by Amelia Grey
“I would have assumed the idea crossed your mind from time to time,” Lyon said dryly.
“Many times. I decided it was worth another try. Perhaps fate will smile upon me this time and give me another son.”
Lyon considered his father’s statement. He couldn’t say that the thought of a child had crossed his mind when he heard his father was going to marry again. But it was always a possibility.
“The truth is, I want to make sure my legacy is the one that carries on the title and not that of my brother. I’m not sure I can depend on you to do that for me.”
“Bloody hell, Marksworth.”
“Be as scornful as you like.”
“Thank you.”
“But it’s the truth. Have you stopped to think lately that if you don’t have a son, our titles will go to Irvin who by the way already has a son, even though he is two years younger than you? I would twist and turn in my grave through all eternity should the title ever go to him. I dare say he’d gamble away everything but the entailed property inside a year, and he’d go through that as well if he could.”
Lyon chuckled. “I’m not going to let you goad me into proposing to the first lady I see. Besides, I don’t hear rumblings of discontent at any of the clubs concerning my cousin’s behavior. Irvin always manages to find a way to pay his debts.”
“Yes, by laying off the cards and dice until his pockets are plump again from his allowance. He’d like nothing better than the opportunity to pay them with my earnings. Whether or not his inheriting the title disturbs you, it does me. I intend to protect my legacy and see that doesn’t happen. I’d like a little help from you in that area. It’s past time for you to do your duty and find a wife.” Marksworth suddenly chuckled good-naturedly and slapped his hand on his knee.
“Do you intend to let me in on what humors you?” Lyon asked grudgingly.
“Certainly,” his father said. “Just this morning a wager was entered in the books here at White’s that I’ll have another son before you have your first one.”
Before making a comment, Lyon swore under his breath and shifted in his seat. “Our private lives shouldn’t be the subject of a wager,” Lyon said scornfully.
“I know, but what can we do?” Marksworth shrugged without the least amount of compunction. “A man has a right to wager on anything he wants to, and right now I’m the only one of us set to marry, so take a guess on where the bets are being placed. If you’d get busy, you could end all the speculation within a year.”
Lyon would happily have a son—if he found a lady he wanted to be his bride and give him one. At that thought, Lady Wake entered his mind for the third time. It was damnable how he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Marksworth watched Lyon with a stare that seemed to be far more searching and deeper than necessary and asked, “Why the wrinkle in your brow?”
Lyon groused inwardly but said nothing. There was no need. His father had made his point clear. There would be an heir to carry on the title from his bloodline. And it didn’t matter to his father which of them accomplished that.
“Ah, well, we’ll have to save your answer for another day anyway. There’s Mr. Leeds. I must be off to my appointment with him.” Marksworth rose and looked down at Lyon with a hearty smile. “Do you want to come for dinner on Thursday?”
“The usual time?” Lyon asked.
“Of course.”
Shortly after his father left, Lyon realized there would be no peace for reading the day’s news at White’s. He shouldn’t have expected it. Everyone who passed by stopped and wanted a moment of his time—which turned into minutes, which turned into half hours, which turned into most of the afternoon. The members of the prestigious club looked upon it as their duty to let him know they had laid their money down on the newest wager in the infamous books, and most of them made sure he knew their money was on his father.
Fine.
When Lyon had had enough of the interruptions, he went home to find Brewster waiting in the vestibule for him with his usual professional expression, holding a note.
“I’ll read it later,” he told his butler, laying his outer clothing aside.
“It’s from your neighbor, Mrs. Feversham, my lord. You may want to read it now.” Brewster turned toward what appeared to be a very large flower basket filled to overflowing with something that was covered and tucked in a white cloth. Elaborate bows of what seemed to be every color imaginable had been tied on the handle, and ribbons of varying lengths were streaming from them. A note had been tied to it as well.
“What is it?” Lyon asked.
“A basket of scones and tarts, my lord.”
“Take it to the kitchen.”
His butler cleared his throat. “It’s not for you, my lord. It’s for the girls’ school next door.”
“What the devil?”
“I was told Mrs. Feversham’s note will explain it to you.” He held the folded paper out to Lyon. “However, her footman said she heard the girls wailing this morning, felt compassion for them, and thought a few fruit tarts and fried dumplings might assist them in feeling better and improve their emotional disposition.”
“Damnation,” Lyon muttered. “A few? Looks as if there’s enough to feed an army for three days. Why didn’t her footman take them? Does she consider me her servant to do her bidding?”
Brewster blinked slowly and remained still, seeming unperturbed by Lyon’s bluster. “I don’t know, my lord. Would you like for me to send someone over to ask?”
Lyon laughed gruffly, took the note and opened it. It was two pages long. The woman had written a book instead of a simple message. He didn’t have the patience to read it at the moment. He handed it back to Brewster and stared at the basket.
For some reason, Lyon had the feeling Mrs. Feversham suspected he was the one who’d made the girls shriek and cry. She must have seen him stomping over there. She was either getting back at him for doing it or trying to help him appear apologetic by asking him to deliver the sweets to them. In either case, he couldn’t take the basket over to the school. The sight of him might start the girls screaming again. He could send Brewster, but that had possibilities he didn’t want to think about. They might consider the tall, portly butler another strange man showing up at the school, and that could distress them, too.
What he wanted to do was have Brewster march the basket right back over to Mrs. Feversham’s house and put the responsibility on her doorstep where it belonged. But Lyon was feeling a tinge guilty for unnerving the girls so greatly, and a bit remorseful, too. He’d like to think that if he’d known of their past sorrows and what they’d been through, he wouldn’t have gone over complaining about their girlish squeals and giggles.
They deserved the sweets. And he supposed he wasn’t above helping an incapacitated neighbor.
There was only one solution that he could think of to do. Take the frilly, pastries-laden basket over to the saucy Lady Wake’s house and let her take care of it. Besides, the idea of seeing her sensuous mouth, honey gold hair, and thick dark lashes framing her sparkling eyes appealed to him right now. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. But he couldn’t fool himself. He doubted she wanted to see him after their heated conversation.
That would be her problem.
Not his.
“Give it to me,” he said, reaching to take the basket off the chair where it was sitting.
Not bothering with his hat, cloak, or gloves, Lyon strode to the door and opened it. His aunt Delia stood in front of him, a small covered basket swinging from her wrist.
“Lyon, I was just about to knock.”
He blew out an exasperated breath and shook his head in frustration. The trials of some days seemed to never end.
“Aunt,” he said, with a nod of greeting.
“I stopped by to see if you would go with me to see Lady Wake. I’ve been wanting to meet her, so I had my cook pack marmalade and biscuits to welcome her to the neighborhood. Since I don’t kno
w her, and she is a countess, I was afraid she wouldn’t see me without an appointment—unless I had a handsome earl by my side.” Cordelia looked at the basket he held and then up to his eyes and smiled. “However, I see my gift can’t compete with yours.”
Chapter 9
A scone had been placed on each saucer and the cups were full.
Adeline sat on the settee in her drawing room opposite Julia and Brina listening to the two of them talk. The afternoon was windy but not cold, so they’d discussed the possibility of a walk in St. James Park later in the afternoon. She had missed her visits with them. Listening to them now made her realize how lonely the winter had been. Their chatter was a refreshing change for her usually quiet house.
If only her mind could enjoy such tranquility. But no. Lyon was a constant disruption to peace. She kept thinking about how he looked standing in front of the school. Half-dressed. Hair tousled from sleep. Passionate with anger. Filled with vitality. If she hadn’t been so angry with him, she would have wanted him to kiss her. Maybe she had wanted him to, anyway.
“Do you agree with that?” Julia asked.
“Yes,” Adeline answered, hoping she was agreeing to something she wanted to do. “Tomorrow I’ll be at Mrs. Le Roe’s for a fitting. Will either of you be there?”
“Not me,” Brina said. “I don’t even want to talk about the Season. I’ve been in London less than a full week and already three gentlemen have sent notes asking to call on me.”
“Only three?” Julia said with a wry smile.
Brina wrinkled her forehead and placed her napkin on her lap. “I know it sounds callous of me not to be flattered, but I’m simply not interested in a gentleman who is trying to win my hand or even asking me to save him a dance at the first ball. It’s the truth and I don’t want to pretend otherwise with you.”
“We don’t want you to,” Julia defended. “But I’m afraid I’m not feeling the freedom a widow is supposed to have. I think I would rather have a family who was pushing me to marry again than a duke who is watching my every move in hopes I’ll cause a big enough scandal he can justifiably cut my allowance and take my son from me.”
“Oh, Julia, I’m sorry. You know we don’t want that,” Brina said. “I sympathize with you because the duke is so old and strict with what he feels is appropriate behavior.” Brina touched the back of Julia’s hand briefly, then gave her a teasing smile. “You know I do, but can we switch places? I think I’d much rather have your problem than mine. It seems as if every man I see is being pushed upon me.”
“That’s because you are young, beautiful, childless, and wealthy.”
“You are all those things, too,” Brina argued. “Well, not childless, of course.”
Adeline stayed quiet once again and let her friends have their battle. It wasn’t a conversation she wanted to get involved in. Brina and Julia knew Adeline wasn’t interested in matrimony, but for different reasons from Brina. She had loved and adored her husband and wasn’t ready to give up her mourning. Adeline struggled with guilt for not mourning her husband enough. It simply wasn’t in her to do more than feel deep sorrow for his family’s loss.
She knew a wife’s primary duty was to give her husband a child. A son, if he had a title to carry on. Adeline had failed. She’d drunk every potion put before her, stayed flat on her back in bed for days as Wake had ordered after he’d lain with her. She’d endured every examination he’d insisted upon. To no avail. Perhaps all he had asked of her would have been easier to bear if he’d just once identified with her rather than constantly remind her of the shame she brought on him because his mistress had given him a healthy child.
Adeline hadn’t.
So, matrimony? No. Adeline would never put herself through that again, but it didn’t mean she didn’t desire a man’s touch.
“Speaking of gentlemen, Adeline,” Brina said, “have you seen the beast, Lord Lyonwood, since we were here last week?”
Images of the handsome earl flashed through Adeline’s mind. She cleared her throat, relaxed her shoulders. “Yes, we had words this morning,” she said cautiously, not wanting to get into what had happened with the girls. She knew Brina and Julia wouldn’t like his storming over to quiet the girls any more than she had.
“Was the meeting any more civil than the first time you met?”
“Probably not.”
“Why?” Brina asked. “Did he not apologize again for thinking this a pleasure house?”
“No, thank goodness. I’d really rather he never bring up that conversation again. It was extremely uncomfortable for both of us.”
“Yes. Of course.” Brina sipped from her cup and gave Julia an expression that let both of them know she hadn’t meant to tiptoe onto what was so obviously the thorny side of the garden path concerning Lord Lyonwood. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It should be forgotten by all of us.”
“But really, how can we?” Julia stated, insuring she wasn’t going to be as accommodating as Brina and reminding Adeline she was more perceptive than their younger friend. “Apparently, the earl is not putting forth his best efforts to win favors from you. What kind of words did the two of you exchange this morning?”
“It was only a slight tiff about the school.” Had she really said it was slight? “We each had our say, and that was the end of it.”
Julia would not be put off. “What was it about?”
“Noise,” Adeline admitted. “And perhaps the girls were a little loud for such a quiet neighborhood, but he and I settled it.”
“For now perhaps,” Julia said. “But the school isn’t going anywhere and neither are you. Is the earl?”
“I have no idea about him,” Adeline said.
“I would think not,” Brina offered, “but he could cause us trouble concerning the school.”
Adeline was determined not to start thinking again about how attracted she was to Lyon. She wished she could tell Brina and Julia with all truth that she hoped she never saw the man again. But she couldn’t. The unescapable fact was that she was drawn to him. It didn’t matter that he’d thought her a madam and had yelled at the girls. There was a strong charm about him and his reasons for doing so. She sensed a code of honor inside him that what he was doing was right. Defending the community from an unsavory element or a calamity of noise.
Adeline placed her untouched tea on the tray in front of her. Wanting to change the subject from Lord Lyonwood, she said, “But I have a favor to ask of you, Julia.”
“What?” she asked expectantly and then took a bite of her scone.
“I want you to bring Chatwyn with you the next time you come for tea.”
“Yes, please do,” Brina added quickly. “We haven’t seen him since you left for the coast last fall. I’m sure he’s grown taller.”
“Oh, no.” Julia dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin and then said again, “No, I couldn’t do that. You don’t know what a two-and-a-half-year-old is like. He’s never still. Except when he’s sleeping, of course. When he’s awake he is always running or talking—though no one knows what he’s saying yet. He grabs everything he sees and usually puts it in his mouth.”
Adeline laughed. “Perfect. It would be wonderful to see him again and hug his little body up close.”
“Yes,” Brina agreed. “I do want to give him a hug. He makes us laugh and smile. Something I know I don’t do often enough.”
“Neither do I, so it’s settled,” Adeline stated. “You’ll bring him with you the next time we have tea and scones, and he can enjoy them with us.”
“Scones!” Julia exclaimed, her cup rattling in the saucer as she put it on the tray. “Never. You haven’t seen him eat and you don’t want to. He’s such a happy little fellow that he laughs and chatters when food is in his mouth and it goes everywhere. Half of it ends up on his face and the other half is either on his shirt or in his hair. Believe me you don’t want to see him after he’s gobbled down a scone covered in plum preserves.”
“It sounds delightful, Julia,” Adeline said. “I do want to see him. Don’t deny us his company.”
“No, of course I won’t, if you’re sure. I’d love to share him with you. But, I warn you, his manners are—”
“That of a child,” Adeline exclaimed, cutting off the rest of Julia’s sentence. “We want to watch him grow up, hold his little hands, hear his babble of words.”
“Kiss his chubby cheeks,” Brina added. “Do this for us, please. And if it causes you anguish, suffer through it.”
“All right, all right, I will. But mark my words, we won’t have any peace. We will be constantly watching him.”
“Excuse me, my lady.”
Adeline looked up and saw her housekeeper in the doorway. “Yes, Mrs. Lawton.”
“The Earl of Lyonwood and Mrs. Cordelia Carbonall are here to see you.”
A tight curl of expectancy knotted Adeline’s stomach. Had the girls agitated him again? And who was this lady with him? Had he brought someone from the ton to take her to task about the school? What could he possibly want after their quarrel earlier in the morning? Perhaps he merely wanted to share with her some other thing he felt she’d done wrong?
Adeline glanced at Julia and Brina, who were giving her questioning looks. “I have no idea why he’s here.” She turned back to Mrs. Lawton. “Please tell him I have guests.”
“No,” Julia said quickly. “Don’t dare. I would like to know why he’s come to see you.”
Of course she would, Adeline thought.
“I want to know, too.” Brina placed her cup on the tray beside the other two. “Perhaps he simply came to apologize and make peace for whatever he said to you during your tiff this morning.”
“I feel quite confident that isn’t the case, Brina. Not every gentleman is a gentleman.”
“What did he do other than complain the girls were too loud?” Julia asked, being her typical self and not missing anything Adeline said.
“Nothing.” Other than arouse feelings inside her she wanted to stay buried.