London's Late Night Scandal Read online

  Chapter Two

  Whittingham urged the exhausted team through a final bend of the roadway and onto the gravel drive of Leighton House. The hour was later than he’d like, yet all things considered he was relieved they’d completed the seven-hour trip before darkness claimed the sky. Snow had begun to fall during the last few miles, and with Coggs inside the carriage keeping company with George, the driver, Whittingham had had time to organize his thoughts. Talbot’s latest article concerning chemical ratios and compounds suggested a rare isolation of dephlogisticated air. The series of scientific trials sounded inconclusive at best, and Whittingham had a bounty of questions concerning the earl’s results.

  Yet any scientific discussion would wait until morning. His only want at the moment was to abandon the boot in search of a warm fire and brandy. With luck, Talbot would be available and hospitable at this hour.

  He pulled the reins and settled the grays as the carriage rolled to a stop before an elongated walkway of limestone stairs. Two footmen were quick to greet him, and George reclaimed the driver seat to accompany the men to the rear of the estate, where the horses would find shelter and a well-earned meal. Whittingham managed the endless path to the estate’s door with only a few black oaths. Thankfully, Coggs had the decency to keep his trap closed.

  They were shown through the entrance by an additional footman. The grand foyer gleamed with polished black tile and sleek white marble. Several wall sconces and table lanterns lit the area with warm golden candlelight and the immediate effect was soothing, just what he desired. The cold weather, restricted movement, and extensive travel had all combined to tighten his muscles. He leaned too much on his fennel-wood walking stick and resented the necessity, but fatigue reigned master at the moment.

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” The butler stepped forward as a servant moved in to accept their overcoats. “I am butler Alberts, at your service. May I inquire about the purpose of your visit?”

  The efficient butler crimped a stiff welcome and Whittingham offered his calling card. “Please pardon the late hour. Our travel was complicated by the weather. Lord Leighton is expecting me.” He shifted his position, desperate for respite aside a roaring fire in hope of relieving the throbbing ache in his leg. Now indoors, the thaw had begun and although not literal in meaning, he almost wished the bloody muscles would stay frozen. At least for the time being.

  “I will inform the household of your arrival.” The butler turned and motioned toward the left. “If you will come this way.”

  He didn’t say more and Whittingham followed, Coggs a few steps behind. He knew the concerns his valet negotiated. The tiles were slick, Whittingham’s muscles stiff and clumsy, and his gait even more uneven than usual. But with a narrowed glance over his shoulder he reminded Coggs not to voice these observations until they were privately installed in guest chambers. As added insurance, he offered his man-of-all-things a blunt directive. “You may wait in the hall.”

  The butler led Whittingham to a welcoming drawing room decorated in varying shades of charcoal and butter yellow. Windows stretched to the vaulted plasterwork ceiling despite they offered no view, the thick velvet drapes drawn closed to conserve warmth. Bookcases lined the walls, their repetition broken only by a satinwood writing desk and matching sideboard where a tea service graced a silver tray. Was there no brandy to be had? His eyes settled on the firebox, and though his leg protested each step, he didn’t stop until he leaned his walking stick against the arm of a Hepplewhite shield-back chair near the hearth. Then he settled on the cushions. He immediately calmed, drew a long, cleansing breath, and waited for Lord Leighton’s appearance.

  * * *

  “Milady, a visitor has arrived.”

  Theodosia sat beside her grandfather with a book across her lap, and though he dozed on and off through her soft-spoken readings, she had no doubt he listened to every word. She looked to the doorframe upon hearing Alberts’s voice, careful not to shift too quickly on the settee. “A visitor? At this hour?” She carefully placed the book on the footstool near the tinderbox, and rose. “It seems foolhardy to travel with the threat of poor weather. Is everything all right?” She glanced to the window and back again. A few light snowflakes danced against the dark pane. “Who is it?” She sent a prayer heavenward Lord Kirkman didn’t choose this evening to further his suit. She’d made it abundantly clear the last time he’d proposed that she didn’t welcome his attention.

  “The gentleman presented his card and stated he was invited to Leighton House.”

  Theodosia answered without raising her voice, though the butler’s reply was laughable. “Invited? There must be some kind of mistake.” She accepted the white card and viewed the squared lettering printed across the center. Lord Matthew Strathmore, Earl of Whittingham. She sucked in a short breath. Whittingham? Whittingham. That persistent and annoying gentleman who beleaguered their household with queries, requests, and commentaries about the articles she’d submitted on Grandfather’s behalf. Whittingham. She’d intercepted three letters from him last month, burned in the firebox like all the others. How dare he take it upon himself to travel to Leighton House? How very rude and imposing. Why, if Grandfather knew—

  “Excellent.” Theodore Leighton, Earl of Talbot, appeared beside her, alert and spry, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the evening half asleep beneath a thick quilt on the settee. “I hoped my letter of invitation reached the earl without delay, and I see that it has.”

  “Your letter?” Struggling for understanding, Theodosia turned toward her grandfather, concern in her voice. “Are you confused?” She gentled her tone and swallowed a lump of emotion.

  “Not at all, dear.” Grandfather grinned widely. “I received an inquiry from Lord Whittingham a fortnight ago and answered the earl straight after.”

  A fortnight ago? Theodosia scanned her memory, neatly categorized and nearly infallible. Two weeks ago she’d taken to bed in the afternoon with a troubling cough. If she hadn’t such a profound knowledge of herbalism and its uses, she might have been stricken for days. In that, the staff assured her Grandfather was well cared for, but Alberts must have brought him the post before she could sift through the letters and remove any that might be better left unanswered. All in the span of one afternoon.

  “Theodosia?” Her grandfather looked at her in question.

  Whittingham.

  “You invited him here?” She forced cheerfulness into her voice despite her whispered question, which caused her pulse to beat triple time.

  “Indeed, I did.” Her grandfather warmed to the subject. “The earl had a bevy of questions, all of a scientific nature. So what better company for you and me? He didn’t spare enough ink to explain the details, but I believe his feathers are ruffled over some article printed in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society. It must be an older article, as I haven’t submitted anything in ages, yet I wouldn’t miss the chance for an intellectual debate of the best kind. Nor would you, my dear. I know that to be true.”

  Theodosia swallowed past the truth. She could never confess she submitted articles to London’s leading academia journals using the vague signature, Theo Leighton. Wasn’t it the journal’s fault for not pursuing whether or not the article was written by her grandfather, the Earl of Talbot, a respected former contributor? The wax seal and imprint may have caused a bit of false presentation, but otherwise she believed herself in the scope of fair play. At least until Whittingham’s letters began to arrive. What was it in her article that caused question? And how soon would it be before Grandfather understood the truth of the situation? Would he be angry or admire her spunk?

  “It’s too late for visitors, Alberts,” Theodosia directed sternly. “Please show Lord Whittingham to guest chambers and inform him Grandfather will meet with him on the morrow.”

  “Good heavens, Theodosia, the hour is not even half six. We wouldn’t wish to appear unhospitable. The earl has traveled from London, a full day’s journey.”
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br />   Unwilling to upset her grandfather yet determined to gain time to gather her thoughts, she offered a compromise. “And thereby he’s likely exhausted. I’ll greet the earl in the drawing room and have a generous tray sent up to the guest rooms for anyone who has accompanied him in his travels. I agree a lackluster impression is undesirable, but we are not at the ready to receive guests.”

  “That’s true.” Grandfather glanced down at his wrinkled waistcoat and tugged at the hem as if he could somehow straighten the fabric. “I need to be at my sharpest to match wits with one of London’s leading scholars.”

  Theodosia caught Alberts’s subtle concerned frown at Grandfather’s reply, but she made no indication otherwise.

  “Then we’re agreed.” She looped her arm through her grandfather’s elbow. “Alberts, be so kind as to inform Lord Whittingham I will greet him shortly.”

  “Of course, milady.”

  She smiled with a breath of relief as they moved toward the door. “Now let’s get you settled upstairs and I’ll have Mrs. Mavis bring up a fresh pot of tea. Come morning we’ll see what Lord Whittingham’s visit is all about.”

  Ten minutes later Theodosia returned downstairs. Grandfather was tucked into his bedchambers for the evening and she had a visitor to confront. She paused with her foot on the last tread of the staircase. No, she had a visitor to greet. She straightened her shoulders and shook off a lingering feeling of ill ease. Why did she assume Lord Whittingham sought to dispute the facts in her article? He might very well be here to applaud her elucidations. His letters expressed a series of questions, but that was not to say they would be confrontational. Either way, she couldn’t keep the earl waiting any longer and she forced herself into motion, aimed at the east drawing room.

  * * *

  The Earl of Whittingham paced the perimeter of the room a third time, relieved his normal gait was nearly restored. The muscles of his injured leg were warmed due to the overlong wait for someone, anyone, to appear. Considering his fatigue from the day’s travel, he would have appreciated a prompt welcome. Naturally, he’d arrived after conventional visiting hours and Talbot might be about other business, but the ormolu clock on the mantel indicated he’d waited over fifty minutes, and while the hour grew late, his patience grew thin.

  No sooner had he formed this mental complaint than a hollow footfall in the hallway revealed someone approached. He hadn’t heard a sound since the butler informed him Lady Leighton would be in momentarily, though neither lady nor gentleman had ever materialized.

  At last the door cracked open and an elongated shadow appeared on the pale wool carpet. A slim silhouette was quick to follow.

  “Good evening, Lord Whittingham.”

  She seemed nervous. Her left brow twitched the slightest bit. It was the first thing he perceived until the brilliant silver-gray color of her eyes captured his attention. For a fleeting moment firelight danced and gleamed in her irises, rare and startling, before she moved farther into the room. He stood several strides away, a comfortable distance, though he suddenly experienced a moment of uncertainty.

  Odd, that.

  He was a master of observation, able to intuit and remember most details others hardly noticed. In that manner, he noted the pinch of Lady Leighton’s upper lip, as if she wanted to say something but kept the words locked tight.

  She was a young, slight woman, delicate in stature with not an extra ounce to spare. Her ebony hair, thick and wavy, was coiled at the neck and tucked over one shoulder of her prim rose-colored gown. Her features were fine and reminiscent of an expensive china figurine, exquisitely made yet incredibly fragile. She was not at all what he’d expected, though he noted belatedly he’d had no expectations of meeting a female, never mind the granddaughter of the Earl of Talbot.

  “Lady Leighton.” He strode past his walking stick, abandoned by the fireside chair, and hoped his limp wasn’t nearly as pronounced as he imagined it in the moment. “Please pardon my late arrival and accept my gratitude for the timely invitation.”

  “My grandfather invited you.”

  Her words sounded more a rebuff than friendly greeting, and as she advanced he realized she watched him as closely as he did her, their eyes unwavering and intensely matched.

  “Have you eaten?”

  Her tone remained terse, and the air in the room crackled with tension. Had he disturbed her with his arrival? Drawn her away from something important? Or was this her usual manner? Not that it mattered a whit. His purpose was to question Talbot about the inconsistencies of his latest article, not make idle chatter with his slip of a granddaughter.

  She blinked in wait of his answer, and again a flicker from the fireplace flames caused her eyes to glint like polished silver. Indeed, the color of her eyes was rare. Less than one percent of the known population possessed gray eyes. Of course, scientists agreed hereditary factors combined with frequency dependency and scattering of light caused the phenomenon. He’d read more than a few articles on the subject but had yet to meet anyone with such exotic gray coloring.

  “Lord Whittingham?” She cleared her throat politely. “Are you hungry?”

  She must think me a weak-minded dolt for staring so intently at her eyes while I remained silent.

  “I’d feel better after a hot meal, but under the circumstances and inconvenience of my late arrival, will make do with a tray in my bedchambers if your staff would be so kind.”

  A large tabby slunk into the room, and after a deliberate stare in his direction, settled in a cozy spot between the bellows and hearth broom. Its tail looped through the handle of a copper teakettle that rested on a brass trivet by the fender. Apparently, the animal found comfort here in the drawing room. A condition he wished was contagious.

  “Of course. I will instruct Mrs. Mavis to have a tray sent up directly. Alberts will show you abovestairs. Thank you, Lord Whittingham.”

  Was that it then? She would dismiss him more promptly than she’d greeted him? What an odd young woman she was. Not a matter to consider though, as he would have limited interaction with Lady Leighton. For that he was thankful.

  * * *

  Theodosia assessed the gentleman earl with a speculative eye. It would benefit her to glean any information concerning her adversary, if circumstances proved it necessary to reveal the truth of her deeds.

  Even across the room he appeared taller than most. His broad shoulders and wide chest filled his fine tailored coat without a finger’s width of room to spare. His hair was a dark brown, repeated in his large, piercing eyes. Their color brought to mind the rich mahogany keepsake box where she kept her most treasured possessions locked away upstairs in her bedchamber. She watched as his notice moved to the fireside chair and back, where a walking stick waited, its scrolled ivory knob agleam from the flames. He appeared somewhat restless, his eyes meeting hers, although it could be nothing more than exhaustion after his long travels.

  She hadn’t expected a young man. Somehow her mind had drawn the image of an elder scholar, a gentleman whose nose had grown longer and hair grayer from time spent within the pages of a book.

  Whittingham appeared nothing of the kind. Yet if she ascertained anything from their initial introduction, it was a sense of unyielding strength. Strength of mind and body. Would he have strength of character too? And exactly what did he want with his visit here to Leighton House? Had he come to compliment Grandfather’s article—my article, actually—or challenge the information set forth?

  Only time would tell.

  Chapter Three

  As was her habit, Theodosia rose before sunrise, her mind busy with ideas, curiosities, and a to-do list twice the length of her arm. These morning hours were the ones she cherished most. A time when she tended her plants and animals uninterrupted and reveled in the peaceful beauty of quietude before the world awoke and intruded.

  She stopped by the kitchen and pocketed a fresh biscuit from a warm basket near the hearth, as well as a few small food items. The cook and household
staff were accustomed to her early morning visits, as focused as she on their tasks for the day. She then continued through the rear of the house into a long corridor that connected the outer buildings to the manor, the limestone walls cold and shadowy, though several lanterns and wall sconces lit her way.

  When her childhood home had burned and Grandfather hired men for the rebuilding, he’d designed their new estate with a scientist’s desires in mind. Aside from the manor house with its necessary rooms for social functions and second-floor bedchambers, there was now a laboratory for performing experiments, set apart from the main living quarters. There were also a conservatory and orangery with a multitude of large glass panes atop the roof and along the walls, which allowed for maximum sunlight wherein the citrus trees, rare orchids, horticultural seedlings, and rescued animals made their home. Strategically located grates with red-hot embers generated warmth and allowed the interior plants to thrive despite the varying temperatures outside.

  Farther from the house and still connected by the long, enclosed corridor was a compact room used mostly for testing theories and conducting trials that required water or buoyancy. Theodosia saved such discovery for the gentler months.

  The house and outlying buildings were all bigger than she and Grandfather needed, the staff larger and upkeep more difficult, and yet Theodosia knew no other existence. With the help of several trusted servants, she’d grown through an unusual yet happy childhood into adulthood, despite the abrupt absence of her parents.

  Now she let herself into the conservatory and firmly closed the door behind her, anxious to shut out the brisk air in the hallway. From the inside looking out, snow covered most every glass panel and climbed up the side windows as if it wished to return to the skies. Several inches had fallen overnight, and with sporadic squalls whipping the dusty flakes into tight whirlwinds in flight on the wind, she wasn’t surprised snowdrifts blocked most of the light. Luckily, with the heat generated through reflection and insulated by the glass panes, paired with her careful attention, the dormant plants housed within kept well through the colder months.