by Cheryl Bolen
This was what he'd been wanting for. He should be elated.
Instead, he felt like a traitor.
Chapter 4
"I declare, Louisa, you are looking ever so much prettier than when I arrived," Ellie said. "I suppose it's the wearing of color." The young woman's eyes rounded, and her flattened hand flew against her mouth. "Though really, Louisa, you should be wearing black. It's not at all proper not to mourn one's own husband. Even if you didn't love him. Think of propriety!"
How different she and Ellie were, Louisa thought. Despite Ellie's claims to emulate her sister's unorthodox beliefs, at heart, Ellie's tastes were catholic. Louisa wondered if her own tastes might have conformed to the norm if her life had been more normal.
Louisa hastily finished pinning up her hair. She was guilty of spending unaccustomed time on her toilette these past several days. For the first time in years she actually wanted to look pretty.
And for that she felt excessively guilty.
But she felt absolutely no guilt over not wearing mourning for the husband she had never been able to love. "To mourn someone I abhorred would be the embodiment of dishonesty, and you know I have no tolerance for liars."
"To be sure," Ellie said. "If you will not wear mourning, I am most happy you have cast aside your dislike of femininity, and I daresay Lord Wycliff approves, too. I believe the earl has romantic feelings for you."
Louisa had little patience with her sister's foolish romantic notions. The very idea of a nobleman having amorous feelings toward her was absurd. "I assure you Lord Wycliff tolerates me solely in order to improve his mind -- and to learn who owns his former house." She whirled away from the looking glass. "Even if he were in some way attracted to me -- which I assure you he is not -- a match between a nobleman and me is quite unacceptable to both of us."
Before leaving the room, Louisa took one last look at the glass, rather pleased at the way her saffron-colored dress hung. She thought it made her look somewhat taller -- which was a very good thing. Then she fastened on her gold earrings, angry at herself for this newfound desire to look pretty when a visit from his lordship was pending.
As they walked downstairs she continued to think of what Ellie had said. I believe the earl has romantic feelings for you. Louisa could not deny that Lord Wycliff had held her a little closer than necessary during the waltz at Lord Seymour's, and his lingering gaze that swept over her last night had made her feel completely undressed. His flirtatious ways had not stopped there. She thought of the way he held her hand a bit longer than necessary when handing her into his carriage, and the way he always sat next to her in the carriage, his powerful thigh brushing against hers ever so slightly.
Such behavior, no doubt, was exhibited by all noblemen, especially one who was as young and virile and available as Lord Wycliff. She was sure these men cared for nothing save their own gratification. Wastrels the whole lot of them!
Then she neared the bottom of the stairs to find him standing there. She had not even known he'd arrived, and here he stood, his boots planted sturdily on the marble floor as he gazed up at her, looking at her with a somber, unfathomable look. She did likewise, running her eyes from the dark hair he wore uncovered to his well-cut coat that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered down to his trim waist. She could understand how empty-headed women could be enamored of a man such as Lord Wycliff.
Thank goodness she was not an empty-headed female.
Once again, Lord Wycliff's warm brown eyes flickered along the length of her. She could not have felt more undressed had he removed her clothing. Had Godwin looked at her in such a way, she would have become nauseated and wished she had never been born. Lord Wycliff's longing gaze, on the other hand, brought a quiver to her insides and a not unpleasant stirring deep and low. She felt unaccountably feminine and, oddly, desirable and beautiful.
And infuriated with herself for feeling so.
She offered him her hand -- a gesture she would not have done two weeks earlier -- and gritted her teeth at her own ease in accepting him.
"Ah, Mrs. Phillips, how lovely you look today," he said pressing her hand to his lips. Then he hastily glanced at Ellie, who was a step behind her sister. To her, he merely nodded. "Good day, Miss Sinclair."
His youthful cousin, twirling his hat in his hands, stepped forward and bowed to the two young women, his eyes solely on the younger sister. "Good morning, ladies."
As they all gathered in the foyer, Louisa turned to Ellie. "Do allow Mr. Coke to take you for a stroll about the square. I am sure you will find the information I have to impart to Lord Wycliff rather tedious."
Louisa noted the amusement twinkling in Mr. Coke's eyes before he donned his hat and offered Ellie his arm as the two strolled away.
Unaccustomed to being alone with Lord Wycliff, Louisa's heart fluttered as she turned to him. "Won't you follow me to the library?"
To her consternation, he took her arm, just as his cousin had done to her sister. Did Ellie feel as light and silly as she did right now? She had been so entrenched in her own world she had given nary a thought to Ellie and her relationship to the pleasant Mr. Coke. Now that she thought about it, she realized Ellie had recited any number of favorable comments about the young man. He did seem rather nice. And he acted with great propriety toward her sister. Still. . .Louisa had never known a man worthy of her trust.
She took a seat on the library's silken settee facing Lord Wycliff. For a moment she forgot his presence. She took note of her elegant surroundings and realized such grandiose furnishings meant nothing to her. She neither needed nor wanted such expensive finery. But she did need a roof over her head, though that roof would never be in Kerseymeade. She would beggar herself on the streets before she would ever step foot in her father's house again.
Her stomach twisted at the memory that even though she had been a dutiful wife to Godwin, he had not had the goodness within him to provide for her future. She had received no money this quarter, and the solicitor she had asked to investigate the matter had not reported back to her.
The thought of being penniless as well as homeless sent a sinking feeling to her stomach.
"You were quite the loveliest woman at the ball last night, Mrs. Phillips," Lord Wycliff said.
"You know little of me, my lord, if you think such a comment a compliment. Were you to say Lord Seymour would speak to Parliament on behalf of my principles, that, sir, would turn my head."
A wry grin slid across his handsome face. "We shall continue to work to that end, ma'am."
"We?"
He nodded. "I confess you have made a convert of me. You and I shall foist ourselves into Society with the sole aim of enlightening the idle nobles."
She threw a dubious glance in his direction. Was he serious? Had she really converted him? Would he really gain for them admission to the ton in order to educate the lords on the need for reform? Somehow, she could not quite believe in Lord Wycliff's sincerity. Except for the first day they met, he had been nothing but sympathetic to her ideas, but for some unexplainable reason, she doubted his earnestness.
"Does that mean you will take your seat in Parliament, my lord?"
His answer was not as quick in coming as she would have liked.
"I shall. Once I have my personal affairs in order."
She stiffened. "And one of those personal affairs, of course, is reclaiming Wycliff House."
"Yes." He watched her somberly.
Her breast heaved. "Very well, my lord. I shall not only tell you the name of the solicitor, I shall allow you to take me there this morning." That would save the fare for the hackney, she thought with satisfaction. Two weeks previously she had sold her cattle and carriage and been forced to dismiss the groom when she'd learned there was no money.
She detected a flicker of satisfaction in Lord Wycliff's face as he stood.
Her eyes passed quickly from his muscled thighs to his flat stomach, then up to his strikingly wide shoulders, and she drew in her breath as s
he stood.
"Do we have the companionship of my cousin and your sister for our sojourn?" he asked.
She put hands to hips. "It is not a sojourn, my lord. Merely a business meeting. It so happens that I have business myself with the solicitor, business of a private nature."
"But you have not answered my question, Mrs. Phillips."
She gave him a puzzled stare. Why did the man rattle her so? Why did his presence have the ability to make her thinking not quite straight?
"Do you need the chaperonage of your sister?" he asked.
Did he think she as senseless as a schoolgirl? Or an easy conquest? She would show him, arrogant aristocrat that he was! "Of course I don't need a chaperon. I'm a woman who was married for eight years. As a woman of such vast experience I am not easily victimized by scheming men."
He gave out a laugh. "Pardon, but surely a woman with such vast experience does not attach that scheming man label to me."
"That, Lord Wycliff, remains to be seen." Then she swept from the room and called Williams to fetch her spencer.
"On the other hand, Lord Wycliff," she said to him as she waited for her butler to return, "I would rather not leave my maiden sister in the clutches of your worldly cousin." Worldly cousin? Such a dubious description of the thus-far-worthy Mr. Coke sounded false even to her own ears.
Lord Wycliff threw back his head and roared in laughter. "I assure you my cousin is a most honorable man."
Louisa swung around to face him, her blue eyes flashing. "Does not his father keep mistresses?"
Lord Wycliff's face went white and stern. "Did we not agree on our first meeting that each man is an individual and should be judged accordingly?"
Her face went red. She swallowed. "Of course, you are right. Mr. Coke deserves to be evaluated on his own merit. I apologize."
"I give you my word Edward is an honorable man."
As if his word meant anything, but she dare not question that now. She merely nodded, unable to meet his scathing gaze.
Since it was so fair a day and since Louisa knew Ellie and Mr. Coke would be bored beyond toleration at the solicitor's, Louisa suggested leaving the two young relatives behind.
"It is better that Miss Sinclair and my cousin continue their enjoyment of the park outside," he agreed.
After giving the solicitor's direction to his driver, Lord Wycliff handed Louisa into his carriage, and to her surprise, took his regular seat beside her. They had never before been alone in the carriage. Ellie and Mr. Coke had always sat on one side, she and Lord Wycliff on the other. She knew she should scold Lord Wycliff and insist he sit across from her, but her voice failed her. To ask him to do so was to imply there was something improper in their sitting next to one another, and it would embarrass her exceedingly for him to think she could imply such things.
So during the ride to The City, she sat beside him, outwardly complacent while a great quivering rocked within her. It was some time before she trusted her voice not to tremble as she spoke. "Should you prefer to meet with the solicitor, Mr. Twining, in private?"
"I have nothing to hide from you, but Mr. Twining may. You see, if I don't get from him the information I seek, I plan to bribe the man."
Louisa knew she should act with outrage at his arrogant actions, but instead she felt mildly pleased that he was being truthful with her. Truth, she had found, was alien to most men. "Then by all means, see him alone," she said. "Will you mind waiting while I speak to him of my affairs -- which I heartily want to hide from you, my lord."
He grinned. A devastatingly handsome grin. The deuced man!
"Take as much time as you like."
The carriage turned to the right, and she leaned into him, their thighs as close as pages in a book. And once again that overwhelming deep-down stirring did havoc to her.
She avoided his gaze and hastily moved back.
A moment later they were at Mr. Twining's business establishment.
Lord Wycliff insisted she conduct her business first.
When Louisa entered Mr. Twining's interior office, the solicitor stood. He was the age of Godwin and had been Godwin's solicitor since long before she and Godwin were married. Like Godwin, he was fat, the buttons on his waistcoat straining across his round belly. She averted her gaze to his pleasant face, where his bushy gray sideburns drew her attention.
"I'm so sorry about Mr. Phillips," he began, his eyes sweeping over her pale – non-mourning – dress.
"As you observe," she said curtly, "I chose not to wear mourning. I am not here to discuss Godwin but to learn in what financial circumstances he has left me."
Without being told to do so, she sat down in front of the solicitor's desk in a broad chair with wooden arms.
A look of -- what? Mistrust? Disapproval? Or pity? -- flitted across his jowled face as he took a seat. He coughed, then rang for his clerk. When the young man entered his office, Mr. Twining instructed him to bring Mr. Godwin Phillips’s papers.
A moment later these papers were in Mr. Twining's possession. He rifled through several pages, his eyes skipping over the print. He coughed again. It was not a cough of substance but one of hesitation.
"As I told you two weeks ago, Mrs. Phillips," he began, "your husband did not own the house in Grosvenor Square. He was actually more or less its caretaker for his benefactor."
"His benefactor?" she asked incredulously. Godwin had no close friends and, goodness knows, he wasn't likeable enough to have a benefactor. Then she remembered those nights when Godwin would tell her not to come down, that a very important personage would be paying him a clandestine visit. A Lord Something or Other he was. Not that Godwin had shared such information with her. But because of the secrecy, she had stolen through the dark hallways and tried to listen to the men talk. The only thing she heard was her husband referring to the man as my lord.
"Who is this man?" she asked.
"I am not at liberty to say."
Her hands fisted in her lap, her mouth went taut. "Then tell me what this man's relationship was to my husband."
"That I am not privy to."
She shrugged. "Did my husband provide another – smaller -- home for me?"
He sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Phillips."
"As his only beneficiary, I am entitled to my husband's estate."
"I do not deny that, Mrs. Phillips. It is just that there is little to his estate. When he moved to London permanently at the time of your marriage, he sold everything else he owned, and as you know, your late husband had rather expensive taste. His bills were enormous. Why his fees at Waiters alone--"
"I am not interested in Godwin's expensive lifestyle. I know the details only too well. What I require, Mr. Twining, is the exact figure of what is left from his extravagant spending. How much do I get?" What a mercenary hussy Mr. Twining must think me.
She leaned forward.
He cleared his throat. "As you know, none of the furnishings within the Grosvenor Square house will come to you." He rifled through papers, then coughed again. "I believe Mr. Phillips had a total of thirty-seven pounds in his bank at the time of his death. That will, of course, come to you."
She nodded, her anger swelling.
"Then, of course, all the jewelry and clothing he bestowed on you are yours to keep."
That much she had known. Not that Godwin had been all that generous to her. For the occasions they had gone to fetes and balls, he had lavished her with jewelry she found gaudy and wore only on those occasions when he insisted. These she still possessed, and they should fetch enough to purchase a cottage, but she certainly could not live the rest of her life on thirty-seven pounds! Surely there had to be more money. After all, Godwin had been a man of means.
"And as you know, Mr. Phillips settled your father with a very generous amount of money upon your marriage."
Her stomach turned over, and rage swept through her. "How much?" she demanded.
"One thousand pounds."
An exorbitant su
m! She could have lived on such a sum for many years. She swallowed hard. "I don't want to know of Godwin's expenses. I want to know what's left."
He coughed again. "Actually, that's all, Mrs. Phillips. The money in the bank and your personal possessions. Also, if you care to sell any of Mr. Phillip's personal possessions, such as snuff boxes or fobs or--"
"I get the idea, Mr. Twining." She stood up, regal and proud. "Tell me when I am to vacate my home."
"The house's owner has graciously said you can stay there until the end of next month.
As she mentally calculated that Godwin's possessions might fetch twenty or thirty pounds and that she had a little over a month to find a new home, she rose and bid the solicitor a curt good-day.
* * *
Harry did not like the worried look on Mrs. Phillips's face as she left the solicitor's office. He fought his unexpected urge to take her in his arms and smooth away her troubles. Even if she was a bloody bluestocking.
He stood and met her somber gaze with one of sympathy, then he squeezed her arm as he walked past her and entered Mr. Twining's office, shutting the door behind him.
The clerk had announced him as Lord Wycliff. Mr. Twining met the peer with a broad smile on his round face. "What can I do for you today, my lord?"
"I'll not beat around the bush, Twining. I want Wycliff House back, and I'm ready to negotiate with the proper owner."
The smile of Mr. Twining's face faded. "I will, of course, convey your wishes to the owner."
"And who would that be?" Harry asked.
Mr. Twining coughed. A more false cough Harry had never heard.
"I must exercise a solicitor-client privilege in not communicating that information to you, my lord."
"Come, Twining, every man has his price. What's yours? How much do I have to pay you to get the address of the owner of my former home?"
He withdrew a bag of gold coins and set it on the solicitor's desk.
Mr. Twining looked from the coins to Harry, his eyes glassy. Sweat beaded on his brow. Then he shook his head. "I'm an honorable man. I shall not disclose such privileged information."