London's Late Night Scandal Page 3

  Using the candle she’d carried through the hall, she lit several lanterns and watched as golden lamplight flooded the room before she turned her attention to the animals in her care. Whenever needed, she nursed injured creatures to improved health until able to return to the wild. Her efforts included a young owl with a damaged wing, several rodents and rabbits who had escaped predators, and once, several months ago, an injured fawn. Yet nothing so exciting had found her since the summer months, and she selfishly kept a few remaining animals as companions, often conversation partners, assured their fate would be better decided in the spring.

  “Hungry, aren’t you?” She lifted the wire lid of a shallow glass bowl where she kept a Great Crested Newt, and extended her hand, palm up. “Triturus cristatus.” The three-legged newt scuttled quickly to her warmth, fitting neatly across the diameter. “Here you go, Isaac.”

  She retrieved a few crumbles of last night’s leftover beef from the pocket of her apron and watched as the alert little fellow consumed a meal that would last him through the end of the week. “You’re quite a pretty boy with your chocolate coat, aren’t you?” She ran her fingertip down the amphibian’s back before it scurried onto a rock and farther into the brush inside the bowl.

  “Brown seems to be the fashionable shade these days, doesn’t it?” She spoke to no one in particular, though in the glass box across the aisle, a garden snake, dark green with a bright yellow collar, poked his head up as if interested in conversation. “Not that I’ve given much thought to Lord Whittingham’s coloring.” She moved aside the mesh lid and smiled down at the three-foot-long reptile. “Did you miss me, William?”

  As if the snake understood, he unwound himself from the broken tree limb inside his roomy box and slithered upwards. “Now I know you’re not hungry; you’ve done nothing but eat the last few days, and that’s a good thing. With all this fresh snow there’s no catch to be had. You’ll have to make do, just like Isaac.” She gently stroked the snake’s head as he reached the top of the container, and allowed him to encircle her sleeve in much the same fashion he’d waited around the limb.

  “Let’s go check the lemon trees. One of them has yet to recover from the pruning cuts I made weeks ago.”

  William explored the leafy foliage while she watered the saplings and checked their progress. Pleased the snow hadn’t covered the ceiling panels in that area of the orangery, she collected William, deposited him in his box, and completed her morning tasks. It wasn’t until ten thirty that she’d changed her clothes and entered the breakfast room to find her grandfather already at the table.

  “Hello.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his papery cheek. “How are you this morning?” Would he remember they had a visitor? At times his memory failed, but she accepted the lapse as a natural part of the aging process and dared not examine the fact too closely. He was her only living relative and her relationship with him precious indeed.

  Some subjects, such as her future, isolated existence in Oxfordshire, and lack of fashionable polish, were rarely discussed and often avoided. Thankfully Grandfather didn’t press her and she secretly believed he would be lost without her, most especially as he grew older, their relationship one of mutual devotion.

  She had no complaints. She preferred the quiet of the country estate and rejoiced in the ability to practice science, roam the hills to collect botanical samples, and read to her heart’s content, all of which would be denied her were she to be raised conventionally. Having disconnected from the accepted vision of feminine preoccupations and adopted the practices of otherwise masculine pursuits, she was afforded freedoms beyond the norm and was loath to consider ever giving them up. London and its plentiful social demands existed as a parallel universe she didn’t wish to visit, no matter her grandfather possessed a distinguished title.

  True, a touch of remorse accompanied the fact she was the last of Leighton heritage, but were she to marry and produce children, they wouldn’t carry the family surname anyway. Perhaps some things were meant to be short-lived. Her parents hadn’t stayed with her overlong. Her heart twisted with the honesty in this fact and she forced emotion away, another learned habit.

  “I expected a breakfast room full of conversation.” She took her seat at the table. “Has the illustrious Earl of Whittingham not graced us with his presence this morning?” Fear of discovery prompted her surly remark, and Grandfather might very well chide her for the unfair jibe.

  “I expected the same.” Grandfather patted her hand and motioned to a footman at the ready to serve hot tea. “But Mrs. Mavis informed me that the earl requested a tray in his room. I sincerely hope he isn’t unwell from the long trip he accomplished in such unforgivable weather.”

  Theodosia blew a breath of relief. Perfect. The longer she could keep her grandfather from the Earl of Whittingham, the better. Perhaps she could intercept and assure Whittingham there was no need to beleaguer her grandfather with questions, or more the better, address his interest and keep any further interaction with Grandfather at the most superficial.

  Yet even as she formed the illogical and somewhat convoluted course of scientific intention, she was aware of the variables and the unlikely odds of meeting with success.

  “Yes, it must be fatigue. In kind to your concern last evening, the earl must wish to make the finest impression and therefore has decided to wait until later to discuss whatever prompted his visit.”

  “That could be true.”

  Anxious to abandon the subject, she reached for the jam pot and passed it toward her grandfather. “Would you like some marmalade for your toast?”

  “Marmalade?” Grandfather scowled. “You know I don’t like marmalade. I detest it. I never put it on my toast. It’s too sweet.”

  Caught by surprise, she replaced the jam pot on the tablecloth and flicked her eyes to the footman stationed by the door. He didn’t so much as blink an eye, though she knew he heard every word of unexpected admonishment.

  “Of course. How could I have forgotten?” Emotion rippled through her reply. “It is terribly sweet, isn’t it?”

  Her grandfather watched her with a frown, a conflicted shadow of worry in his eyes. “I don’t eat it anymore, Theodosia. That’s all I meant. I once enjoyed marmalade, but I dislike it on my bread now.”

  Grandfather didn’t say more and turned his attention to his plate, though Theodosia had little appetite. She took a long sip of tea and released a deep exhale. At a loss for conversation, she forced herself to consider the earl’s visit. What would she do about Whittingham? She’d give anything to know his purpose here. And how would she keep him from Grandfather? She placed her hand atop her grandfather’s sleeve and patted lightly, more to comfort herself than him.

  * * *

  “I suppose I’m not going anywhere for a while.” Matthew looked out the window at the new-fallen snow. More than six inches sat on the sill below his bedchamber window. Outside accumulation drifted in banks wherever the wind cared to move it, while the sky remained bleak and threatening, an indication more precipitation was likely. “Although you might have woken me at a more acceptable hour.” He turned from the window and skewered his valet with a glare.

  Immune to criticism, Coggs busied himself with shaving tools and necessary items for the beginning of the day, his demeanor undisturbed. “You were exhausted from traveling, as you never oversleep. A sure sign the impetuous decision to come to Oxfordshire took its toll and then some.”

  True to a fault, Matthew had driven himself as hard as the team. A seven-hour ride across unfamiliar country roads with intolerable temperatures would test the endurance of any man, never mind one of bookish orientation. “Kind of you to have a tray sent up.”

  Coggs flashed a sly smile. “The estate staff is a lively bunch. Very welcoming.”

  “I’m sure you’ve acclimated without hesitation.” Matthew stirred cream into his coffee and finished off the breakfast tray without interruption. “If it’s only Lord Talbot and his granddaughter, one has
to wonder why they need an estate so grand. For the most part, it appears to be new construction and the house alone is massive. I’m curious as to the outlying buildings.” He strode to the window and eyed the elongated wing that jutted to the west. “I don’t have a clear view, but I suspect there may be a conservatory on the property. Talbot has spared no expense in surrounding himself with a scientist’s every desire.”

  “Then you have found the best place to be snowbound, haven’t you?” Coggs motioned with the razor. “Shall we begin? The sooner you’re presentable, the sooner you’ll have answers to the impatient questions racing through that astute mind of yours.”

  “Indeed.” He took the chair and allowed Coggs to proceed. When the last of the shaving soap was cleaned from his chin, he answered the one question he knew his valet hesitated to ask. “The pain is subdued. Not at all as insistent as yesterday.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  Matthew lifted a brow at his valet’s formal reply and otherwise made quick work of dressing.

  He found his way belowstairs—always so many blasted stairs—and with the help of a passing maid, located the breakfast room. He approached as Lady Leighton exited, her head bent and lips moving in what could only be a conversation with herself.

  “Good morning, Lady Leighton.”

  She startled, as jumpy as a rabbit, her brilliant gray eyes widened in surprise, though she reclaimed her composure a beat later.

  “Lord Whittingham, good morning.”

  She paused, her gaze sweeping over him in what he assumed was an inventory of his appearance. He regretted the use of his walking stick, though to abandon its necessity for vanity’s sake was a fool’s path to ruin.

  “I noticed the weather has worsened.” He shifted position, self-conscious in the conversation for no reason he could claim. “I hope my visit isn’t an imposition on your hospitality. While I’m anxious to speak with your grandfather, it would appear time is on my side.”

  “Grandfather is indisposed at the moment.”

  Peculiar girl. How anxious she sounded to deliver that disappointing news. “I see.” He glanced left and right, taking in the silk-covered walls of the hallway and elaborate crystal chandeliers. “Would you be so kind as to direct me to the library or reading room then? I wouldn’t like to waste the day when there’s a book in want of company.”

  His words caused her to smile, and for some unknown reason he experienced a sudden tightening in his chest. What had he eaten for breakfast? Whatever it was, he’d consumed it too quickly.

  “Our library is grand. You’ll find an endless supply of volumes in every subject imaginable, enough to keep you well absorbed for hours.” She stated this matter-of-factly.

  “Then I’m sure I’ll be able to pass generous time.”

  She brightened at this remark and he wondered at her curt manner. The only occasion when she’d appeared pleased was when he mentioned keeping otherwise occupied.

  “Might you take me there then?” He watched her closely, curious if his request would meet with a refusal, or polite acquiescence.

  “I could show you the entire estate, if you’d like.”

  A mischievous smile played around her mouth. Her lips were the exact color of the rare camellia flower, indigenous to southern Asia. He’d come upon the blossoms in his studies of herbalism, in search of relief for his recurring muscle pain. Some species of camellia flower were hybridized to produce seeds with curing oils and their leaves used for flavorful tea, their color a delightful rosy pink. Unfortunately, their strength hadn’t supplied the effect needed, though staring at Lady Leighton’s lips overlong could produce a pleasurable sensation.

  “Lord Whittingham?” Her slender brows rose high on her pale forehead.

  Had he made a fool of himself again?

  “Pardon my silence. It’s not a lack of attention, but more an interest in science that occupies my thoughts and carries them into theory.” He offered her a half smile, unsure of her reaction to his admission.

  “I’m often of the same mind.” She nodded in agreement. “Now if you’ll follow me, we can begin with the main estate and then, if you’re still interested, I’ll show you the additional buildings my grandfather had built to his design. Leighton House has several rooms that you may find intriguing.”

  “Thank you. I would like that.” He studied her face, her eyes especially. “I feel as though we may have begun on the wrong foot.” He cursed his choice of words. No need to bring more attention to his limp than necessary. “It would appear we’re snowbound and you’ve graciously offered your time in exploring the estate, so please call me Matthew. We’re past formal titles and far removed from the stuffy confines of Almack’s in London, with no need to stand on propriety.”

  If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would have missed the slight narrowing of her lids, as if she questioned every word from his mouth or thought his motives unkind. He hadn’t taken their home by siege. Lord Talbot had extended an invitation.

  “Almack’s? I’m not familiar, but aside from the weather’s inconvenience, I think it best to keep our relationship cordial, yet formal.”

  She didn’t pause for his reply, and in an abrupt pivot that had the fabric of her skirt rushing to keep pace, she started down the corridor to the left.

  Chapter Four

  Men. An unusual species. Hard to dissect and understand. Often obtuse. Generally overbearing. Admittedly, Theodosia had limited interaction with their kind, but from what she’d read, gathered through conversation, and observed from afar, she’d formed a working hypothesis.

  Lord Whittingham, Matthew, remained an enigma. While he came with all the polish of London, his general manner and subsequent conversation left her unsettled and unready to form a conclusion. She noticed he walked with a slight limp, more pronounced last night than this morning, though he kept a walking stick in hand while they traveled the hallways.

  The conventional rooms were all met with polite acknowledgment, but she knew as a man of science Lord Whittingham would enjoy not just the extensive library, but the additional uncustomary rooms of the house. Their unusual design would also supply a diverse topic of discussion if needed when he and Grandfather finally conversed face-to-face.

  She brought him to the apothecary first. She took great pride in the room, the walls whitewashed, and the gleaming floor as reflective as a mirror. Tied in bundles above their heads, dried herbs, fragrant and bountiful, waited patiently to be put to use, their blossoms faded into pastel shades by the subtle yellow sunlight that leaked in through the far windows. The open cabinets boasted jars, bottles, and vials, all with a different substance, while bins overflowed with boxes and tools, bowls and towels, set beside a marble mortar and pestle.

  Lord Whittingham wore an appreciative expression as he advanced into the room.

  “I had no idea your grandfather practiced botanical medicines.” He eyed the powders and glistening balms on the lower tier of the shelf nearest him and leaned in to sniff a jar full of pale green liniment. He withdrew quickly and Theodosia bit the inside of her cheek to refrain from giggling. It served him right for putting his nose where it didn’t belong.

  “Crocosmia.”

  He whipped his eyes to hers. “Pardon?”

  “An African flowering plant in the iris family. It’s sometimes called copper-tips or falling stars. The fragile petals are parallel-veined and formed in vertical chains. Ground to a fine powder, its dried leaves emit a strong odor similar to saffron and used as a cure for dysentery.”

  “I knew that.” Whittingham straightened his shoulders and canted his head the slightest. He took an extra moment to continue. “You’ve listened closely to your grandfather’s research or mayhap found a few tomes on pharmacology worthy of your time?”

  His assumption, that she’d gleaned the knowledge through eavesdropping or in search of relief from boredom, chafed and further proved her singular theory concerning the thickness of the male skull. But she wouldn’t
take the time to educate him beyond his beliefs. Herbalism was her own preoccupation. Grandfather wasn’t interested in that particular branch of science.

  “Shall we?” She gestured toward the doorway and they continued wordlessly to the next room. With the key from her pocket, she unlocked the latch and moved into the conservatory. She’d visited this morning, so she had no need to check the animals. Instead she briskly moved down the center aisle and farther into the glass-paneled orangery, aware he kept pace without falter.

  “This . . .” He scanned the interior with a wide grin. “This is a sight to behold.”

  He walked to one of the stone columns that supported the glass-paneled walls and touched the window briefly with his fingertips. The cold air outside immediately condensed with his body heat to leave his fingerprints on the glass.

  “It’s one of my favorite rooms. I spend a great deal of time here.” She had no idea what provoked her to share such a personal detail. She hardly sought a friend in the earl.

  “I can understand why.” He held her gaze before he continued his exploration.

  He investigated the room with all the inquisitiveness she’d expect of a scholar, and she enjoyed watching him, although that realization was a bit unexpected. It could only be that, like she, he appreciated the scientific advantage to having such a research area. Mollified, she dismissed it as just another oddity she had no time to examine.

  * * *

  Matthew meandered about the orangery, impressed by the expert construction and attention to detail. It was one thing to read about science and another entirely to live it. Talbot had constructed two rooms—and who knew how many more?—devoted to the pursuit of scientific methodology. No doubt there was an astronomy room, or perhaps a room devoted to weather patterns and meteorology.