London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  “But I don’t want to marry you.” She said the words softly to buffer their impact. “I’ve told you several times.” Matthew stepped closer, at the ready to act if necessary.

  “We would have found our way to an agreement,” Kirkman insisted. “And you would have come to care for me.”

  “I do care for you.” She ignored the abrupt grunt of objection from Matthew beside her. “All this time while I’ve been consumed with my grandfather’s condition, I’ve neglected my duties as your friend. You’re so troubled, Henry. I want to help, but I can’t marry you to do that. I’m so sorry.”

  Silence enveloped them.

  Kirkman rubbed his jaw and looked at her a long time. His emotionless stare sent a sense of disquiet skittering up her spine. “It’s inconvenient we couldn’t settle matters more easily. I never intended for it to end this way.”

  “It didn’t have to,” Theodosia replied, her voice soft. “I wish you would tell me why you’re so insistent we marry. What could possibly cause this impetuous behavior?”

  “My father.” Kirkman spat the words as if the taste of them was poison on his tongue.

  “Your father died last year. Was it something in his will?” Theodosia shook her head. “Are you saying his will stated you must marry me?”

  Kirkman drew a deep breath. “I cannot say more than I must marry. Anyone. But you would have done nicely. Your nose is always buried in a book. I would have my funds and you would have your independence.”

  The air stilled to what seemed an endless moment.

  “You insult my honor.” She lifted her chin and stared at the man she once called friend. “You should go now.”

  Kirkman’s eyes lit with anger, though he remained silent.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Matthew advanced and blocked the man’s path within an arm’s reach, no matter how Kirkman attempted to pass. “I’ll have that marriage agreement before you leave.”

  “Matthew.” She tried to harness her patience, wanting nothing more than to be rid of Henry. She’d always shown him kindness, and his words were hurtful. “He can’t do anything with it if I don’t agree.” She understood Matthew’s reasoning and felt a loss for Kirkman’s desperation. She’d known despair and a keen sense of loneliness in her short lifetime.

  “I’ll have it anyway.”

  “I came here for Theodosia, but I see the real problem more clearly now.” A sad, sinister thread wove through his words. Kirkman reached into his coat pocket to retrieve the document and withdrew a long knife. “Perhaps a little persuasion is necessary.”

  The glint of the silver blade snared their attention immediately, but Kirkman lunged forward, the knife held high as he leapt. Things blurred as she was shoved out of the way. She scrambled aside, unwilling to be a nuisance underfoot as both men grappled for control.

  “Henry, what are you doing?” Her voice sounded shrill, her pulse on the run. “You can’t mean to hurt someone.”

  She watched in horror as the struggle played on. Caught unaware, Matthew was unsteady. He took several strides backward to compensate, but Kirkman pushed on with fervor, backing him closer to the large glass window on the opposite side of the orangery. The force of two men together would definitely break the panes, and an image of Matthew’s bloody body, cut by the broken shards, brought her to her feet, ready to act.

  She had few resources within her reach. A trenching spade leaned near the potting bench, but she might hit Matthew as easily as Henry, wielding its cumbersome weight. Instead she grabbed a hand trowel and launched at Henry’s shoulders, striking him repeatedly. He jolted one shoulder back, able to deflect her easily, but she would not be deterred. The men had advanced within a stride of the same window where she’d cried her good-bye to Matthew after he’d left Leighton House all those weeks ago. Where she’d noticed his fingerprints and realized her heart was given, despite her brain refusing to hear reason.

  She ran forward in a chase she feared she wouldn’t win, and she didn’t. A scream broke free as the men crashed through the glass wall, out into the cold and onto the hard ground. Sobbing with anger and fear, she swung her arm with all her strength and brought the trowel down on the side of Henry’s head, putting an end to his unrelenting attack.

  He slumped over and Matthew quickly reversed their positions, on guard should Kirkman continue his challenge, but the man was as motionless as a buried rock.

  “You’ve knocked him into the New Year,” Matthew quipped, his chest heaving hard from exertion. “Well done of you.”

  “How can you jest at a time like this?” Emotion raised her voice to a higher note, tears of fear and frustration flowing freely now. “I don’t swoon. I don’t swoon,” she chanted after another gulp of air. “I thought you would . . . I didn’t know if he . . . I—” She stopped any further attempts at coherent speech and pressed her face into her trembling fingers.

  “I, on the other hand, am remarkably unscathed.”

  He stood and turned full circle. She opened her eyes to examine him and noticed nothing more than dirt stains on his clothing and a few specks of blood on his back and shoulders. Wiping away her tears, she dragged in a ragged breath.

  “Now for a few remaining details.” Matthew retrieved the knife and placed it behind him on the gardening table. Then he bent over Kirkman and rifled his pockets until he came away with the folded betrothal agreement.

  “Was that truly necessary?” She needed to be held, and every minute he made her wait left her bereft and wanting.

  “Yes.” He tugged her into his arms and flush against his body, the paper clenched in his fist. “I’ll not have a man walking the planet with a document that grants him permission to take you from me.”

  “You’re absurd.” She drew back to offer him an incredulous stare but he was having none of it, and before she could think otherwise, he leaned in and claimed her mouth. His kiss immediately restored her clarity. Would she always feel this way within his embrace? As if she belonged nowhere else other than the circle of his arms? She hoped so.

  When at last they brought the kiss to an end, she rested her head upon his chest, her ear over his heart. “Why did you think to come to the orangery?”

  “I woke up and knew something was wrong as soon as I saw you weren’t beside me.” He stroked his palm down her back and squeezed her tighter. “I inquired of Lord Talbot first, but Collins assured me the earl slept still. From then it wasn’t a matter of knowing where you’d be. It was more the distinct awareness of ill ease that drove me out here.”

  “Do you believe Henry would have stolen me away?” She liked listening to his heartbeat. By far it was her favorite sound.

  “I’m not sure. But desperation changes one’s personality and often rationalizes what otherwise might be unconscionable. I’ve experienced something similar in my recent past during my sister’s difficulties and my installment as chief officer.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wanted to know more about that time in his life, but her questions would have to wait until later.

  “In the end it all proved a learning experience and ultimately brought me to you.” He pressed a brief kiss to her temple. “I wouldn’t have guessed Kirkman had the audacity. He must be in a terrible fix.” He cut a swift glance to the ground where the man remained unconscious, his breathing measured by a stray elderberry leaf that fluttered atop his chest with each exhale. “When I realized you might need help, no matter the urgency, I worried whether I could move fast enough through the house to reach you in time.”

  “You don’t have your walking stick.” Her words came out troubled. “Does your leg pain you?”

  “Not as much as seeing you in distress.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, content to be held in his arms until a whistle of cold air rushed through the open panes and invited reality to intrude.

  “Why didn’t he just ask if he needed funds?”

  “I suspect much more was at stake than a loan between friends. Pri
de, humiliation, and reputation, no doubt.” Matthew paused. “Would it have changed your mind if he’d confessed from the start?”

  “No.” She couldn’t reply fast enough. “Of course not, but I might have helped.”

  “He doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” She dismissed his comment out of hand. “I’ll assign two footmen to return Kirkman home and require them to advise his household to keep him under watch until the physician arrives.” She shook her head at the surprising turn of events. “I must have hit him a lot harder than necessary.”

  Matthew gave a slight smile despite the severity of the subject. “That outcome is too good for him, a true holiday gift, though I suspect you’ll spare him further embarrassment and won’t pursue actions more detrimental to his character. You should go into the house so you don’t catch a chill. If you’ll arrange for Kirkman’s disposal, I’ll stay until the footmen arrive and then we’ll contend with closing up these broken panes.” He looked at the mess of shattered pottery, glass, and plant debris strewn inside and out. “I’m sorry, Theodosia. I know this is your special place and now it will hold unpleasant memories.”

  “It’s all in our ability to repair.” She offered him a reassuring nod and smoothed her hands up and down her arms to ward off the cold. “As long as you’re well and Kirkman leaves, I haven’t a complaint. I never wish to see him again. Let the consequences of his rash display and dishonorable behavior sever any friendship that remained between us.” And then, as if only just remembering, her eyes flew wide and she added, “Lord, the duke and duchess will believe me the worst hostess.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Christmas Eve proved to be as enchanting as Theodosia dreamed it could be. The house hummed with holiday cheer, each window, hearth, and doorway decorated with generous evergreen garland, the greenery adorned with apples and clove-studded oranges, red satin ribbons, and ornate silver charms. Wreaths made from pine boughs with holly, rosemary, and hawthorn graced the newel posts where the decorations cascaded upward, interwoven in the baluster spindles to carry the adornments to the second floor.

  The kitchen rejoiced with the scents of gingerbread and marzipan, and the cookies were consumed as quickly as they cooled, while spiced wassail simmered in a pot over the fire to lend a cinnamon-sweet fragrance throughout the ground floor.

  Having just finished an elaborate holiday dinner of roasted goose with chestnut stuffing, mackerel with fennel, fried oysters, pickled asparagus, and side dishes too decadent for second helpings, Theodosia led her grandfather, Matthew, and Their Graces into the formal drawing room for conversation before they planned to partake in a dessert course of almond cream trifle and plum pudding. As a sign of prosperity and good fortune, a yule log burned in the firebox, but Theodosia couldn’t imagine a wish she needed to make. One glance around the room proved she had everything her heart desired.

  Grandfather still struggled at times, his dementia more pronounced later in the day than early in the morning, and she wondered with the mind of a scientist if she shouldn’t record his patterns and focus her attention on what the information revealed. He still demanded marmalade occasionally, and often lost the end of his sentence or story, but she reveled in his spans of clarity when things appeared almost normal again. She treasured those shared times most of all.

  The Duke and Duchess of Scarsdale were exactly as Matthew described them. Accepting and affectionate, not just with each other, but in every situation. They were patient and understanding concerning Grandfather’s condition and more fascinated with her unique qualities and unusual interests than in censuring her personality. She’d managed to keep her nerves under control mostly, and with that ease of comfortability, found friendship and camaraderie with Amelia and her husband. The hope lived that she would be able to consider them her family, a new sister and friend, at the least.

  Matthew and his ability to charm seemed most pronounced as Christmas fell upon them. Or mayhap it was the limitless love that grew in her heart that made it seem so. His presence caused her to smile, his knowing touch heated her soul. She couldn’t imagine a life without him in it, as her friend and ally, her lover, her husband. Again, her eyes settled on the yule log aflame in the hearth. Mayhap she did have something to wish for after all.

  “I propose a toast.” Scarsdale raised his glass of port and they all took their drinks in hand. “To the unexpected delight of this holiday. To Lord Talbot and his gracious hospitality. To Leighton House, and its diverse and intriguing dedication to science. To the fine company of my wife and brother-in-law, but most of all, to our lovely hostess, Lady Theodosia.”

  “To many more years and many more Christmases,” Grandfather added before he took a sip of wine.

  “To family, most of all,” Amelia countered, a knowing smile on her face as she turned to look at her husband. “And what is to come.” She placed her hand delicately on her abdomen as they matched eyes.

  “To love,” Matthew continued. “To finding the person with whom you’re most meant to share life. To understanding and caring. To protecting and cherishing.” His voice dropped lower as he walked closer. “To knowing you will never be complete nor happy without the returned affection of your soul’s match.”

  All eyes turned in her direction and her pulse hitched. How could she possibly follow all the heartfelt sentiments already expressed? She blushed in spite of herself. From the corner of her eye she saw Grandfather wink, his expression bright with pride. At her extended silence, Matthew provided yet another rescue. He moved beside her and promptly placed her hand in his.

  “A few months ago, I came to Leighton House on a mission of discovery and investigation.” He glanced briefly at her before he eyed the others, who sipped their wine and listened attentively. “I had no idea what I would find, but I was after the truth in the most elemental form.” He turned to face her now, and she nervously hemmed her lower lip.

  He looked absolutely dashing, his formal wear cut to perfection, those same golden-brown eyes that warmed her from the inside out, alive with merriment and mischief. Her heart beat heavily but only because it was near overflowing with love.

  “My journey was successful. I identified the truth readily, but what I discovered during the process proved more valuable than any mission of knowledge and fact.” He raised his wineglass in her direction and for all her past insecurities of being picked apart and analyzed, dissected and measured by public opinion and scrutiny, a confident smile broke through. “Instead I found my heart.”

  “Cheers.”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  “Well said, Whittingham.”

  Conversation and gaiety extended into the late hours, and it wasn’t until half eleven that Theodosia found herself alone with Matthew in the drawing room. Amelia and Scarsdale had scurried upstairs long before, while Grandfather had been the first to say good night.

  Now, with only minutes left before Christmas Day was upon them, she walked to the mantel and retrieved the gift Matthew had sent, which she’d never opened.

  “At last, a few moments of quiet and privacy.” He joined her on the settee where she held the box atop her lap.

  It wasn’t heavy and she couldn’t imagine what was inside. A letter, of course. The one she was supposed to read, which announced her current guests’ arrival. But the box was too big for a betrothal ring, and secretly that’s what Theodosia desired most of all.

  To know she was loved as thoroughly as she loved him.

  To spend the rest of her life with this man beside her.

  “You really should open it,” he prodded. “I’m no longer certain the condition of the gift will be what I intended, considering how long you’ve kept it wrapped up tight.” He grinned, his eyes aglitter beneath those long, dark lashes.

  “Should I have opened it at once?”

  “Secretly I hoped my instincts proved correct and you would save it for Christmas Day so I’d be here beside you.”

&nb
sp; “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that and hurriedly untied the white velvet ribbon. “I have no idea what’s inside.” She carefully removed the paper and lifted the lid of the box. The scent of rosemary, bay, and laurel quickly flooded her senses. “How beautiful.”

  “Like you, Theodosia.” He reached into the box and removed the kissing bough, a tight ball of mistletoe sprigs, evergreen, and herbs, decorated with a bright red ribbon at the top, though he didn’t hold it high enough for them to move beneath and kiss, instead keeping the bottom portion and ribbon settled in the box. “I have the tack here for hanging. I put it in the bottom of the box.”

  “It’s lovely. Thank you.” She smiled and slid to the side of the settee so she could stand and usher him to the doorway threshold. “We’ll hang it here and pass through often. Since every time you claim a kiss we must remove a berry, I think we should enter this room as often as possible.”

  “Fond of my kisses, are you?” He approached the doorway, though he still held the decoration at his side.

  “It’s a wonderful holiday tradition,” she rebuffed, her voice a little dreamy, her body already anxious for their first kiss claimed.

  “Indeed. I do enjoy traditions. Christmas Eve is also the night for stockings, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She shuffled her slippers in a restless dance.

  “In your case I look forward to taking them down, not putting them up.”

  He winked and she released a breath of impatience. What was taking him so long with the kissing bough? Her lips tingled with anticipation as she stood in the doorframe waiting.

  Finally, he reached above her and pressed the tack into the wood. The kissing bough fell gracefully down the ribbon and settled with a sway right above their heads. She didn’t give it another look, her sole focus on him before her. She stood so close, the white starched linen of his cravat nearly brushed her nose and the fragrance of his shaving soap mingled with the scented sprigs of herbs. She inhaled deeply and allowed her lids to fall closed.

  Still he didn’t kiss her.