Secrets of a Wedding Night (6 page)

“I’ll meet you in the foyer in a few minutes,” Devon called after him, closing the door. He approached Mr. Halifax. The tutor rose to greet him.

“My lord,” Mr. Halifax said, bowing to Devon.

“Please have a seat,” Devon replied, gesturing to a nearby bench. He grabbed a wooden chair, turned it around, and straddled it. Folding his arms over the top, he regarded Mr. Halifax.

Mr. Halifax sat uneasily on the edge of his seat and pushed his silver spectacles up his narrow nose.

“How is he progressing?” Devon asked.

Halifax took a thin, shaky breath. “Master Justin is a pleasure to teach, my lord. He is intelligent, quick-witted, and humorous. His Greek and Latin are coming along quite nicely, and I needn’t tell you his gift for arithmetic continues to be the most impressive I’ve ever seen.”

Devon smiled wistfully. “Yes, it seems that trait runs in our family.”

Halifax nodded. “He can be a bit rambunctious, defiant at times, but overall his penchant for learning astounds me. I’ve been forced to speed up my lessons on more than one occasion to keep pace with him. He’s quite an intelligent lad. You should be exceedingly proud of him.”

Devon nodded. His eyes scanned the room. The dark wooden walls, the small chairs, the table, the bench, even the smell of lemon juice used to clean the place. And the books, the sweet smell of books. It catapulted him back through space and time. He’d sat in the same spot Justin had been moments earlier, reciting numbers, numbers that seemed like words to him, numbers that came more easily to him than anything else in his world. When they clicked into place in his brain, everything made sense.

Devon stood and paced the room, his hands folded behind his back. He stopped in front of a bookshelf and eyed a tome of arithmetic. He ran his fingers along the worn leather binding. Pulling the book from the shelf, he thumbed open the first page. There they were. DMSM. His initials. Devon Marcus Sandridge Morgan. The Fifth Marquis of Colton. He rubbed his index finger back and forth across the letters, the shadow of a smile on his lips. He remembered the day he’d written them. His father had given him the book, delighted that his son was such a gifted student.

“He is fit to teach me, my lord,” Devon’s tutor had informed his father. “The best I have ever encountered.”

His father had beamed. “My son is impressive,” he would say, telling anyone who would listen. It had been Devon’s greatest achievement, making his father proud of him.

And Devon had been proud too … until his father had started taking him to gaming hells, using his son’s gift for numbers to help him win at the tables.

Devon shook his head, dispelling the bad memories. He slipped the book back into place on the shelf. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned back around to face Mr. Halifax.

“I’ll return Justin in a couple of hours.”

Mr. Halifax’s voice shook. “Master Justin is very busy and I—”

“Two hours,” Devon said in a voice that brooked no further discussion.

Halifax swallowed and nodded. “Will you be staying for dinner, my lord? Perhaps I might join you, and we can discuss Master Justin’s studies at greater length.”

“No,” Devon replied, with true regret. “I cannot stay. I must return to London. I have an appointment tonight.” Then, under his breath, “There is something I must do.”

“Very well, my lord. I’ll assist Master Justin in preparing everything for your fishing excursion. It will just be a few minutes.” Halifax hurried from the room, shutting the door behind him.

Devon turned to face the classroom again. He expelled his breath. God, if only he didn’t have to return to London tonight. The Rookery made his stomach turn. But he’d made his promises, and unlike his father, he would keep them.

His appointment in that unsavory part of town was at midnight, and he would be there. But since he must return to town, he might as well take the next step in his seduction of the countess. No sense in wasting an opportunity. He could fulfill his obligations and teach that shrew a lesson at the same time. He’d already ordered one thing to set his plan in motion.

He smiled to himself. Yes. He’d made her wait long enough. Long enough to make her wonder if he was serious. It was time to make the next move.

Devon stepped over to the windows. His hands folded behind his back again, he looked out across the vast expanse of grass and gardens behind the estate. His eyes immediately rested on a spot many yards away, nestled under a copse of trees. It had been there, over twenty years ago, that his father had first shown Devon the Morgan signet ring. Passed down, his father had said, through generations. Given to his great-great-grandfather by the king who had bestowed the title upon the family.

Devon recalled the pride that had welled up in his ten-year-old chest that day when his father had allowed him to hold the ring, slip it onto his too-small finger. “This shall be yours one day,” his father had informed him. “And with it comes a great deal of responsibility.”

Devon clenched his jaw at the memory. If only his father had taken his own responsibilities as seriously.

Devon had been so lost in his thoughts, he’d failed to hear the door open behind him.

“I was told you were here, my lord,” the older woman said quietly, snapping Devon from his reverie. He turned to her, and a smile broke across his face.

“Mrs. Appleby,” he called. “Good to see you.” He looked at the woman who’d been more like a mother to him than a servant. It still seemed awkward to hear her call him “my lord,” even after all these years.

The plump woman shuffled forth with a bright smile on her face and Devon ushered her into the room.

“I came to see Justin,” he told her.

“I thought so. You know he loves you very much. He’s sure the world revolves around you.”

Devon’s lips turned up at the corners. “Not quite.”

“Shh,” she laughed. “Don’t tell him that. You’re his hero.”

Devon swallowed against the lump in his throat. “How is he, Mrs. Appleby?”

“Didn’t Mr. Halifax tell you? He’s learning like a true scholar. Just like you.”

“But how
is
he? Is he happy here?”

Mrs. Appleby’s aged hand slid over Devon’s and she gave it a squeeze. “He’s fine, my lord. Truly, he is.”

“And still no word … from his mother?”

The housekeeper cast her eyes downward and shook her head solemnly. “No, my lord. As usual. Nothing.”

Devon nodded. “And the rest of the household, Mrs. Appleby? I trust all of the servants are doing well.”

“Absolutely, my lord.”

Devon turned toward the door. “I should get out there. I believe the last time I left Justin alone for too long, he decided to go fishing by himself.”

Mrs. Appleby laughed. “That he did. Just like you, he’s not one to wait long for anything.”

Devon’s hand was on the cool brass doorknob when Mrs. Appleby’s voice stopped him. “When might we expect to see you again, my lord?”

Devon turned the knob and yanked open the door. “I’ll be back next month, in time for Justin’s fifth birthday.”

CHAPTER 6

Lily was holed up in the study again, a quill clutched in her fist. This time, she was writing a list. A list of alternatives if the pamphlet did not earn her enough money to stay in town. Her cousin Althea in Northumberland might take them in. Althea had seven children, surely she could use help taking care of them. Lily and Annie were both adept at sewing. Perhaps they could find work as seamstresses. But would a seamstress hire them? Two former ladies forced to the streets?

Lily dunked her quill in the inkpot again. If she couldn’t find a way to earn money, she would have to take more drastic measures. She snatched up the list of household accounts. No more buying meat at market. She slashed a line through the list. No more sugar. Or cream. Two more swift lines. No more tea. She sighed. Perhaps she’d ask Evans to reuse the leaves, first.

She tapped the tip of the quill against the parchment, fighting the panic that always rose in her throat when she examined her finances. Annie, Evans, and Mary knew their little household was in dire financial circumstances, but only Lily knew just how desperate a situation it truly was.

She eyed little Leopold asleep in the corner. Finding money to feed him was no small feat either, even when table scraps were his dinner. But she refused to let her beloved dog go. No, Leopold was family too, and he would no more be turned out on the streets than Annie would. But Annie would just have to stop bringing strays home, that was all. Lily sighed. She’d be powerless to deny her sister when she came home with a little, helpless animal. Very well. Now that she thought on it, tea wasn’t
really
necessary.

A soft knock drew Lily’s attention to the doorway. She glanced up to see Mary curtsy. Lily smiled at her old friend. “Yes, Mary? What is it?”

“I beg yer pardon, me lady, but ye’ll be wantin’ ta see this.” The older woman bobbed another quick curtsy. “Wait. I ’aven’t already announced this, ’ave I?” she asked sheepishly.

Lily shook her head.

“Come on and see then. ’Tis an impressive sight, ta be sure.” Mary pulled her mobcap down over her ears and made her way back down the hall.

Cocking her head to the side, Lily tossed the quill onto the sad list of figures and stood to investigate. Leo leaped up from his corner to follow.

Before Lily passed the doorway, the scent found her nostrils.
Flowers.
That lovely, sweet smell. But there was something different about it this time. Normally, the scent of lilies drifted through the house, but this time it was roses. Roses, lilacs, and something else.

She quickened her step, rounding past the turn in the hallway. When she made it to the foyer—at least, she
thought
it had once been the foyer—she stopped, clutching at the wall.

The space had been transformed into a virtual hothouse. Flowers lined every available nook, every conceivable cranny. An unusually alert Evans, looking both inordinately pleased and mildly annoyed at the same time, scurried back and forth from the front door, ushering in the delivery.

Annie came rushing down the staircase, a bright smile on her face. “Oh, I know who these are from. Now,
this
is what I expected. Frances said her sister received a disconcerting amount of flowers from Lord Sitton, but I’ve no doubt they were a pittance compared to these.”

Lily snapped her mouth shut, still busily scanning the colorful scene. There were roses. Gardenias. Petunias. Pretty little daffodils, tulips, bluebells, hyacinth, and lilacs.

“It looks as if he uprooted an entire garden,” Annie said, spinning around. “What do you think, Lily? Are you sufficiently impressed by Lord Colton now?”

Lily bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “It’s utterly ridiculous, that’s what I think. Why, the cost of these flowers would be enough to run this entire household for a good period of time, and I cannot condone—”

“Good heavens.” Annie slapped her open palm against her forehead. “It’s a
romantic
gesture. Only you would think about money at a time like this.”

Evans, who’d apparently finished his organization of the chaos, stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he handed Lily a card that was tied to a single flower stem. A lily. Just one lily in the entire ostentatious display.

She took the card from Evan’s outstretched fingers. The words on it were written in a strong, bold hand, the black letters slashed across the parchment.

Now you know.—D

Lily pressed the card to her lips, hiding her slight smile.

“What does it say?” Annie asked in a singsong voice.

Lily’s only answer was a raised brow.

“Ah, they are lovely, me lady. They must ’ave cost ’im a small fortune.” Mary’s nose was stuck in a vase full of roses. “If only we could sell ’em.” She sighed.

Lily whirled around to face her, her gray skirts swishing around her ankles. “Sell them?”

Mary shook her head. “’Twas only a jest, me lady.”

Lily snapped her fingers. “No, no. It’s brilliant actually. Perfect!” She swung around again. “Annie, gather up the flowers. Mary, get the sweets from the cupboard. Evans, wave down a hack.”

Evans straightened his shoulders and nodded. He marched off to do his lady’s bidding while Mary shuffled off toward the pantry, shaking her head and mumbling under her breath.

Annie plunked her hands on her hips. “Lily, what exactly do you plan to do?” Her voice held a warning note.

“I plan to fetch my bonnet. Mary and I are going to Vauxhall and we’re selling the lot of it.”

Annie clapped a hand over her mouth and then slowly let it drop. “You cannot be serious! You cannot sell the flowers. They were gifts!”

“No? Watch me.” Lily rushed toward the front door and snatched her bonnet from the brass hat stand in the corner. She pulled the hat over her head, pushed wayward tendrils of hair inside, and hastily tied the ribbons in a bow under her chin. Then she grabbed up two of the nearest vases. “Annie, help me with these, please.”

Shaking her head, Annie reluctantly scooped up a vase.

It took the better part of a quarter hour for the four of them to pack everything into the rented hack that Evans had managed to secure. Mary and Lily sat in the middle of the garden of flowers, and Annie called through the window. “Be sure to pay Lord Colton a visit to thank him while you’re out.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “I will do no such thing.”

The coach pulled away from the town house and clattered down the street. Lily sat snuggled in the flowers, a wide smile on her face. She expelled her breath, long and slow, enjoying the feeling of intense relief that poured through her veins. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time in months. With the money from the flowers, she would be able to feed her family for another sennight or more.

She adjusted her position within the flowers. Everyone in the
ton
knew the rumors about Colton’s finances. Like his father, Devon Morgan enjoyed gambling. Too much. It had cost him his fortune and his prospects. The flowers, no doubt, were purchased on credit he could ill afford.