The Bedding Proposal

by Tracy Anne Warren

  After last night, she realized he had done her an even greater wrong, convincing her that she was incapable of passion, unable to derive pleasure from the physical side of her nature. But now she knew he’d lied to her on that score as well.

  Because of Leo.

  Because he’d shown her there could be more than dutiful subjugation at the hands of a man.

  Even so, she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Was she ready to let things go further between her and Leo? Did she want to accept him into her life, into her body? She knew it was what he wanted, what he would expect, after everything they’d shared last night.

  Yet still she hesitated.

  Her life was her own now, for good or bad. Did she want to change that? Did she want to become what Society claimed her to be—a wanton woman?

  Up to now, she’d had her pride to carry her through the rough times, even if she was the only one who knew the truth about her virtue. But if she took Lord Leo to her bed, what then? And how would she feel after their affair ran its inevitable course and came to an end?

  She was still contemplating the situation when her maid arrived with breakfast. She bade her enter, grateful for the interruption.

  Bathed, dressed and fed two hours later, she allowed her maid to help her hobble over to the sofa in her sitting room.

  To her pleased surprise, she’d found her ankle greatly improved with most of the swelling gone and only a bit of bruising and soreness remaining. Lord Leo’s doctoring skills were apparently as good as he’d claimed. Even so, she wasn’t well enough to resume her usual activities. She settled comfortably onto the sofa instead, wrapped up in a warm shawl with a good book in hand.

  She’d been reading for nearly an hour when a knock sounded at her door.

  It was Fletcher.

  “Pardon the interruption, milady,” he said, “but a caller has arrived.”

  Lord Leopold.

  She laid her book onto her lap, curious flutters springing to life in her stomach. She’d known he would visit her, but she’d thought he would at least wait until after the noon hour. “Yes, Fletcher. Please show him up.”

  “Lady Cathcart is the visitor, ma’am,” he explained with no outward acknowledgment that he’d noticed her assumption that the caller was Lord Leopold. “I put her ladyship in the downstairs drawing room. I wasn’t certain if you were receiving today due to your injury.”

  “Tilly’s here?” Her nerves at seeing Leo vanished. “Yes, of course. Show her up immediately. And bring tea. And sweets. Lady Cathcart never drinks tea without a sweet.”

  Fletcher smiled. “Very good, milady.”

  Thalia marked her page, set her book aside and waited for her friend, awash with an entirely different sort of anticipation from before.

  “Fletcher says you are hurt,” Mathilda Cathcart declared without preamble as she crossed over the threshold on a rustle of elegant dark apricot taffeta skirts. “You poor dear, whatever has happened?”

  As blond as Thalia was dark, and as slender and graceful as a willow branch, Mathilda Cathcart was the epitome of everything feminine and lovely. She moved quickly across to the sofa, arms outstretched. “No, no, don’t get up.”

  Bending low, Mathilda wrapped her in a warm embrace, then dusted each cheek with a quick, friendly kiss. Her mother, being half-French, had passed along certain Continental traits to her daughter growing up. And despite the best efforts of her stern English grandmother and her often absent father, Mathilda still clung to a few of her supposed “foreign flaws.”

  Thalia smiled at her friend and returned her hug. “What a wonderful surprise,” she said as Mathilda moved away and sank down into a nearby chair. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were at Lambton until after the holidays.”

  “Oh, I was, but the house party broke up last week and the place has been frightfully dull ever since. When Henry said he was coming up to London on some parliamentary business, I decided to come too.”

  “What excuse did you give this time? Or does he even know you’re visiting me?”

  “He thinks I’m shopping, but as his mother always says, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Mathilda said, drawing off her gloves. “We all have our little secrets, after all.”

  Thalia’s brows drew close, thinking she detected a thread of strain in her friend’s voice.

  The two of them had known each other since age eighteen, when they’d both been nervous debutantes embarking on their first London Season. Sensing kindred spirits, they had formed a swift, strong bond of friendship that had withstood their subsequent marriages, the births of Mathilda’s three children and—most telling of all—the ravages of Thalia’s divorce.

  Mathilda’s support had never wavered, not once, not even in the face of the most salacious testimony during the divorce proceedings. She’d known that Thalia was the wronged party, whatever had been publicly reported. She’d never even asked for an explanation, although Thalia had told her all the most important parts—the ones that made a difference anyway.

  Thalia studied Mathilda. “Tilly, is anything wrong?”

  “Wrong? Of course not,” Mathilda replied in a not entirely convincing tone. “But what are we doing talking about me when you are the one ailing? What happened to take you off your feet?”

  “Nothing so very dreadful,” Thalia said, deciding she could wait until later to probe deeper into whatever was troubling her friend. “It’s rather silly really. My bootheel broke and I sprained my ankle.”

  “Oh, how awful. Did you fall? Are you hurt otherwise?”

  “No, someone was there to catch me before I could do any serious damage.”

  “Someone?” Mathilda’s blue eyes twinkled with sudden interest. “Someone who?”

  “No one you know,” Thalia said, realizing her mistake in mentioning that particular detail. “Oh, look, here comes the tea.”

  Fletcher made his slow, careful way inside, providing a distraction at just the right moment.

  “Don’t think this conversation is over,” Mathilda said under her breath as Fletcher set down the large silver tray.

  “The one we began about you isn’t either,” Thalia replied.

  Mathilda frowned.

  They chatted about inconsequential things while the butler laid out plates of sweets, tiny sandwiches and accompaniments. Lastly, he arranged the tea urn in front of Lady Cathcart so she could serve, since Thalia wasn’t able to do her usual duty as hostess. Then he withdrew.

  “Hmm, these jam tarts are quite the best I’ve ever had,” Mathilda remarked a couple of minutes later. “You must give me the recipe for my cook.”

  “Gladly. So how are the boys?”

  “They’re well. Tom went off to Eton this year, you know.” Mathilda gave a sad little sigh. “Soon all my babies will be leaving the nest and the nursery will be quite empty. Seems like only yesterday I was rocking them to sleep.” She ate another biscuit and drank a quarter of her tea.

  “Is that what’s wrong? Are you missing Tom and worrying about the day the other boys are off to school as well?”

  “Of course, I miss him and dread the day all of them are gone. But no, that is not the trouble.”

  “So what is it?” Thalia reached out a hand. “You can tell me. Isn’t that why you came? So we could talk?”

  Mathilda raised her eyes. “I couldn’t put it in a letter. It would have made it seem far too real.” She took a deep breath. “I think Henry is having an affair.”

  Thalia paused. “Surely not. He’s always been devoted to you. Whatever I may think of him otherwise, I’ve never been able to fault him in regards to you.”

  “He doesn’t dislike you, you know,” Mathilda said. “He finds you amazingly resourceful and brave. It’s just . . . well, it’s only that he . . .”

  “Disapproves,” Thalia supplied. “Yes, I know. He is simply watching out for your reputation, not wanting your association with me to taint your place in Society. I quite understand.”

  “
And you should also understand that I don’t give a tuppence about such things,” Mathilda said fiercely. “You are always welcome at Lambton, however much Henry may worry about raised eyebrows. You ought to have accepted my invitation this past autumn, but you never do. Come for Christmas instead. I would dearly love to have you come for a visit.”

  “And ruin your holidays? I think not.”

  It was an old discussion between them; every year Mathilda invited her to her country estate and every year Thalia refused. Her friend Jane Frost did the same. But she couldn’t burden either of them with the trouble that would ensue from having such a notorious divorcée in attendance. No, Mathilda’s husband was right to discourage their friendship. If Thalia were a better friend to both women, she would have severed ties with them long ago.

  Thalia drank the last of her tea, then set her cup aside. “So why do you think Henry is being unfaithful?”

  “It’s nothing obvious, no scented love letters or midnight rendezvous. But he’s been distant lately, preoccupied, and when I ask him what the matter is, he brushes it off. Tells me I am imagining things and that all is well.”

  Mathilda frowned and bit into another jam tart. “I might almost believe him if it weren’t for his frequent trips to London. Business, he says, but it’s more. I know it’s more. We don’t talk the way we used to and he—” She looked away and bowed her head. “He hardly ever visits my bed. I don’t think he loves me anymore.”

  Mathilda burst into tears.

  “There, now, I’m sure that’s not true.” She reached across and squeezed her hand. “He’s always adored you. It has to be something else.”

  “Yes, but what?” she said on a sniff, finding a handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

  “Who can tell? You know how men are, silent and all stiff upper lip when they think a woman ought not to know. Look, I haven’t the connections I used to, but there may be a way of finding out more.”

  “Really?” Mathilda brightened, sniffing again.

  “I probably shouldn’t have said, since I can’t promise anything, but I shall do my best. Do you think you can rest easier about it now?”

  “I shall try.” Mathilda blew out a breath and forced a smile. “And thank you for listening. You are very good.”

  Thalia laughed. “You are the only one who thinks so.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Mathilda took a minute to pour them both fresh cups of tea. “Now what is this about your accident and someone being there to catch you? Who, pray tell, is this someone?”

  Thalia hesitated, using the excuse of balancing her teacup to give herself a moment to reply. “It was Fletcher. He caught me just moments after I tripped.”

  “Fletcher?” Mathilda lifted a skeptical brow.

  “Indeed. He is far stronger than he looks despite his age.”

  “Of course. And the ocean is full of mermaids and soap bubbles.” Mathilda laid a small chicken and watercress sandwich onto her plate. “Be forewarned. I shall worm the truth out of you eventually, one way or another.”

  “But you have the truth. There is nothing more to be said.”

  “There is plenty to be said, I can tell. But I shall let you off the hook for the time being.” Mathilda smiled and bit into her sandwich. “Now, what do you think of the latest gowns in La Belle Assemblée? I must have something to discuss should Henry ask me how my shopping excursion went.”

  They talked for another hour; then it was time for Mathilda to be on her way. It wouldn’t do for her to be missed at home whatever issues she and her husband might be having. They were about to say their good-byes when Fletcher entered the room.

  “Lord Leopold Byron, milady,” he announced. “I did ask his lordship to wait below, since you are resting in your chambers—”

  “But I would have none of it,” Leo said, finishing the other man’s sentence as he strolled inside. “I’ve come to check on you, Lady Thalia. How is your ankle?”

  “Better,” Thalia said as she avoided Mathilda’s interested gaze. “Thank you for your concern, but you need not have called today, you know.”

  Especially not with Tilly here.

  If only Leo had waited another ten minutes, he and Mathilda would have missed each other completely, she lamented silently. Not that she really minded Tilly knowing about Leo; it was only that she’d wanted to keep him a secret a little while longer. Despite their passionate interlude last night, she wasn’t sure if anything more serious was going to happen between them, and she would rather have waited until she decided the future of their relationship before involving her friend.

  “Of course I needed to call,” he said. “I am acting as your physician, if you remember. I need to care for my patient.”

  Mathilda’s eyes sparkled even more brightly at that remark; Thalia wanted to close her own and groan.

  Instead, she looked at Fletcher, resigned to the fact that Leo wasn’t going to take the hint and depart. “More tea would seem to be in order,” she told the servant. “Or would you prefer something stronger, Lord Leopold?” she added, turning her gaze on Leo.

  A smile played over his mouth. “Stronger sounds good, but tea will do for now.”

  Once Fletcher departed, along with the empty tea urn, Leo sent a glance toward Mathilda, an expectant look on his face.

  For her part, Mathilda appeared equally intrigued.

  “Thalia,” Leo said, “would you be so good as to introduce me to your guest? I would do it myself, but I know what a stickler you are for the proprieties.”

  She frowned, catching his thinly veiled reference to their first meeting. “Mathilda, allow me to make you known to Lord Leopold Byron. Lord Leopold, this is Lady Cathcart, a very old and dear friend of mine.”

  “Not so old,” Mathilda said with a smile. “Be careful, Thalia, or you will put us both to shame. Lord Leopold, a pleasure.”

  “The same, ma’am.”

  They exchanged a bow and a curtsy.

  Mathilda spoke first. “I hope I am not mistaken, but I believe I am acquainted with your sister-in-law Lady John Byron? She came to my notice through her beautiful portfolios. I have all her books of flowers and birds, and when I had an opportunity, I begged an introduction through a mutual friend. She is quite as delightful as her paintings.”

  He smiled. “Grace is extremely talented and one of the nicest people I know. My brother Jack got lucky when he married her. She and my little sister, Esme, are always talking technique when everyone is at Braebourne. Esme is an artist too and amazingly clever with a brush, and I don’t say that just because I am her brother.”

  “In that case, I hope I have the opportunity to view her work one of these days.”

  Thalia looked down at her linked hands, all too aware that she herself would never have such a chance. Lord Leopold would not be introducing her to any of his wellborn female relations. Nor did she expect him to. She had lost her place in genteel Society the moment Gordon made his accusations against her and sought a divorce.

  “So what is this about you being Thalia’s physician?” Mathilda asked. “That seems an unusual avocation for an aristocrat.”

  “Oh, I’m not a doctor, not in the true sense. But I did step in to help after Lady Thalia met with her unfortunate accident yesterday. We were just back from attending a sale at Tattersall’s when she stumbled and twisted her ankle. Had her injury been anything more serious than a sprain, I would have called a real physician.”

  “Ah, the catcher.” Mathilda shot Thalia a look of reprimand. “Fletcher indeed.”

  “Catcher?” Leo lifted an eyebrow.

  “Never mind,” Thalia interrupted. “Tilly, I thought you needed to be going along. Of course you’re welcome to stay if you like—”

  “No, no, you’re right. I must depart”—Mathilda sent a glance toward the mantel clock—“no matter how tempting it is to remain. A pleasure to have met you, Lord Leopold.”

  “And you, Lady Cathcart.”

  She went to Thalia and bent over to hu
g and kiss her good-bye. “He is divine,” she whispered into Thalia’s ear so only she could hear. “You must tell me everything in immense detail as soon as may be.” She paused. “And don’t forget your promise about the other. I shall be waiting on tenterhooks to hear what you discover.”

  “You will know as soon as I do,” she said with a reassuring nod.

  Mathilda straightened, smiling past the lines of strain on her face. “I shall call on you again soon,” she said in her normal voice. “Do take care and feel better.”

  “Not to worry,” Leo said. “She has orders to do nothing more strenuous than rest and heal. I shall make certain she obeys.”

  “My, isn’t he forceful?” Mathilda remarked.

  Thalia met Leo’s eyes. “You have no idea.”

  But he just grinned, as wicked and unrepentant as always.

  Chapter 17

  “Lady Cathcart seems quite amiable,” Leo said once the other woman had departed.

  He studied Thalia where she reclined on the sofa, noting again how lovely she looked in a dark blue velveteen day dress and a green woolen shawl. She wore slippers on her feet rather than shoes in deference to her sprained ankle.

  “Tilly is quite amiable,” Thalia said. “And kind. She has one of the most generous spirits of any person I have ever known. Which is why I am not angry with you for saying the things you did.”

  “Me?” He laid a hand across his chest, at a complete loss. “What did I do?”

  “You told her you have been acting as my doctor. A less considerate and discreet individual than she might put all variety of lurid connotations on that.”

  “Only because you have a naughty mind.” Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her lips before she could protest. “Then again, you may be as naughty with me as you like,” he added, winking.

  She gave his arm a swat. “Stop that.”

  “That’s not what you said last night.”

  “Go sit down.” She pointed toward the chair. “Fletcher will be along any minute with your tea.”