by Heather Boyd
He lowered the paper completely, staring at her. “You are such a contradiction.”
He was not the first to notice she possessed her own peculiarities. Usually, it was brought up at the end of a negotiation that she’d won. Most men did not like to be bested by a mere slip of a woman. “Compared to what, my lord?”
“To my imagination. When I first saw you across the street, you were cutting flowers in the garden. I thought then that conversing with you might be like speaking to any other society lady— a conversation full of empty-headed nonsense about the weather, or the cultivation of plants and such. Something I have little interest in or desire to learn more of, I confess.” He grinned widely and leaned toward her a little. “You are never dull, are you?”
“I try not to be,” she said modestly, but she was delighted by his approval and interest in her character, even if it was for naught but ensuring a pleasant working environment. “So far, I find you rather unique among men, too.”
A warmer smile curved his lips, quickly hidden as he returned to his paper. His paper crackled as he suddenly dropped it again. “Theodora, when you had a problem in your life, who did you confide in? Your mother or your father?”
What an odd question, and even more so that it was delivered with him speaking her given name. With anyone else, she would have protested the informality, but she decided to let the use of her given name pass unchallenged, to see where the conversation would lead. “That would depend on the problem. If I had misplaced an item or could not decide what to wear, I would speak to my mother about it. For anything else more serious, I would have sought my father’s advice.”
He leaned toward her again, eyes alight with eagerness. “Would you have confided in him if it were about a suitor?”
Overwhelmed by his proximity, Theodora fought a blush. “No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who would you have spoken to about a gentleman you favored?”
She regarded him warily. Was he trying to find out if she was gossiping about him with the servants? “What is this about?”
“Please, bear with me and answer my question. Who did you trust with the knowledge that you were interested in Daniel before the engagement was announced?”
“Well, Daniel knew, of course. We were drawn to each other from the very moment we met.”
“Anyone else?”
Theodora gave his question serious thought, curiosity about his need to know rising. “Well, my maid likely knew I was smitten with someone, but I don’t believe I ever mentioned Daniel to her by name in the beginning, until our understanding was common knowledge. I had no particularly close friends in India to share such a personal confidence with. I did once ask a gentleman acquaintance about Daniel’s reputation, though.”
“A friend?” He closed his eyes a moment.
“Yes, I suppose you could call him a friend, but only because I knew he would hold his tongue about my interest.”
“You truly trusted a man with so personal a topic?”
“Yes, my lord.” She sat back in her chair, studying Lord Maitland openly. “Why would that be considered odd? I have just confided in you, haven’t I? Besides, gentlemen often know things hidden from women. I wanted to know if he had any dark secrets that might harm my family or me, if our acquaintance became permanent. Do you think I should not have?”
“I… No. I’m sure you knew what you were doing, but I never anticipated this direction.” He raked a hand through his hair and bit his lower lip. He glanced her way, and then stood. “Thank you. Go about whatever you were doing before, my dear. I have to think about this further.”
Theodora could not quiet the pleasure that Lord Maitland had used her first name and called her ‘my dear’ in the space of five minutes. She looked down to hide her smile. Perhaps he was not immune to her charms after all.
Chapter 10
“You know, no one has ever suggested such a thing before,” Quinn grumbled to his hosts, swiping the last of the cheese from the platter in the dining room of a property he’d once owned in London. Although calm on the outside and happy to be here once more, Quinn still couldn’t shake the feeling he’d missed an important facet of Mary’s life. He’d always thought that Mary would confide in her family before anyone. Thanks to his tête-à-tête with Miss Dalton today, he had a new direction. Never once had he considered his sister might seek advice outside of the family, but she certainly could have. The question was, who she might have turned to that wasn’t a relation.
“I’m sure Lady Templeton has extolled the virtues of matrimony before,” Mrs. Amy Cabot said, giggling around her half-empty wine glass. “I cannot be the first to suggest it was high time you made some woman very happy and married her. You are much too nice to remain a bachelor forever.”
It was suggested far too often of late, but at least tonight’s discussion of his bachelor status was harmless fun, rather than serious discussion. He scowled at Amy’s husband seated across the table. “Mr. Cabot, your wife is under the weather. Control her impertinent tongue, man,” Quinn complained with mock ferocity.
The older man merely grinned, leaned over to kiss his wife soundly on the lips, and then sat again. “Leave her be. She’s happy.”
“She’s three sheets to the wind, sir!”
“I am not foxed,” Amy protested, but then giggled enough to make it obvious she was indeed very foxed. “I’ll have you know I am in full control of my sensibilities.” Wine slopped from her glass onto the table and she gasped in horror at the red stain. She glanced guiltily at her husband. “Maybe a little bit disguised, perhaps.”
Cabot stretched to pat her hand, eyes brimming with laughter rather than irritation. “A first, my dear. Don’t fret over the tablecloth. I’ll get you another if the stain sets.”
Quinn glanced between the pair, heart full of affection for the obvious bond of love between the newly married couple. He was proud of Amy, despite her current condition. She was deliriously happily married to a man utterly devoted to spoiling her at every turn, if tonight’s excesses were any indication. Quinn had no grounds to complain that his secret half-sister was foxed. Amy was finally stretching her wings under the gentle guidance of a man who adored her and would keep her safe.
At least she had someone to look after her now. That had not always been the case, unfortunately, from what Quinn had learned. Amy had nearly been lost to him, too. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her.
Quinn leaned back and patted his stomach, replete but clear-headed despite the wine consumed. “Another excellent dinner, Mrs. Cabot.”
“Thank you for coming, my lord. You are the kindest man to make the time to visit us.”
“I did warn you we’d not be strangers the night we met,” he reminded her.
She smiled happily. “So you did. I’m sorry your friend couldn’t join us.”
“Another performance to perfect,” he winced, realizing he’d made that same excuse before. “I swear, Adele becomes more obsessed with each new role she plays.”
“Perhaps she does not like dinners.” Amy exchanged a worried glance with her husband. “A pity neither of us has any talent for performance, Harper. We might have arranged an amateur theatrical. She might have consented to coach us all in our parts. That could have been far more exciting than merely overindulging.”
Quinn cleared his throat, discomfited by the suggestion. Adele could be very demanding of those who acted opposite her. He had no talent for pretending, and Amy was the sensitive sort who took all criticism to heart. The pair would meet eventually, and he hoped Adele would accept his half-sister was as important to him as the real ones. “Once this play is over, things will be easier,” Quinn promised, determined that Amy not believe for one moment his mistress thought her career more important than meeting a shopkeeper’s wife.
There was a tap at the door, and Cabot stood to attend to the interruption and left them alone.
Quinn shifted Amy’s glass to a safer location than the edge of the t
able, just in case another wild swing of her hands might bump it. “So, you are happy here?” Quinn asked of Amy, once her husband was well out of earshot.
Amy glanced about with pride shining in her eyes. “Yes, this is a lovely home. Thank you for making it available for Harper to purchase.”
“He said you liked it best of all the properties he’d viewed. I could not let the man disappoint you,” he said, then winked. When he had met the pair, Harper had been promising to debauch Amy in the adjacent drawing room. What he’d missed hearing was the earlier marriage proposal, but a wedding had soon followed, and given the way they still smiled at each other, lifelong bliss seemed assured.
“He never has failed to live up to his promises to date,” Amy assured Quinn, and then glanced beyond his shoulder. Her smile faded. “What is it?”
“A messenger has come, Lord Maitland,” Cabot said as he rejoined them. “The woman claims it to be an urgent matter that cannot wait.”
Quinn turned and found Miss Dalton half hidden behind Harper Cabot’s larger frame.
He blinked in surprise to see her, shocked Theodora would make the trip into Town just to deliver him a message. That was more than Layton would ever have done. Layton would have sent a footman.
“Ah, meet my new secretary, Mrs. Cabot. May I present Miss Theodora Dalton? I’ve employed a woman to manage me, and so far, have no complaints.”
“It is not like you to ever complain,” Amy promised, as she wobbled to her feet and stretched out her hand politely. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Dalton. Forgive us for how you find us tonight. It has turned into something of a celebration.”
“I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Cabot, but…”
Theodora’s gaze cut to his, and his stomach instantly knotted at her expression. “What is it, Dalton?” He took in her bearing, seeing the sadness in her eyes, and hesitation, and his breath caught.
“My lord, there has been a tragedy in your family.”
He stood quickly, all amusement gone. “My grandfather?”
“No, not the duke.” Theodora shook her head quickly. “I am so sorry to be the bearer of this news, but Lord Templeton has been struck down by a tragic affliction. He lives, but cannot move his arms and legs, or even speak.”
Quinn’s legs wobbled, and he grasped a chair back quickly to hold himself up.
No more punishments or demands.
Templeton might die.
And Quinn couldn’t find it in his heart to be sorry.
Misunderstanding his feelings, Miss Dalton hurried forward and grasped his arms tightly, staring up into his face with huge eyes full of concern. “Are you all right, my lord? Quinn?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” He licked his lips, and then patted Theodora’s shoulder. The hope for an end to his father, though, remained and grew. Quinn steadied himself using Miss Dalton’s shoulder, fighting the urge to rejoice out loud, to celebrate as he had at the end of the war against France.
He had been in battle against his father his entire life, striving to slip free of the yoke of family obligation and unreasonable demands without losing his freedom or his compassion.
That goal was so close, he could almost taste freedom.
He faced Amy to see how she had taken the news.
His half-sister held her hands to her lips, but her eyes were dry.
Cabot moved to support his wife. “You must go and take charge, Maitland. There will be much you need to do to aid Lord Templeton’s recovery.”
Quinn’s mouth dried with bitterness. Recovery was not what he wanted for his father, but he couldn’t say it out loud to anyone.
He walked to Amy and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry to spoil your dinner, sister dear.”
Theodora Dalton gasped out loud, but he didn’t look at her or deny it. His concern was for Amy, who’d never met the man who’d kept her mother as his mistress for a time, and then deserted her once her belly was full.
Amy reached up to cup Quinn’s cheek. “Don’t think of me, Quinn. You have more important concerns now. Take care of yourself, and your mother and sisters. My heart goes out to them. They will need your strength very much.”
He closed his eyes a moment, unable to fathom how he would cope with their grief in the face of his elation. He could have other responsibilities soon, too, a new title he had never coveted. “I will pass along your best for a speedy recovery as soon as I see them.”
Cabot came forward, clasped him on the shoulder, and guided him toward the door. Miss Dalton followed close behind.
“If your family needs anything at all, day or night, just send word,” Cabot offered.
Quinn nodded, grateful for the offer, and that a footman held his coat and hat at the ready. Miss Dalton grabbed his arm when he was suitably garbed for the outdoors and steered him out to the carriage. Once inside the dark confines, she tapped the roof and they moved off toward Rutherford House.
Quinn covered his head and bent forward over his knees as his mind whirled in chaos.
His father could die.
The bloody tyrant might finally give him some peace.
There were things he needed to do. So many things he’d never considered.
He’d have to send word to the King, or would Rutherford want to do that?
All of a sudden, he became aware that Miss Dalton was witness to his collapse, and he sat up quickly. It was then he discovered her hand rested on his thigh, offering silent support while he’d been overwhelmed. Her touch anchored him, righted his keel in a choppy sea while he attempted to navigate a new future.
One where he might have a chance to be happy.
He glanced out the window as the carriage slowed, recognizing the street they traveled as he tried to slow his pounding heart to the point where he could think clearly. “Why are we here?”
“This is where he fell ill,” she said in a soft voice full of compassion.
They stopped before the home he provided for Adele Blakely, and his confusion increased. “But…”
The door opened, the steps were dropped, and Miss Dalton scrambled from the conveyance before him. He stared at the doorway opening ahead. A severe gentleman in a dark coat lingered in the shadows of the house, and Quinn shrank from the truth glaring him in the face.
Surely Father had not been so incensed as to come here to berate his mistress in person?
He hurried out, still a bit dazed as he strode up the steps of his mistress’ London abode to hear her crying piteously in the sitting room.
“Mr. Clifford Fletcher, physician,” the stranger introduced himself.
“Is she hurt?”
The man appeared surprised by his question. “Oh, not at all. Not at all. Her gentleman friend is upstairs in her bedchamber. If you would be so good as to follow me, I will take you to him.”
Realization dawned slowly as he glanced into the dining room, which had not been cleared of dinnerware. The table was set for two—an intimate dinner.
It seemed Adele hadn’t been too busy for dinner after all.
“I know where the bedchamber is.”
He took the stairs two at a time, turned left into Adele’s bedchamber, a room furnished with soft silk bed linens and a delicate crystal chandelier to please her demands for superior furnishings.
He stopped and took in the candlelit scene.
Male attire was scattered haphazardly across the floor, mingled with Adele’s delicate garments. There was a body in her bed. He forced himself to gaze upon his father—in Adele’s bed, naked beneath the fine linen sheet he’d paid a fortune for.
Father was very, very still as he stared at the covered windows.
“Damn you.”
Father blinked once.
Quinn gritted his teeth against the nausea that turned his stomach into painful knots. He had no words.
He was too full of anger.
“The ailment came upon him quickly,” Mr. Fletcher told him, unaware of Quinn’s inner turmoil. “Quite
serious, as you might conclude, from his lack of response to anyone. He collapsed in the midst of…well. There is no saying if he can hear us or even understand. He cannot be roused and does not appear to be suffering any pain.”
“Yet.” He should suffer for this betrayal! Quinn jerked around. “A word, Mr. Fletcher. In private,” he ground out.
“Yes, of course.” Fletcher followed him out to the hall. “I appreciate you coming at such short notice, as the young lady was unsure of what to do. I assume you have some connection to the man?”
Quinn fumed in silence a moment, debating if he could keep his identity secret. How was this scandal to be hushed up to protect his mother and sisters, sparing them from embarrassment? That a lord was discovered insensible in a mistress’ bed was not unheard of. That he was found in his son’s mistress’ bed would spread through London faster than a gale. There was no telling the harm such gossip would do to his family.
Quinn had been cuckolded by a man well past his prime—out of spite, no doubt—and although everyone would laugh at him, too, but he was more concerned for his mother.
He took Fletcher into the little-used bedchamber across the hall and closed the door. He dug into his pocket for what coin he carried and passed the lot over. “To cover expenses, your time, and any man hired to cart him back to Newberry House. How much will it take to hush this situation up?”
Fletcher took the money and tucked it away. “I cannot hide the details, and you know it.”
“The man has a wife and daughters. They will be devastated by where and how he was found.”
Fletcher frowned. “Was it unknown that he had a mistress?”
“It was unknown that he was sleeping with this particular one,” Quinn growled. “This is not his property. It is mine, and he should not be here.”