Love With an Improper Stranger (20 page)

“I will join you.”  Damian gave Blake a harmless nudge.  “What is it, brother?  What troubles you?”

“I am not sure.”  And that was what bothered him.  “But I have not slept soundly for a fortnight, and I cannot shake the nagging suspicion that something is wrong.”

“Worried Lenore may stow away, harbor some secret profession that places her life in peril, leap from a moving carriage, use another man to make you jealous, surprise you with news that she increases, or lob a hairbrush at you on your wedding night?”  Damian’s catalogue of the various hazards their married brother’s endured, in some form or fashion, on the road to marital bliss did not inspire confidence.  “Come now, it is obvious, even to the disinterested bystander, that she adores you.  And, at the risk of sounding maudlin, she could not ask for better in a man.”

“Praise, indeed.”  Yet Blake could not quiet the inauspicious notions swirling in his brain, after he undressed and stretched on the table, and the attendant began his work.

For the first time in the game of life, he did not hold all the cards or possess all the answers, and it unnerved him.  And the fact that Lenore did not leap at his marriage proposal still bruised his pride.  Despite her assurances to the contrary, he would not relax until the vows were spoken and consummated.

“You are wasting that poor chap’s talents, my friend.”  Damian opened his eyes and sighed.  “Perhaps a visit to the communal bath and an early return home will better suit your disposition?”

“But we were going to have a brandy, at White’s.”  Even as he said the words, he longed to return to Elliott House.  Together, they strolled into the massive chamber, which featured polished English limestone tiles.  After dropping his robe, he descended the steps that led into the large pool.  “I would maintain our routine, while I am at liberty to do so.”

“Ah, but you are not at liberty to do so.”  Damian chuckled and grabbed a bar of soap.  “Whether or not you wish to admit it, you have changed since you met Lenore.”

Blake groaned, and Damian burst into laughter.

“Am I as bad as our leg-shackled Brethren?”  Blake held his breath.

“Indubitably.”  As he lathered his hair, Damian smirked.  “You look like you just lost your best hound.”

“That is what I feared, but I know not how to stop it.”  Rinsing the suds from his back, he cursed himself.  “Where Lenore is concerned, I struggle with a sense of vulnerability that is utterly foreign to me, and I know not how to manage it.  If I could, I would lock her in my bedchamber at Pembroke, as I want to share her with no one, and you do not have to tell me that sounds irrational and Draconian, but there it is.”

“Did we not watch the husbands suffer the same difficulties with their respective ladies, especially once they committed their hearts?”  Damian took a final plunge and collected his robe.  “Have you told her you love her?”

“
No
.”  Blake checked his tone, as he followed his closest confidant.  “That is, not yet.  Although I am not ashamed of it.”  Then he added, “So I will—soon.  After we wed, maybe, during the honeymoon.”  Then he chanced a glance at Damian, who arched a brow.  “Oh, bloody hell, I am entirely out of my element.”

“And I have no experience with your particular affliction.”  In the dressing room, Damian retrieved his breeches from a wall peg.  “But as your friend—”

“Brother, you could not be closer to me were we born of the same parents.”  Blake hooked his waistband and shrugged into his shirt.  “And you will be at my side, just as you always have been, as I stand at the altar with my bride-to-be.”

“Believe it.”  Damian tied his cravat.  “Be that as it may, no longer will you compete with me for a light skirt or a lonely widow, and I will miss those days.  But you embark on the next phase of your life, and I hope to do so, as well, though with a bit more grace and ease, so I do not begrudge your happiness.”

“You could not resist taking a jab.”  Sitting on a bench, Blake pulled on his Hessians.

“When have I ever?”  Raking his fingers through his hair, Damian inclined his head.  “But consider this, you and I have been together from the cradle, and I daresay that will never change, so go home and have dinner with your fiancée, as did the others with their women.”

“What I would give to take her to my bed.”  And that seemingly innocuous comment brought him full circle, as Blake donned his coat.  “At this rate, I may be erect until this holiday season.”

“Well that is an image I could do without.”  Damian chucked Blake’s shoulder.  “But why do you delay?  This is eighteen-fifteen, and we both know only Sabrina and Daphne made it to the church, maidenhead intact.  What is the harm?”

It was with that singular gem of brilliance swirling in his brain that Blake rode to Grosvenor Square.  Whistling a new tune, he decided it was past due to claim Lenore’s bride’s prize, as he fully intended to do the honorable by her.  So with an improved attitude, he handed off his mount, skipped up the entrance stairs of his home, and charged into the foyer.

“Good evening, Your Grace.”  Jennings took Blake’s hat, greatcoat, and gloves.

“Where is Her Grace?”  He paused and listened for the pitter-patter of Lucy’s slippers on the marble floor.

“In the back parlor, Your Grace.”  The butler stood at attention.  “Shall I serve dinner at the usual time, or should I postpone the meal, as Her Grace is quite upset.”

“What is wrong with Mama?”  Blake gazed at the landing, whereupon Lenore often met him, but he spied no trace of her.

Jennings averted his stare and compressed his lips.  “Her Grace is disappointed by the Teversham’s sudden departure.”

The pedestrian statement, unremarkable in its tenor, could have described naught more than the weather.  But as the full import of the declaration dawned, a chill penetrated his respectable garb, as Blake halted in his tracks.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Samuel Teversham arrived from America just after four, Your Grace.”  The unusual display of emotion from Jennings served only to intensify the gravity of the situation.  “Mr. Teversham declined our offer of hospitality and insisted on taking Miss Lenore and Miss Lucilla with him.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A multitude of
tiny black bugs danced in and out of the mattress and linens of the single bed in the dank room, the dilapidated shutters hung askew and rattled against the window, and the fetid stench from an unclean makeshift chamber pot gagged her.  Even in the dire financial straits that shadowed her father’s demise, Lenore secured cleaner rooms.  Huddled with her sister on a rickety and worn sofa, Lenore shivered and wrapped an arm about Lucilla’s shoulders.

“Uncle Samuel, why did we not make the short drive to our home on Coleman Street?”  Lenore twined her fingers in Lucy’s and tried to reassure her.  “As you did not wish to take accommodations at Elliott House, which I do not quite understand, why did you not permit me to summon our staff and open our residence?”

“Do not question my actions.”  Her relation’s stare cast daggers at her, and she swallowed hard at his harsh rebuke.  “Were you not taught better?  Have you no manners?”

“My apologies, Uncle.”  Lenore cringed, as a mouse skittered along the baseboard, and she rued the fact that she had not protested louder and insisted they stay with Her Grace, until Blake returned.  “But surely we could have taken lodgings in a more reputable establishment?  Marylebone is unsuitable for ladies of character, and Papa, God rest him, would have a fit if he knew we were here.”

Just then, her stomach grumbled, as they departed Grosvenor Square prior to dinner.  But the chunk of molded cheese and the partial loaf of bread littered with a colony of healthy weevils, which rested on a shoddy table, did much to tamp her hunger.

“My dear, Horace is the reason we have journeyed to this place.”  Uncle Samuel doffed his coat, and she noted the threadbare material of the dirty garment.  “It pains me to inform you of the exigent circumstances, but you must know the truth.  Your father left you nothing more than an estimable name and a mountain of debt, and I am ashamed to call him my brother.”

“What?”  In seconds, Lenore recalled the account books she maintained with loving care, as Papa was frugal, and never had he purchased anything on payments.  Rather, he settled accounts up front.  “Uncle Samuel, there must be some mistake, as that makes no sense.  In good faith I balanced the household ledgers, and never did we owe arrears.”

“
Silence
.”  With a nasty scowl, Uncle Samuel slapped Lenore across the face, and she toppled to the floor.  “You will cease your complaints, or I will give you something about which to complain.”

“Uncle, why did you strike Lenore?”  Lucy knelt at Lenore’s side, and her fear was infectious.  “Pray, sir.  What have we done?  Why would you hurt my sister?”

“It is all right, Lucy.”  Cupping her stinging flesh, Lenore studied her heretofore-distant relation and squeezed Lucilla’s fingers.  “I am not injured.”

“But you are bleeding.”  A tear-filled gaze signaled Lucy’s distress—and she never cried.  “You have no cause, sir.”

“I have plenty of cause.”  For a moment, he paced, and Lenore availed herself of the opportunity to inventory his person.

His black hair and green eyes did not ring true, as her father boasted brown hair and a pair of clear baby blues.  And neither could she reconcile his long, hooked nose, pointed chin, pronounced belly, or his diminished height.  In fact, to her knowledge, none in the Teversham lineage sported such attributes, as the males were particularly tall and lanky.

Then he stopped and squared his shoulders, as he confronted Lenore and Lucy.  “The reason we have not traveled to Coleman Street is because it must be sold, along with the contents, to settle the estate.  Or would you prefer to spend the remains of your days in debtors’ prison?”

“What of Mama’s pianoforte?”  Dusting off her skirt, Lenore stretched upright, as her mind raced in all directions, attempting to uncover reason in the unreasonable.  “It has been in our family for generations, and we cannot just dispose of it like so much refuse.”

“Be that as it may, it must be auctioned, as it is a luxury you can no longer afford.”  Unkempt, he blew his nose into a soiled kerchief, but her impressions, however blurred by age, featured a polished image in both manners and silhouette.  “Everything must go.”

“Including our dowries?”  Lucilla peered at Lenore and said, “That is dreadful, because Lenny is to be wed—”

“—Someday,” Lenore inserted.  “I have always dreamed of having a husband and a family.”

“There are dowries?”  Uncle Samuel perked up in a flash, and his interest unnerved Lenore.  “Where is the money?  Are the funds deposited in a bank?”

“No.”  Again taking Lucy’s hand, Lenore met her sister’s gaze.  She was not sure why she did it, but she composed a lie.  “That is, Papa planned to open accounts once the war ended, but he never got the chance.”

“Oh.”  He poured the last bit of liquid of a bottle of some sort of intoxicant into a glass and drained it in a single gulp, and that noteworthy action crystalized her view, as her uncle was no drunkard.  On the contrary, he was a pious gentleman, given to charitable causes, which he wrote of often in his letters.  “Well that is unfortunate, as such a boon might have spared your precious instrument.”

For a minute, Lenore reached through time and space, piecing together fragments of memories past, searching for clues, anything to explain the gnawing suspicion that wrecked havoc on her instincts.  Slow and steady, she created a mosaic of treasured recollections and formed a response.  She wanted to be wrong—she needed to be wrong.  Yet she could not escape the notion that all was not as it appeared.