Secrets of a Wedding Night

by Valerie Bowman

  His appointment in that unsavory part of town was at midnight, and he would be there. But since he must return to town, he might as well take the next step in his seduction of the countess. No sense in wasting an opportunity. He could fulfill his obligations and teach that shrew a lesson at the same time. He’d already ordered one thing to set his plan in motion.

  He smiled to himself. Yes. He’d made her wait long enough. Long enough to make her wonder if he was serious. It was time to make the next move.

  Devon stepped over to the windows. His hands folded behind his back again, he looked out across the vast expanse of grass and gardens behind the estate. His eyes immediately rested on a spot many yards away, nestled under a copse of trees. It had been there, over twenty years ago, that his father had first shown Devon the Morgan signet ring. Passed down, his father had said, through generations. Given to his great-great-grandfather by the king who had bestowed the title upon the family.

  Devon recalled the pride that had welled up in his ten-year-old chest that day when his father had allowed him to hold the ring, slip it onto his too-small finger. “This shall be yours one day,” his father had informed him. “And with it comes a great deal of responsibility.”

  Devon clenched his jaw at the memory. If only his father had taken his own responsibilities as seriously.

  Devon had been so lost in his thoughts, he’d failed to hear the door open behind him.

  “I was told you were here, my lord,” the older woman said quietly, snapping Devon from his reverie. He turned to her, and a smile broke across his face.

  “Mrs. Appleby,” he called. “Good to see you.” He looked at the woman who’d been more like a mother to him than a servant. It still seemed awkward to hear her call him “my lord,” even after all these years.

  The plump woman shuffled forth with a bright smile on her face and Devon ushered her into the room.

  “I came to see Justin,” he told her.

  “I thought so. You know he loves you very much. He’s sure the world revolves around you.”

  Devon’s lips turned up at the corners. “Not quite.”

  “Shh,” she laughed. “Don’t tell him that. You’re his hero.”

  Devon swallowed against the lump in his throat. “How is he, Mrs. Appleby?”

  “Didn’t Mr. Halifax tell you? He’s learning like a true scholar. Just like you.”

  “But how is he? Is he happy here?”

  Mrs. Appleby’s aged hand slid over Devon’s and she gave it a squeeze. “He’s fine, my lord. Truly, he is.”

  “And still no word … from his mother?”

  The housekeeper cast her eyes downward and shook her head solemnly. “No, my lord. As usual. Nothing.”

  Devon nodded. “And the rest of the household, Mrs. Appleby? I trust all of the servants are doing well.”

  “Absolutely, my lord.”

  Devon turned toward the door. “I should get out there. I believe the last time I left Justin alone for too long, he decided to go fishing by himself.”

  Mrs. Appleby laughed. “That he did. Just like you, he’s not one to wait long for anything.”

  Devon’s hand was on the cool brass doorknob when Mrs. Appleby’s voice stopped him. “When might we expect to see you again, my lord?”

  Devon turned the knob and yanked open the door. “I’ll be back next month, in time for Justin’s fifth birthday.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Lily was holed up in the study again, a quill clutched in her fist. This time, she was writing a list. A list of alternatives if the pamphlet did not earn her enough money to stay in town. Her cousin Althea in Northumberland might take them in. Althea had seven children, surely she could use help taking care of them. Lily and Annie were both adept at sewing. Perhaps they could find work as seamstresses. But would a seamstress hire them? Two former ladies forced to the streets?

  Lily dunked her quill in the inkpot again. If she couldn’t find a way to earn money, she would have to take more drastic measures. She snatched up the list of household accounts. No more buying meat at market. She slashed a line through the list. No more sugar. Or cream. Two more swift lines. No more tea. She sighed. Perhaps she’d ask Evans to reuse the leaves, first.

  She tapped the tip of the quill against the parchment, fighting the panic that always rose in her throat when she examined her finances. Annie, Evans, and Mary knew their little household was in dire financial circumstances, but only Lily knew just how desperate a situation it truly was.

  She eyed little Leopold asleep in the corner. Finding money to feed him was no small feat either, even when table scraps were his dinner. But she refused to let her beloved dog go. No, Leopold was family too, and he would no more be turned out on the streets than Annie would. But Annie would just have to stop bringing strays home, that was all. Lily sighed. She’d be powerless to deny her sister when she came home with a little, helpless animal. Very well. Now that she thought on it, tea wasn’t really necessary.

  A soft knock drew Lily’s attention to the doorway. She glanced up to see Mary curtsy. Lily smiled at her old friend. “Yes, Mary? What is it?”

  “I beg yer pardon, me lady, but ye’ll be wantin’ ta see this.” The older woman bobbed another quick curtsy. “Wait. I ’aven’t already announced this, ’ave I?” she asked sheepishly.

  Lily shook her head.

  “Come on and see then. ’Tis an impressive sight, ta be sure.” Mary pulled her mobcap down over her ears and made her way back down the hall.

  Cocking her head to the side, Lily tossed the quill onto the sad list of figures and stood to investigate. Leo leaped up from his corner to follow.

  Before Lily passed the doorway, the scent found her nostrils. Flowers. That lovely, sweet smell. But there was something different about it this time. Normally, the scent of lilies drifted through the house, but this time it was roses. Roses, lilacs, and something else.

  She quickened her step, rounding past the turn in the hallway. When she made it to the foyer—at least, she thought it had once been the foyer—she stopped, clutching at the wall.

  The space had been transformed into a virtual hothouse. Flowers lined every available nook, every conceivable cranny. An unusually alert Evans, looking both inordinately pleased and mildly annoyed at the same time, scurried back and forth from the front door, ushering in the delivery.

  Annie came rushing down the staircase, a bright smile on her face. “Oh, I know who these are from. Now, this is what I expected. Frances said her sister received a disconcerting amount of flowers from Lord Sitton, but I’ve no doubt they were a pittance compared to these.”

  Lily snapped her mouth shut, still busily scanning the colorful scene. There were roses. Gardenias. Petunias. Pretty little daffodils, tulips, bluebells, hyacinth, and lilacs.

  “It looks as if he uprooted an entire garden,” Annie said, spinning around. “What do you think, Lily? Are you sufficiently impressed by Lord Colton now?”

  Lily bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “It’s utterly ridiculous, that’s what I think. Why, the cost of these flowers would be enough to run this entire household for a good period of time, and I cannot condone—”

  “Good heavens.” Annie slapped her open palm against her forehead. “It’s a romantic gesture. Only you would think about money at a time like this.”

  Evans, who’d apparently finished his organization of the chaos, stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he handed Lily a card that was tied to a single flower stem. A lily. Just one lily in the entire ostentatious display.

  She took the card from Evan’s outstretched fingers. The words on it were written in a strong, bold hand, the black letters slashed across the parchment.

  Now you know.—D

  Lily pressed the card to her lips, hiding her slight smile.

  “What does it say?” Annie asked in a singsong voice.

  Lily’s only answer was a raised brow.

  “Ah, they are lovely, me lady. They must ’ave cost
’im a small fortune.” Mary’s nose was stuck in a vase full of roses. “If only we could sell ’em.” She sighed.

  Lily whirled around to face her, her gray skirts swishing around her ankles. “Sell them?”

  Mary shook her head. “’Twas only a jest, me lady.”

  Lily snapped her fingers. “No, no. It’s brilliant actually. Perfect!” She swung around again. “Annie, gather up the flowers. Mary, get the sweets from the cupboard. Evans, wave down a hack.”

  Evans straightened his shoulders and nodded. He marched off to do his lady’s bidding while Mary shuffled off toward the pantry, shaking her head and mumbling under her breath.

  Annie plunked her hands on her hips. “Lily, what exactly do you plan to do?” Her voice held a warning note.

  “I plan to fetch my bonnet. Mary and I are going to Vauxhall and we’re selling the lot of it.”

  Annie clapped a hand over her mouth and then slowly let it drop. “You cannot be serious! You cannot sell the flowers. They were gifts!”

  “No? Watch me.” Lily rushed toward the front door and snatched her bonnet from the brass hat stand in the corner. She pulled the hat over her head, pushed wayward tendrils of hair inside, and hastily tied the ribbons in a bow under her chin. Then she grabbed up two of the nearest vases. “Annie, help me with these, please.”

  Shaking her head, Annie reluctantly scooped up a vase.

  It took the better part of a quarter hour for the four of them to pack everything into the rented hack that Evans had managed to secure. Mary and Lily sat in the middle of the garden of flowers, and Annie called through the window. “Be sure to pay Lord Colton a visit to thank him while you’re out.”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “I will do no such thing.”

  The coach pulled away from the town house and clattered down the street. Lily sat snuggled in the flowers, a wide smile on her face. She expelled her breath, long and slow, enjoying the feeling of intense relief that poured through her veins. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time in months. With the money from the flowers, she would be able to feed her family for another sennight or more.

  She adjusted her position within the flowers. Everyone in the ton knew the rumors about Colton’s finances. Like his father, Devon Morgan enjoyed gambling. Too much. It had cost him his fortune and his prospects. The flowers, no doubt, were purchased on credit he could ill afford.

  Colton might be a spendthrift, but Lily was not. If flowers were all she had to sell, then flowers she would sell. Fortune tended to help those who helped themselves.

  Now you know. Indeed. The flowers were Colton’s next volley. Well played. But the man obviously didn’t know with whom he was dealing. She would show him.

  Colton was sure to be at the Foxdowns’ soiree tonight. She would attend too. She couldn’t help but feel oddly grateful to him for being her savior in this particular instance. Worse, she couldn’t tamp down the inexplicable urge to see him. She was appreciative, true. But if she thanked him, no doubt the blackguard would take it as a sign of weakness. He’d assume he was wearing her down. She hated to be rude, but there was no help for it.

  She laid her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Hmm. Or, perhaps gratitude was just what this situation called for. Perhaps allowing him to think he was wearing her down was exactly what was needed. She smiled to herself.

  She popped open her eyes. “Mary, as soon as we return home we must prepare my hair and clothing for the party tonight. I plan to wear my lavender ball gown.” Lily readjusted a vase on her lap.

  Mary glanced across the mounds of flowers and nodded.

  “Very well, Lord Colton,” Lily whispered into the petals. “I shall see your bet and raise you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I heard the pamphlet made Lady Underhill swoon. Swoon dead away in her own dressing room.” Lady Foxdown’s eyes sparkled with a hint of salaciousness as she spoke to her husband, not two paces away from Lily at the end of the ballroom.

  Lily whipped out her fan. This particular conversation was not one she relished being a part of. “Is it insufferably hot in here?” she whispered to Viscount Medford who stood stalwart by her side.

  “No warmer than usual,” Medford replied in his own whisper, his grin barely discernible.

  “And what did Lord Underhill do?” Lord Foxdown asked his wife.

  “Why, called for the maid to bring the smelling salts, and then promptly removed that scandalous text from his wife’s person.”

  Lily gave the couple a pained smile. “I do hope Lady Underhill recovered,” she managed to say, fluttering the fan more quickly. Oh, but it was hot. And discussion of the pamphlet did nothing to improve her mood. She glanced longingly at the nearby double doors that led out onto the Foxdowns’ veranda. If only she could escape.

  To make matters worse, Colton had been watching her all evening. He’d made no move to approach her, but she could feel his dark eyes on her like heavy weights. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. The man had sent her a hothouse full of flowers this afternoon, and now he was staring her down. Obviously all part of his plot to drive her mad.

  And why did he have to be so handsome? It would make the entire thing much simpler if he were not. Instead, he stood across the ballroom, with a bevy of beauties swirling about him like so many butterflies in a garden. His dark, superfine evening attire perfectly molded to his exquisite body, his height placed him head and shoulders above all other men in the room except Medford. His white teeth flashed when he laughed, his dark hair was slightly ruffled, and his unsettling gaze came back again and again to rest on Lily. And haunt her.

  Her thoughts kept returning to the goodly sum of money she’d earned at Vauxhall that afternoon. Confound it, she had him to thank for it.

  “And I heard another pamphlet is being written. One that promises to be even more scandalous,” Lady Foxdown whispered to their little group as she cut another glance at Lily.

  Lily kept her face carefully blank. She didn’t dare look at Medford again. Lady Foxdown might interpret it as a sign of guilt. And oh, but she did so enjoy being guilty with Medford. The viscount, her very good friend, was the pinnacle of a Society gentleman. Respected, revered, a beacon of propriety. Only such a man could be a part of the haut ton and remain affiliated with a printing press. And only Medford could get away with printing that blasted pamphlet, without anyone disparaging him for it. No, the scandal was reserved for the anonymous author, not the gentleman who’d put the pamphlet into circulation.

  Medford had a talent for having fun at the ton’s expense, without them realizing it. That was only one of his many endearing qualities. Another one was his deep sense of honor. He could always be counted upon, and had none of the airs one would expect from a man with his wealth, from an unimpeachable family. And he had the same wicked sense of humor that Lily did.

  As Lady Foxdown droned on about the pamphlet, Lily’s mind traveled back to the night she’d met Medford.

  They’d been seated next to each other at a musicale one evening four years ago. When their host’s daughter had begun singing in a voice that sounded much too much as if someone were slaughtering a sow, the two of them had been unable to contain their laughter.

  Shaking, with tears threatening, they’d both bolted for the door at nearly the exact same moment. Medford had bowed politely to her, allowed her to precede him from the room, and managed to keep a straight face as he escorted her outside. They’d spent the remainder of that evening on the balcony, glad for the fresh air and the even more refreshing company.

  Yes. Lord Medford was perfect in every particular, but those who knew him well, as Lily had come to, knew just how irreverent he could be. He was handsome, intelligent, and wealthy, but to Lily, Medford was just her stalwart companion. The only man she’d ever been able to trust. One upon whom she could always count. Her dear friend.

  Lily sighed. It was beyond unfair that she felt no romantic attraction to Medford. He was like the brother she’d never had
. Everything would have been so much easier if that were not the case. Why, if she could love the viscount, and he could love her back, all her money problems would be quite conveniently resolved.

  But she didn’t love him. And she would never even consider entering into a marriage without love. Not again.

  Lily eyed the verbose Lady Foxdown. Apparently, she and her husband hadn’t heard the rumors that Lily and Medford were responsible for the first pamphlet. Or perhaps the lady was merely fishing for information. Either way, Lady Foxdown would be disappointed. Besides, the gossip was false. Lily had no intention of writing another pamphlet. She’d taken an enormous risk to her reputation by writing the first one.

  Lily rapidly fanned herself. The heat hadn’t been relieved one bit. Oh, why wasn’t she the kind of simpering twit who could fake an attack of the vapors? It would be the perfect excuse to remove herself from Lady Foxdown’s insipid company. But Lily just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  A flutter by her arm caught her attention, just before a large, warm, masculine hand slid across the small of her back. Gooseflesh sprinkled along her spine. She instinctively knew. Colton was there.

  “Countess, you look as if you need some air. Allow me to escort you onto the veranda.” Colton’s voice. Deep, masculine, and tinged with arrogance as if he couldn’t conceive of her refusing him.

  Medford stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Colton. “If Lady Merrill is in need of some air, I would be happy to—”

  “Three’s a crowd, Medford, or haven’t you heard?” Devon flashed a wicked grin, taking Lily by the arm. “You were always such a scholar at Cambridge, Medford, but it seems you missed a social lesson.”

  Medford’s teeth clenched and he gave Colton a dark look. He leaned down next to Lily’s ear. “Don’t go off with that blackguard,” he whispered fiercely.

  Lily pressed her lips together. She’d never heard such disapproval in Lord Medford’s voice before. “‘Blackguard’ is a bit harsh, don’t you think?” she whispered back.