Midnight Kisses (Midnight Series) (3 page)

“Lady Langston, heavens, are you alright?”

The maid clapped her hands over her mouth when she noticed Danielle’s pale, tear-stained face and red-rimmed eyes.

“No, Sally,” Danielle admitted and put down her coat. The icy December wind would soon bear snow, but the early winter air and her own hot tears had already done their share to irritate her skin, and so she sent the girl to fetch a cup of tea so she could warm up and collect her thoughts. She was no longer a young, naïve girl who cried uncontrollably. She was a grown woman and should be able to keep her emotions in check. With great difficulty, she swallowed the tightness in her throat and struggled to regain her composure. When helpful Sally returned with the requested tea, Danielle was sitting up with poise, if somewhat stiffly, in the small salon.

“Please excuse my outburst, Sally. But letting Christopher go was harder than I expected.”

“You don’t need to apologize for loving your son, Lady Langston. When I left my parents and my childhood home I cried the whole time. I’m going to miss the young sir terribly. Do you want me to bake you some scones? We might even have a little clotted cream left to serve with them. My grandmother used to say that nice hot scones always make times of need easier to bear.”

This made Danielle laugh, and in actual fact, cheerful Sally had managed to distract her from her sorrow if only for a moment.

“Thank you, Sally. That would be terrific. But tell me, why didn’t you bake scones after my husband died? Perhaps I’d be feeling much better today.”

Sally lowered her head in embarrassment and quietly stared at the hem of her white apron.

“Milady, please excuse my insolence, but after Mr. Langston’s passing you were not in need. You were
 . . . 
angry and upset. I don’t think scones would have been the right thing to do. I mean
 . . . 
Perhaps you should have punched something,” Sally volunteered, frankly if hesitantly.

Danielle knitted her brow. Sally was visibly uncomfortable and, because she didn’t want to torture the poor girl, she smiled and allowed her to leave.

Angry? Were her emotions back then so obvious for everyone to see that even the staff realized what she herself couldn’t see up until now? Angry. Yes, Sally was quite right. She had been livid. After all, the circumstances of Matthew’s death had been beyond humiliating for her. Even now, three months after his funeral, she could hear people whisper quietly behind her back when she came to the village.

“Dammit, Matt, why did you do that to me?” she asked into the silence.

Saying goodbye to Christopher, the circumstances of her husband’s death, and her worries about her own future made Danielle feel restless. She looked out the window and over the bare fields. As she had predicted, the first snow wasn’t long in coming, and in a swirling dance, white snowflakes were slowly tumbling from the sky. How comforting it would be to bury all of her worries underneath a thick, white blanket of snow! The thought of it allowed Danielle to breathe easier, and suddenly she couldn’t take her own lethargy any longer. She would at long last read the countless letters of sympathy and notes from the village residents that she had been ignoring for weeks. She needed to start putting the shattered pieces of her life back together.

When she reached for the first envelope, a sad expression came over her face as she began reading the words of comfort and kindness. After all this time she finally began reading each letter and note card, silently thanking people for their condolences, even if she found no true comfort in the empty words of sympathy. But when she came upon one particular letter and opened it, she raised a surprised eyebrow.

Devlin Weston stared out the carriage window. Out here in Essex it was a few degrees colder still than in London, probably owed to the fact that it was closer to the coast. It had in fact started snowing a few minutes earlier, and the countryside outside his window looked as if it had been dusted with powdered sugar. Not that it mattered to him, but roads covered in snow would not be very conducive to his travel plans. But he was probably worrying unnecessarily, for he secretly hoped that he would before long receive the answers to all of his questions. In which case he would not need to go on another trip. He hoped that the letter announcing his arrival had reached his destination before he would. After all, he himself was quite particular when it came to receiving unannounced visitors. Someone who perturbed his daily routine, or so he felt, was undeserving of his hospitality.

The carriage slowed, and Devlin smoothed down the front of his coat. He was very eager to find out what Mr. Langston might tell him about the
Venus
.

Full of high hopes and expectations, he leaped from the carriage and marched toward the door, which was promptly opened for him. By the looks of it, they were expecting him.

The straight-backed butler, with his neatly trimmed moustache, and wearing a simple livery uniform, asked Devlin to enter and was just about to close the door behind him to lock out the snow, when a woman rushed into the foyer behind him.

“Sally, Joseph, would one of you know when this letter arrived?” she asked, completely absorbed in the piece of paper that she now raised up high into the air. “A certain Lord Weston, Earl of Windham, announces his visit,” she explained, still staring at the letter with a puzzled expression on her face. “Well, that’s the last thing I need right now!”

Joseph’s almost-timely, if altogether sheepish, clearing of his throat finally persuaded the woman to lower the letter in her hand and look up, albeit too late to avoid any sort of embarrassment.

When she noticed the visitor she gave a start, and the blood rushed to her face.

“Milady, you have a visitor. I have just asked the gentleman to enter,” Joseph explained, trying to maintain his expressionless countenance.

Devlin stepped up to the lady of the house, who was dressed all in black, and held out his hand.

“Lady Langston, please excuse the imposition. I can see that you have only just found out about my plans of calling on Lord Langston. I sincerely apologize for imposing on you in such a way, but it is a matter of the utmost urgency that has brought me here today.”

His charming smile, he hoped, would appease the lady of the house and would prompt her to inform Lord Langston of his arrival.

Danielle felt dizzy. The entire foyer seemed to spin around her since the stranger had taken her hand, and his smile almost knocked the legs out from under her. Puzzled, she stared into the stranger’s eyes and shook her head in disbelief. It was impossible! The events of the day must have really weighed on her nerves. She must be mistaken! This man in front of her, what was his name again? Lord Weston? He couldn’t possibly be the man she thought he was. She noticed the hysterical laughter escaping her throat, but she was unable to suppress it.

“Lord Weston, I am sorry, but it won’t be possible for my husband to receive you,” she started to explain, still trying to hide the confusion raging in her chest. She found this almost impossible to do and, just as she had done ten years earlier, wished for the ground to open up and swallow her whole.

But just as then, the fates were not smiling favorably upon her, and the ground did nothing of the sort. Instead, Lord Weston straightened up to his truly-formidable height and looked down at her with a touch of impatience.

“Lady Langston, I don’t think you understand. I have traveled far in order to speak with your husband. I am not going to leave without doing so.”

Danielle shook her head. Even though she was far from being the young girl who had made this gentleman’s acquaintance so many years ago, she barely dared look him in the eye.

“No, Lord Weston, I don’t think
you
understand. My husband is no longer with us. He passed away three months ago. I noticed your letter only now, and I was therefore unable to inform you of my husband’s passing. I am very sorry, but you have wasted your time. Please, go now! Since my son is not here at this time, it would be inappropriate for me to offer you a chamber for the night. However, the town offers a fine village inn. Farewell, Lord Weston.”

Nodding stiffly, she clenched her lips and crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for him to retreat.

“Dear lord! How terrible! Please allow me to offer my sincerest condolences. If I’d had any idea—”

“Please don’t blame yourself, you had no way of knowing. I sincerely regret that you’ve wasted your time.” Danielle felt the need to remain polite. For either her wound-up mind was playing tricks on her and the man in front of her was not the man she’d met at the ball, or he couldn’t remember her. And how could he? She had been a plain-looking girl without any physical assets to speak of, and an experienced man such as himself must have enjoyed the company of many women. Women worth remembering.

A perfect gentleman, the uninvited guest finally bowed deeply and kissed the back of her hand before taking his leave. When Danielle heard the wheels of his carriage turning and disappearing into the distance, she returned to her study and sank to the floor, shaking. She pressed her hand against her chest and tried not to allow the past to rise too close to the surface. She had been all but a child when his kiss lent her dreams wings. And in the dark hours of the night, these dreams were the only thing that remained of her life and her love.

Chapter 3

So much for a fine village inn
, Devlin thought as he took the last sip from his mug of weak ale. The room was clean and spacious enough, but the food left a lot to be desired. Besides, he hadn’t really counted on spending the night in a tavern. It would not have been appropriate for the widow to offer him a bed for the night, certainly, but this accommodation was as much to his liking as the food, which was to say not at all. And even less to his liking was the fact that the only science man with a reputation for being vastly knowledgeable about ancient Greek artifacts and Greek mythology had passed away without passing on his knowledge. Should he come to terms with the possibility that Langston’s death meant the
Venus
would forever remain shrouded in mystery?

Devlin was deep in thought about his painting, and so it took him a while to notice that the two men at the table next to him were in quite a foul mood themselves.

“Her husband’s been dead and buried for three months, and still she’s refusing to get rid of the old junk in her house. Not that I haven’t been offering! I tried to explain how much easier it would be to start over if she didn’t keep all that old junk, but she just won’t part with any of it!”

“We’re running out of time. If we don’t get ahold of those notes soon, we can forget about getting paid,” whispered the man who had his back turned to Devlin. His friend gave a sorrowful nod and thoughtfully stroked his sideburns. His fat belly got in the way when he tried to lean over, and so he needed to speak up probably more than he had intended.

“But remember that her boy left today, Frank. What if someone were to take advantage of the situation—a burglar, say
 . . . 
”

“Shut up! We need to get out of here. I don’t think we should be rushing into things!”

With that, the man whom the fat patron had addressed as Frank threw a banknote down on the table and pulled his friend with him.

Devlin didn’t know what exactly the two men had talked about, but he felt an itch in the back of his neck. He was disliking this inn more and more.

As he lay in bed a little while later, thinking about Langston, his thoughts very quickly wandered to his widow. What was it that bothered him about her? Of course, she hadn’t been overly friendly when she greeted him, but that couldn’t be the only reason. Why hadn’t she at least asked him to enter and then explained the whole situation? Why had she almost literally thrown him out of her house? If it weren’t completely out of the question, he could have sworn Lady Langston was very angry with him. But since today was the first day he ever met the lady, he doubted it. Perhaps she was one of those cold, reserved people, he pondered. She had seemed very strict to him, what with her hair smoothed out of her face and tied into a non-descript bun in the nape of her neck, and then of course that black mourning dress.