Chapter Ten

Sunday, 30 April 1826

Kirkstone House

Half-past nine in the morning

M ary squinted swollen eyes as she entered the breakfast parlor, her head annoyed by the bright eastern sun. Her feet scuffed as she headed for the sideboard to pick up a plate, and she barely noticed that Kit and Beth, already seated and eating their morning meal, watched her with intense, caring eyes. With only a few morsels of fruit, bread, and cheese on her plate, she dropped into a chair, nodding her thanks as the footman poured her tea.

“How are you doing?”

Beth’s voice held kindness and concern, but Mary truly did not want to speak. She shrugged.

Kit, who had been smiling at some bit of correspondence, cleared his throat. “It might not be what you think.”

Mary added a lump of sugar to her tea. “Does it matter? He did not come. Irresponsible as well as reckless.”

Kit laid aside his missive. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon said—”

Mary clanked her spoon against her saucer. “I really do not care to hear what that woman has to say about anything or anyone. He promised. He did not come. At this point, I suspect it would be best if I accompany you to India. Where no one knows me. Perhaps malaria would be a more complete solution.”

“Mary!” Beth stared at her. “Do not think such a thing!”

Mary shrugged and the room fell silent.

After a moment, Beth spoke, her voice a soft whisper. “I feel a great deal better today. I thought a ride in the park might do us some good. In the landau. Fresh air.”

Mary shook her head. “I suspect I would be foul company for you and a detriment to any meetings along the paths.” Mary looked at her food, her stomach unwilling to accept any of it. She had pushed her chair back and prepared to stand, when the butler appeared at the door with a small silver salver in one hand.

“Your Grace, this arrived for you just now.” He nodded at the folded note on the tray.

Kit accepted it, then slit the wax seal with a butter knife. He glanced at it, eyes widening, and motioned for Mary to sit.

She did, her curiosity overcoming her desire to be alone with her tears.

Kit, his mouth dropping open, pushed back from the table. “Mary, you must get dressed. Beth, you as well. We must go, and as soon as possible.”

Beth laid her serviette aside. “Where are we going?”

“The Lyon’s Den. Now.”

Sunday, 30 April 1826

The Lyon’s Den

Eleven in the morning

A ragged, throbbing pain consumed Thad’s body, and the least movement brought an unexpected agony. The laudanum that had been spooned into him at regular intervals helped, but it left his brain foggy and the pain merely dulled, not eliminated. He attempted to stretch one leg, the unbroken one, and moaned.

“Ah, he is awake. I think.”

Thad winced. George. Why is George here?

Where is here?

“How long has he been here?”

Not George this time. Deeper.

“Mr. Brothers discovered him on the pavement outside early Saturday morning.”

That voice Thad knew. The Lyon. The Widow of Whitehall. To whom he owed . . . wait . . . did he still owe . . .

“What happened?”

Oh, sweetness! Lady Mary!

“A man to whom he owes a great deal of money decided that Lord Thaddeus would be more useful as a warning to other gamblers.” The Lyon again.

George grunted. “He also didn’t believe Thad would ever pay him.”

The deeper voice sounded again. “Not pay him. Did he not tell him of our agreement?”

Ah. Deeper had to be the Duke of Kirkstone.

A snort. George again. Thad knew that snort of derision. “That agreement is with the Lyon’s Den.”

Silence. Then the sweet voice of Lady Mary came on a whisper. “Mr. Brothers, the agreement is for my brother to pay of all of Lord Thaddeus’s outstanding debts. All of them.”

More silence. Thad forced opened his eyes, blinking against the light. “I can hear you.”

A soft hand, fingers encased in silk, slipped into his. “Good. Because you have to get well. We have a wedding to plan in the next five days.”

“I do not think—”

“Hush. This time allow me to make the leap of faith.”

Sunday, 30 April 1826

Kirkstone House

Half-past one in the afternoon

Mary watched Lord Thaddeus sleep. He looked peaceful, although she knew the laudanum kept him still and unconscious—drugged to facilitate the move from one of the upstairs rooms at the Lyon’s Den to a guest suite in Kirkstone House, under the supervision of her brother’s personal surgeon. While the care the Lyon’s Den had provided had been excellent, everyone agreed the calmer environment of Kirkstone House would be a better solution. His wounds were extensive—a broken leg, several cracked ribs, bruised internal organs, a concussion—and needed time, rest, and personal attention to heal properly.

After he had been settled into the big four-poster bed in the room, after all the bandage changing, tucking, and bracing had been done, Kit had finally let Mary sit next to the bed, provided she leave the door of the bedchamber open.

Mary had laughed. “A bit late for that, do you not think?”

Kit shook his head. “Just remember that you will be in London a long time, and tongues will always wag.”

London . Mary had thoughts about that, about their promise for her to marry Lord Thaddeus and take up residence at Kirkstone House. But now was not the time.

The duke had sent a missive to Lord Thaddeus’s family about his condition and location, receiving a two-line note back from the earl: I appreciate the notice. If money is needed to support his care, please inform me.

That was it. No questions, no offers to visit. No suggestion that he be moved to his family home. Nothing.

Now, watching this beautiful man sleep, Mary fought tears again, for an entirely new reason. She had cried a great deal in the last forty-eight hours, more than she ever hoped to again.

“We will be your family,” she whispered.

“About that,” her brother’s voice rumbled from the door.

She looked around, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I spoke with the surgeon and the archbishop. Lord Thaddeus should emerge from this dose of laudanum by tomorrow afternoon, although he will mostly need smaller doses for the pain off and on for the next few weeks. However, he should be conscious enough to marry.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “Marry? Here? In the bed?”

“It would hardly be the first time for such a thing.”

She took a deep breath. “Please continue.”

“The archbishop will issue the special license, and Mr. Hodgson from St. George’s will be here on Thursday to conduct the wedding and see that you are both listed in the registry. You can sign it at a later date, once Lord Thaddeus is able to walk again.”

“It all sounds extremely precarious.”

Kit grinned. “You have rather lived your life that way.” He reached down and took her hand, folding it into his own. “Are you certain you wish to move forward with this? There will be no going back this time.”

Mary looked again at Lord Thaddeus. Her unconscious groom. And her mind lingered on that kiss, that embrace, both the touch of someone who adored her. Who wished the best for her.

She nodded. “Let us proceed.”