Three Weeks to Wed (21 page)

Uncle Bertrand took her arm. “Then, my dear, you will have to arise far earlier than you usually do.”

She rapped him with her fan. “Worthington, Grace, I wish you a pleasant evening.”

After the Herndon coach left, Matt turned to her. “I should go as well. Will you show me the plans at breakfast?”

“Come a bit before. If I take them out with the children around, everyone will want a say.”

He glanced around the hall and outside the still open door. Royston was busying himself with the coat wardrobe, and the street was empty.

Matt took her in his arms. “Very true. I'll come early.” Her face was tilted up, and her lips were too tempting to be ignored. He kissed her. “Good night, my love.”

“Good night, my darling.”

* * *

“How did you like my friends?” Hector had finagled his good friends, the Robinsons, whom he'd met in India, into hosting a small dinner party for the sole purpose of having some reason to be with Jane. They were now ambling the few blocks from Hill Street to Berkeley Square. He sent up thanks to the deity that the weather had remained dry.

“I enjoyed it immensely.” Jane's face glowed with pleasure as they passed under one of the gas lamps lighting the streets. “It has been so long since I've been able to discuss such a wide range of subjects. Grace, of course, is knowledgeable, but, what with the estate and the children, she is usually too exhausted by the end of the day to take pleasure in intense conversation. Are many of your friends in Town?”

“Not only in London, but in other areas of the country as well, Bristol, and Edinburgh mostly.” Though the question was not where his friends were, but where Jane would like to live. He'd waited over twenty years to see her again. This time he wouldn't let go.

Her voice was quiet when she asked, “Have you given any thought as to what you would like to do now that you have returned home?”

That put him in a pickle. “I'm still considering my options. Much shall depend on a certain lady.”

Her pace slowed. “Will it?”

“Why don't you tell me what you would like.”

Her tone grew wistful. “If this war would ever end, I would love to travel.”

“I wouldn't mind a few journeys to civilized places, but if you want to go to the Levant or anywhere like that, I'd be forced to object.”

“Oh, no.” Her laugh reminded him of the tinkling of silver bells. “I have no desire to travel the wilds.”

That was a relief. After so many years in India, he didn't want to peregrinate too far from home. “Where would you wish to live?”

“I think,” she said slowly, “that would depend upon my husband's and my combined fortunes.”

If she thought he'd allow her to spend her funds on their living expenses, she was out. Perhaps now was the time to tell her he was a nabob. Though the Jane he'd known had valued honesty and caring over wealth. If she hadn't, she would have married long ago. Yet how to approach the topic? He couldn't very well blurt out that he could give Golden Ball a few thousand. “I don't think a house in Town and a snug property in the country would be out of the question.”

“That sounds . . . like a lovely dream. Perhaps a better idea would be to rent a house during the Season.”

He must tell her soon, but not on a public street. Mayhap it would be better to show her. “I'm currently residing at the Pulteney and am growing tired of not having my own place. I've made arrangements to view a couple of properties on the morrow. I'd be honored if you would give me your opinion.”

By this time, they'd reached Berkeley Square, and Jane had come to a halt in front of a large town house. The door opened. A tall man dressed in black waited patiently. Hector slid around so that he stood in front of Jane, between her and the door.

“Will you come with me?”

She glanced up a bit shyly. “Yes, it sounds quite enjoyable.”

Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “I shall fetch you at ten o'clock, if that is not too early.”

“Ten o'clock is perfect.”

Hector waited until she was in the house and the door had closed. He looked forward to to-morrow when he'd finally have some time alone with her. Now he just needed to find some entertainment for them to attend in the evening. Courting Jane now seemed to require much more thought and planning than it had when they were younger.

Mr. Edgar Molton presented himself at the office of Chiswick and Chiswick, Solicitors, shortly after nine o'clock. A clerk took his coat, hat, and cane, then showed him to a room with a long table. He glanced around. The offices consisted of a small reception area and a corridor with at least three doors. All of them closed. He should have made Chiswick wait on him. The problem was that Edgar hadn't wanted the man to see where he was living. That would change shortly.

The clerk led him to a room lined with books and two small windows.

“If you'll wait here, sir, I'll see if Mr. Chiswick is available.”

The young man left, leaving Edgar to wait without even an offer of tea. He drummed his fingers on the highly polished mahogany table. If this was the way they planned to treat him, he'd certainly change solicitors. He was a wealthy man now, and had no reason to tolerate such Turkish treatment.

It'd been almost a year since his father had died. Of course, the old man had one foot in the grave for years. It took almost three months for him to return after he'd sold everything he owned in the West Indies. What a relief to be back in England. Finally, he was a gentleman of substance.

The door opened without even a knock warning him. That settled the matter. Chiswick and Chiswick would receive no more of his business.

“Mr. Edgar Molton?” a well-dressed man asked with a confused expression.

He didn't offer his hand, but raised a haughty brow. “Mr. Chiswick, I presume. Shall we get this over with?”

Chiswick hurried forward and offered Edgar a seat. “Yes, of course, I have the documents for your signature right here. I am sorry to have kept you waiting. It's been several months, and I was unaware you would visit us to-day.”

“Your letter took some time to reach me, and I had to wrap up my affairs in the West Indies before departing for England.”

The lawyer positioned the documents, just so, on the table, and the clerk came in with an inkstand and pen. Once everything was in order, Chiswick glanced up, adjusting his spectacles. “Indeed. I am a little surprised you made the trip. We would have been happy to have organized the banking arrangements.”

Edgar frowned. The man was an idiot. Why his father had kept the firm on, he didn't understand. “I do not know how you would expect me to manage the estate from the West Indies.”

“Estate?” The lawyer's mouth dropped open for a moment. “Dear me. This is not good at all. It appears, sir, you did not receive my first letter to you. Allow me a few moments. I shall return immediately.” Mr. Chiswick left the room. The clerk brought in a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. A few minutes later, Chiswick returned. “This is a copy of your late father's will. You are aware that none of the estate was entailed?”

Edgar shoved back the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Yes, of course, but I am the last male child. My father was a wealthy man.”

“Yes, yes, he was.” The lawyer adjusted his spectacles again. “However, he divided his property among his heirs. Your share is an allowance of one thousand pounds per annum.”

“
One thousand pounds?
” There must be some mistake. “How the devil am I supposed to live on that? What happened to the rest of it?”

Chiswick motioned to the document on the table. “If you would like to read the will?”

Edgar seized the papers. His hand trembled as he perused the document. He'd received nothing under the will except for the income from certain investments, and he was not allowed to touch the principal. If he died without issue, the income would go back into the estate to be reallotted equally. The rest of the old man's estate was divided evenly among his other heirs. His sisters and their brats got everything. To be fair, that wasn't precisely true. His dead sister's oldest daughter was to receive an income of ten thousand pounds per year to be kept in a trust for her until she married or turned thirty as long as she kept the children together.

Edgar tried to keep a scowl from his face. Leave it to that damned old man to make his life as miserable as he could. He'd thought to have received most of the estate and had been living on the expectancy for months. His debts were mounting, and now, he had almost nothing. He had to find a way to get his hands on some of that money.

Chiswick's voice cut into his musings. “Mr. Molton, you have the quarterly income for the past nine months due you, and the next quarter day is coming up soon. If you would like, I shall arrange to have it transferred to your account as well as make the arrangements for the quarterly transfers.”

At least he'd be able to meet his more pressing obligations. “I'll need some flimsies now. You may open me an account at Hoare's. I take it the family still banks there?”

“Yes, sir, they do.”

“Good. I'll send my direction.” He turned to leave and waited for Mr. Chiswick to open the door. Edgar may not have any money, but he'd be damned if he let that black box treat him like he was nobody.

Mr. Chiswick opened the door then disappeared down the corridor. Edgar donned his hat. He was pleased to see the roll of soft in Chiswick's hands when he returned.

“Here you are, Mr. Molton. This money represents the amount due you for the past three quarters.”

Edgar took the money and his coat and cane, then left.
One thousand pounds a year.
What the hell happened to the town house on Half-Moon Street? The thought of asking his sister to advance him some funds briefly crossed his mind, but that miser of a husband she married would queer him. Maybe he could gammon his niece, Grace. She wasn't married. Poor girl, she'd probably be happy to have her uncle help her with all the brats. Better check out the lay of the land first. He hadn't seen the girl since she was a child. She might be as much of a bitch as her mother had been.

He was on his way back to the small room he'd taken at a boardinghouse when he felt a tug at the pocket of his greatcoat.

Grabbing a small hand, he looked down to see a small boy dressed in a dirty shirt and breeches. “What do you think you're doing?”

The lad flushed and tried to pull out of his grip. “I didn't mean nothin', sir. An accident it t'were.”

“An accident, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” The lad nodded several times.

Molton would bet this boy would do a lot for the little bit he'd pay him. “How'd you like to earn a yellow George instead of stealing it?”

“Wha'd I'd haveta do?” the lad asked suspiciously.

“Just go watch a house. Come tell me who comes and goes.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fer how long?”

Rubbing his chin, Molton responded. “Maybe just today. Maybe longer. Depends what you see.”

The urchin held out his hand. “I wants the half bean now.”

“Very well.” Edgar held out a half guinea. “Here you go. Find Stanwood House in Berkeley Square, Mayfair. Come back here in the morning. What's your name?”

“Jem. I'll do jus that, gov.” He took off running down the street.

Molton went in the house and climbed the two sets of stairs to his room. His luck was in. He knew it. He'd be living in better quarters soon.

* * *

Early the next morning, Matt left his home and crossed the square to Stanwood House. As he opened the door to Grace's study, she was bent over her desk giving him an excellent view of her enticing derrière. “Good morning.”

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling beautifully. “Good morning to you. Come look at this.” Grace adjusted her position, making room for him. “These are the plans . . .”

He couldn't manage to drag his gaze from her lush bottom. His breathing quickened as he imagined her skirts up and her bare to him. He ambled up behind her, keeping his voice low. “I'd rather look at something else.”

Matt pressed against her firm buttocks. Holding her to him with one hand, he ran the other over her breasts and down between her legs. Her breath hitched and her skin flushed.
Halfway there
. Leaning over her, he traced the outer whirl of her delicate ear with the tip of his tongue.

She sighed, and her voice was sultry. “We must review the plans.”

“Grace, please?” He pleaded, inching up her skirts. He caressed her inner thigh. Her legs trembled as his hand dipped into her curls.

A moan escaped her. “We—we don't have much time.”

“We won't need much time.” He slid two fingers into her hot, wet sheath. “You're ready.” He smiled smugly to himself.

“Oh God, when am I not?” Grace's head dropped onto her arms.

Worthington chuckled and reached for the buttons on his fall. “That is one of the many things I love about you.”

There was a gasp from outside. He turned toward the sound and saw what looked like a child run from the window. It damn well better not be one of theirs. Why in the name of God hadn't he thought of that before? “Stay here.”

Bursting out the door to the garden, he rounded the corner of the house, just in time to see a small boy squeeze through the iron rail of the fence and into the street. “What the devil was that about?”

Grace ran out behind him. “Who was it?”

“I don't know. Some urchin. From the way he was dressed, he doesn't live in Mayfair.”

“Matt, do you think someone is watching us?”

He drew his brows together. “I don't know what to think. Don't worry.” Taking in her stricken countenance, he put his arm around her shoulders and led her back into the house. “Come show me the plans.”

He couldn't think of anyone who'd be spying on them. Herndon said her relatives were relieved and happy about the marriage. Grace's other uncle was out of the country. Still, any further lovemaking would have to be confined to his bed. At least until they were married. Better to be safe than sorry.

A few minutes later, Matt was reviewing the architect's drawing for the renovations she'd done to Stanwood House. Impressive indeed. Grace had thought of everything. “They're extensive.”

“What I like is that they serve the purpose so well.”

“May I see the rooms?”

“Naturally. Come with me.”

They climbed the stairs to the school-room floor. The children bid him good morning. Despite the number of them—his younger sisters were there as well—everything was orderly. The common areas were large and well lit by sun streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows on the eastern side of the house. As he strolled around, he noticed that the window placements ensured the rooms would remain lighted until the sun set. It had an airy feeling he'd not experienced at either Worthington Hall or across the street. “This is nothing like what I expected.”

Grace smiled proudly. “Do you like it? The children and their tutors find the area suits them.”

“I think it's remarkable. Nothing like the dingy school-room I was used to and the bedchambers are larger. What's in here?”

“That is the art room. Next to it is a space for sewing, games, and reading.” She took his hand. “At the end of the corridor on either side are the tutors' rooms. They each have a bedchamber, a small dressing area, and a parlor. There are two bathing chambers as well.”

He peeped into the tiled rooms with copper tubs. “Remarkable. Is this what you have planned for Worthington House?”

“Something very like it. The school-room floor there is larger. What do you think?”

“It's perfect. How long will it take to accomplish the renovations?”

“We will have to discuss it with Mr. Rollins.” She glanced at him and wrinkled her nose. “This took the last part of summer and all autumn. I don't believe the renovations can be completed this Season.”

Clearly, she was in her milieu. He turned her toward the stairs. “What's your plan for where we would live?”

As they descended, Grace replied, “I thought we could reside here at Stanwood House for this Season. There is enough room for everyone. Of course, Patience would have to agree. Yet, if we began the work at Worthington House immediately, it could be completed in time for the Little Season.” She glanced at him with concern. “You don't mind having the children with us when we are in London, do you?”

Matt came to a halt. Many people did leave their children in the country for the Little Season and sometimes during the primary Season. But the idea that they'd leave their bunch alone with only the servants and tutors filled him with foreboding. “No, I don't think I'd sleep a wink if we didn't have them with us.”

Grace's laughter was musical. The only problem with her scheme was he didn't like the idea that she would not be in his home and in his bed. “Where would we sleep?”

She worried her bottom lip as she thought. “In my chambers?”

Wondering how long her bed was, he glanced at her skeptically. “Let's see it then.”

Grace led him along a corridor and stopped at a room at the end. “Here it is.” She opened a door to her parlor and kept on through a dressing room until they entered her bedchamber.

There was little chance he'd fit the bed, but to be fair, he'd give it a try. “May I?”

She glanced at him and then at the bed, and gave him a dubious look. “Yes.”

When he lay on it his feet hung over.

“Oh dear.”

“My lady . . .” Bolton entered from the dressing room, stopped and stared at him. “That's not going to work, is it?”

Worthington smiled ruefully. “No.”

Grace rubbed her forehead. “Perhaps we could have a larger bed made.”

“It would be so long you wouldn't be able to walk around the bed.” Bolton frowned. “My lady, why do you want to stay here?”