t necessary. I rather like Sir Wallace…and you.” She tucked a fallen tendril of her dark hair behind her ear. “Because I like you, I shall help you.”
“Help me?” Simon looked to Rae for help.
She looked just as uneasy.
“Yes, I shall help you both.” She tapped her index fingernail against her teeth. “What we need is a plan.”
“No,” Simon, Rae, and Andrew said in unison.
Simon didn’t know how long Andrew had been standing where he could hear them.
“They don’t need a plan; they need to borrow a carriage.”
“A carriage?” Simon, Rae, and this time Brooke repeated.
Andrew nodded. “If my carriage is off traveling to say…Scotland, nobody will think anything of it.”
