by Amelia Grey
“You look absolutely lovely, Constance. I’m honored you came.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “Nonsense, my lord. You knew I would as soon as I could make the necessary arrangements.”
He didn’t, but there was no reason to tell her that.
“How could I not heed your plea? I have never read such enticing puffery from a man as what you wrote to me in your letter.”
Morgan gave her a cautious grin. “You make puffery sound like a vulgar word.”
She arched an eyebrow and asked, “Is it not?”
“No, nothing could be further from the truth. I meant every word I wrote.”
“Ha!” she laughed. “If that be the case, Lord Snellingly could certainly take a lesson or two from you on how to write words that actually flatter and entertain a lady.”
Morgan laughed, too. “Now you are the one full of praise and sweet talk, but I’ll gladly accept it. However, I have been unfortunate enough to have heard some of Lord Snellingly’s poetry, and it doesn’t take much to write better than that tight-shoed poet.”
“Too true.”
“Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll pour us a glass of wine.”
“Tell me,” she said, stopping by the floral-printed settee. “Is that a painting of Lady Elder when she was younger? And are those the famous Talbot pearls that I’ve heard so much about?”
“Yes to both. Shortly after Sir Walter gave the pearls to her, my grandmother had at least four or five, maybe more, portraits painted of herself wearing them, but only that one made it to the place of honor here in the drawing room.”
“Where are the others?” she asked and seated herself on one end of the settee.
He handed Constance a glass of claret and said, “In the attic.”
As he sat a respectable distance from her on the other end of the settee, she gave him a disapproving look.
“Shame on you, my lord. Paintings of your grandmother should not be hidden away in the attic to collect dust and lord knows what else. Surely in a house this large you can find a place to hang them.”
“Probably, but I didn’t put them there. She did. I remember that she wasn’t satisfied with the first one, the second, or the third, so she kept commissioning different painters from all over the world until she finally had one she was satisfied with.”
“I can see why she stopped at that one. She looks regal and commanding.”
Morgan looked up at the portrait. “Yes, the artist captured her perfectly. As for the previous paintings, I see it this way. If my grandmother didn’t want them to see the light of day, I’ll respect her wishes and leave them in the attic where she decided to put them.”
“I don’t suppose I can argue with her wishes either,” Constance said and then sipped her wine.
Morgan’s gaze caught Constance’s over the rim of his glass, and they stared at each other for a moment, each giving the other a second look to ponder attraction and possibilities. Constance was beautiful, unattached, and available if he so desired. From his cousin Blake, Morgan knew she was a widow who enjoyed taking a man to her bed. With her there would be no recriminations, no misgivings, and no strings attached. No doubt she would be an excellent bedmate for him, for any man, so why were his thoughts on Arianna?
Why were his thoughts always on Arianna?
“You look pensive, Morgan,” she said, obviously letting him know that the moment of awareness between them had passed without either of them acting on it.
“Do I?” he questioned, giving himself a mental shake.
“I think so. Why don’t you tell me why you needed my help so desperately that you swallowed your pride and wrote to me?”
He smiled ruefully and then chuckled. She was such a clever and charming woman. How could a man not appreciate her directness? It was no wonder she and Blake had remained such good friends after their affair had ended last year.
“You do know how to make a man feel good about himself, Constance.”
She smiled, sipped her wine again, and then said, “I try—from time to time.”
“All right, the short of it is that there is a young lady staying here at Valleydale, and she needs help in a couple of different ways.”
“Oh dear,” she said dryly and blew out an exasperated breath. “Morgan, please don’t tell me a young lady arrived at your door and she has insisted that you are her guardian and all of her previous five guardians have died.”
Morgan laughed, remembering how his cousin Blake and his wife, Henrietta, had met. Though the feelings he had for Arianna could never be considered what a guardian has for his ward.
“I can assure you I am not this lady’s guardian, nor is she in need of one. That said, however, I feel a certain amount of responsibility for her welfare because she came here in hopes that my grandmother might help her.”
“Your grandmother? That’s odd. Didn’t she know your grandmother died over a year ago? If not, she must be the only person in all of England who didn’t.”
“That is part of the problem. She hasn’t been in England. She came from India, where she had lived with her father up until his death. When she arrived in England a few days ago, she came straight here, hoping Lady Elder could assist her in finding a suitable place to live in London as well as aid her in suggesting a respectable companion for her.”
“Why come to Lady Elder? Has she no family she can turn to?”
“None that she has mentioned to me, so I assume not.”
Constance seemed to study over that. “And how did she know your grandmother?”
“She didn’t. Her father was cousin to my grandmother’s second husband Sir Walter Hennessey. Before his death, her father suggested she come to Valleydale and seek help from Lady Elder.”
Constance gave him a knowing smile. “I’m sure there is more to her story than that.”
“There always is,” he said.
Morgan didn’t feel it necessary to mention anything about Arianna’s father’s research, so he remained quiet about all of that. He had felt there was more to Arianna’s story than she was telling, too, but he didn’t see the need to confide in Constance.
“Anyway, her relationship to my grandmother, however distant, is why I feel I must help her get settled in London. Naturally, she would be more comfortable having another lady help her with that sort of thing, which is why I wrote to you.”
“What is she like?”
“She’s ill,” he said.
“Oh, wait a minute, Morgan.” Constance held up her hand and moved restlessly. “I am not a nursemaid.”
“Perhaps I should have said she has been ill.”
“I don’t care. I faint at the sight of blood, and I don’t have the patience or the desire to talk soothing words while wiping a fevered brow.”
Morgan couldn’t help but laugh. He enjoyed Constance’s confidence to be so completely honest with him.
“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask that of you. But you don’t need to be her nursemaid, I assure you. Mrs. Post has been taking care of her, and of course, she has her maid. I saw Miss Sweet a couple of days ago, and she said she is feeling much better, and she looks stronger…” He paused. And more beautiful and more enticing. “…than when she first arrived.”
“Hmm. So it’s been two days since you’ve seen her, and she lives in your house?”
He shrugged. “It’s a big house. Besides, because she’s been resting, she takes all her meals in her room.”
“What is her age?” Constance asked.
“Twenty-seven, I believe she said.”
“Most consider that old enough to be put on a shelf and declared a spinster, but maybe not, if she is pretty.”
“She is,” he said without hesitation.
“Perhaps I should start by asking you what I failed to ask Blake concerning Henrietta. Do you have designs on her, Morgan?”
Without faltering, he said, “I am not in the market for a wife, and she doesn’t qualify for anything else.”
> Constance nodded. “I understand.”
Morgan was sure she did. He suddenly felt restless, so he rose, took Constance’s glass, and walked back over to the decanter to refill their glasses.
“With Miss Sweet’s beauty and appeal, I’m sure she would have no trouble finding a husband of considerable means, if she wanted to. I, of course, have no idea if marriage might be in her immediate future. She has indicated to me only that when she gets to London, she has to do some work her father left unfinished for the Royal Academy of Apothecary Herbs and Spices, or some ridiculous name like that.”
“That sounds extremely boring.”
“I’m sure it is,” he answered and splashed more wine into their glasses.
“What are her means?”
“She says that her father left her well set, and I have no reason to doubt her. I haven’t talked extensively with her about this, you understand, but you should feel free to question her as to her resources and let me know if you think she needs assistance in that area.”
“I will. And if she has the means, I agree that she needs to employ a companion to keep the gossips at bay, especially if she plans to enter Society. She certainly doesn’t need to live alone with her maid.”
He handed the glass back to Constance and then retook his seat. “My thoughts were that you might put her in touch with the right person to find her a suitable place to live.”
Constance’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, Morgan, I think I might have the perfect place for her.”
“Really?”
“Of course, I can’t say for sure, but there’s a possibility she can assume the lease on Susannah’s house. Her mother has been living there but is returning to Chapel Gate in Blooming as we speak. I’m quite certain Susannah doesn’t want to keep the place now that she’s married to Race. I believe Susannah would agree to Miss Sweet taking over her lease, since you say the lady is somewhat distantly related to Lady Elder by marriage. Should I mention this possibility to Susannah?”
“Of course. Her house would be perfect for Miss Sweet.”
Morgan couldn’t help but note that Susannah’s place was only a five-minute carriage ride from his house.
“Good. I’ll send a letter to her first thing tomorrow morning, asking her to hold it for Miss Sweet until we can get to London.”
“And perhaps you can help guide her with seeking a suitable companion?”
“That is personal taste, Morgan, but I do know of a couple of older ladies who might be available. The Countess of Leesberth has a cousin who is looking for employment as a companion. I’ve never met the relative, but I do like the Countess.”
“Yes, the Countess seems a sensible woman, so one would hope the cousin would be as well.”
“And there’s the Dowager Duchess of Elliston. She constantly grumbles and complains. Companions don’t seem to stay with her for very long at the time. There is a Miss Gilberta, who recently left her and is not yet employed, and there might be others. I’m sure any lady would readily accept a position with Miss Sweet if there were a recommendation from you.”
“That goes without saying, Constance.” Morgan sipped his wine and then continued. “There is one other thing I would like to discuss with you.”
“What’s that?”
“I think Miss Sweet might need help with her clothing.”
“You said she’s twenty-seven, Morgan. Surely she knows the proper way to dress.”
“One would think, but remember, she’s been in India for ten years. And while I’m certain, or maybe I should say, from what little I know, her father tried to keep the influence of her British heritage, as her maid is British. But keep in mind her clothing has been made with the fabrics and trimmings of India, and the styles may…” He suddenly searched for the right word.
“Never mind. You needn’t say more. I understand. I will suggest she see my modiste as soon as she gets settled in London. You might not know it, Morgan, but there are many ladies in the ton who meet every ship that comes from India so they can have first choice of the fabrics, spices, and herbs.”
“Really?”
Constance nodded and then relaxed against the back of the settee and sipped her wine. “While India has some of the most beautiful and finest fabrics in the world, I agree that some of them, and certain styles of the country, are not suitable for our climate or culture.”
He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll leave fashion to those who know more than I do.”
“That’s probably best.”
“On another subject,” he said, “tell me, have you seen Viscount Brentwoood’s twin brothers?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Yes, several times. They are at all the parties.”
“What did you think about them?”
“You mean other than the fact that they look exactly like a much younger Sir Randolph Gibson?”
Morgan sighed thoughtfully. “So you think they resemble him, too?”
“I believe everyone in London does.”
That’s not what Morgan wanted to hear. He had subconsciously been holding out hope that his cousins had been wrong.
“How did you hear about the twins?”
“Blake and Race were here a couple of days ago.”
She smiled. “I should have guessed. I learned a long time ago that what one of you knows, you all three know.”
“Well, maybe not everything,” he answered.
“Did they meet Miss Sweet?”
Morgan cleared his throat. “Not exactly. They saw her from a distance. In fact, I should have—” Morgan stopped when he heard footfalls in the corridor and humming. It was Arianna. His chest tightened. He rose and turned in time to see her walking past the doorway with several books in her arms.
“Miss Sweet,” he called, and she turned toward the drawing room. She stopped and smiled at him.
His heart tripped like a schoolboy getting his first glimpse of a woman’s bosom. He hoped to God Constance couldn’t tell what he was loathe to admit to himself. He was besotted with Arianna.
Constance rose and stood beside him.
Arianna’s glance swept over to Constance, and she took a tentative step forward. “My lord,” she said.
“I’m glad you happened by. Put the books down and come meet Mrs. Pepperfield. She’s finally arrived.”
Arianna placed the books on a blue velvet bench near the doorway and walked closer. She looked the perfect English lady, with a prim-cut, high-waisted dress of pale robin’s egg blue. Morgan didn’t know how he managed to make the introductions, because all he wanted to do was pull Arianna to him and greet her with a warm kiss on her beautiful lips. He was beginning to believe he would never get the taste of her off his tongue or the scent of her out of his mind.
Constance walked closer to Arianna. “Lord Morgandale told me you have been ill, and I do see some lingering effects of the sickness around your eyes. How are you feeling now?”
She smiled confidently. “Much better, thanks to Lord Morgandale. I’ve had more than a week of rest, and I’m feeling quite strong now. Thank you for asking.”
“Good. The earl was just telling me of your needs for a place to live and a companion. I believe I can help you easily achieve both.”
Arianna’s eyes brightened with surprise and appreciation. “Thank you, it’s very kind of you to travel all this way to assist me.”
“And as we journey back to London, perhaps you can repay the favor and tell me about India.”
“I would be happy to.”
“I’m quite fascinated by the country, the culture, and its people, but I doubt I shall ever travel that far from England.”
“It’s a long and exhausting voyage that should take only forty to fifty days, but sometimes unexpected things happen to make the journey much longer.” Her gaze darted from Constance to Morgan and then back to Constance, and she asked, “When will we leave for London? Will it be tomorrow?”
Morgan didn’t like hearing that Arianna was eager to get t
o London, even though he’d known since the night she arrived that was her destination.
Constance smiled and then laughed lightly. “Good heavens, no. Not that soon, Miss Sweet. I need at least a day of respite from traveling, myself, but we’ll plan to leave bright and early the day after tomorrow, if that suits you and Lord Morgandale just as well?”
“Yes, of course, whenever you and the earl say will be perfect for me.”
“Good.”
Morgan forced his gaze away from Arianna and turned his attention to Constance. “As for tomorrow, why don’t I arrange for a picnic at the cottage by the coast?”
“A day by the coast? I think that would be lovely,” Constance said.
“Good. I told Miss Sweet that it was very possible her father stayed in the house when he visited here with Sir Walter, and she had mentioned she would like to see it before she leaves.”
“That’s a lovely idea. I haven’t seen the coast in a couple of years,” Constance said. “I think I would enjoy that very much, my lord.”
He glanced at Arianna, who gave him a grateful smile and said, “As would I.”
“It’s settled then.”
Morgan stared at Arianna and returned the smile. A light pink tint had returned to her cheeks and lips. Her green eyes were sparkling. All he could think was, thank God Gibby needed him and he had a reason to go back to London.
Thirteen
My Dear Grandson Lucas,
Think upon these words from my devoted friend Lord Chesterfield: “Your moral character must be not only pure, but, like Caesar’s wife, unsuspected. The least speck or blemish upon it is fatal. There is nothing so delicate as your moral character, and nothing which it is your interest so much to preserve pure.”
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
Arianna’s eyes popped open. Someone loomed over her. Her heart pounded in her chest. She opened her mouth to scream, but as her gaze focused, hastily swallowed it to a whimper. In the shadowy light of her room, she realized it was Morgan, not the man who had killed her father, who was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her.
Her chest heaved.