Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

THE COURTSHIP BEGINS…OR DOES IT?

W hen Lewis returned to his townhouse that night, he felt exhausted but satisfied with the events of the day. He picked up his mail from the table by the front door, stuffing it in his jacket pocket.

He couldn't help smiling as he walked up the stairs to his room, loosening his cravat as he trudged up each step. Gwinnie and he had come to an understanding. He breathed in deeply. That had to be the weakest description—the most timid description—for what had occurred.

Truthfully, he found it difficult to believe his Junoesque goddess could care for him as much as he'd come to care for her. It made no sense. However, he was a practical man, and not one to bypass as heavenly a gift as Lady Guinevere.

He found it hard to fathom that neither his height nor his base-born state bothered her in the slightest. If it bothered others, that was their concern, not hers. She eschewed the pomp and circumstance of her birth. It simply was as it was.

Gwinnie's sense of humor and love of the absurd delighted him, as did the other side of her— the side full of compassion for those for whom life dealt harsh hands.

He wondered what he should do as his first courtship action tomorrow. Knowing Gwinnie, it should make her laugh.

He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across the chair, then remembered the letters he'd stuffed in his pocket. He took them out and walked over to the lamplight by the bed to see what they were. The first was a note from his friend Harry Liddle, a thief-taker in the Mendip Hills. The second letter was from the Dowager Duchess of Malmsby.

Dear Mr. Martin,

I would like Daniel Wrightson to return to Versely Park with me for the duration of his recuperation.

Lewis snorted. He couldn't see Daniel agreeing to that!

To this end, I will visit Mr. Wrightson tomorrow morning while you are at Malmsby House, and put the scheme to him. If he is agreeable, we shall leave Monday morning.

I should let you know I intend to appropriate Mr. Cott from Malmsby's employment into my employment. You will have to find another guard for Arthur.

Lewis shook his head. He should have seen that coming. The move would be to Mr. Cott's benefit. He would not complain.

I hope to have you up to Versely Park again soon, this time as my guest.

Sincerely,

Lady Vivian Nowlton

Dowager Duchess of Malmsby

Lewis privately conceded it would make his courtship with Gwinnie easier if Daniel were not present. He did not trust Daniel to find another reason to leave off his rib wrappings and go amongst his gang again. He'd never heal if he didn't let himself.

What did Gwinnie want in their courtship? He hoped she did not want a long courtship; he didn't know how he would be able to keep his hands off her for an extended time. And the duke would be watching.

Lewis left his house early the next morning, shortly after breakfast, when he knew the London shops would be open. He caught a hackney to Bond Street where Littledean Fine Porcelain had their London showroom. He hoped they had what he wanted, and he hoped Gwinnie was enchanted and amused.

Thirty minutes later, he was on his way to Malmsby House with his purchase. The clerk had carefully wrapped the object in a Littledean Fine Porcelain box and then, at his request, in a plain wrapping to disguise the nature of the gift.

"Mr. Harold," Lewis said, when the Malmsby House door opened. "Is Lady Guinevere feeling better? Is she up yet today?"

"Yes, Mr. Martin. She is in the gold parlor. You may go on up, sir," the butler said with the indulgent smile of a long-time privileged retainer.

"Thank you, Mr. Harold." Lewis left his coat, hat, and gloves with the man and mounted the stairs two at a time. The parlor door was slightly opened. Lewis peeked inside. Gwinnie was alone in the room, reading.

Lewis knocked gently on the door, then went inside.

Gwinnie turned around, her countenance blossoming into a warm, welcoming smile. "Lewis!" She started to get up.

"No, don't get up," Lewis said, coming quickly over to her side.

"I've been waiting since daybreak to see you! I was hoping you'd come early for breakfast."

"I had an errand to run, first. Here," he said, handing Gwinnie the box. "I am starting this courtship you requested with a special present for you. No flowers or box of chocolates, I'm afraid. It is a Gwinnie-only present."

She looked at the box with surprise and delight. She pulled Lewis down to sit next to her on the sofa. She unwrapped the box, then looked quizzically at him when she saw it came from Littledean Fine Porcelain.

He nodded and smiled back at her.

She opened the box and carefully separated the silk and tissue wrappings from around his gift. It was a small trinket box, but what captured her heart was the porcelain figure of a blond man playing a pianoforte! A statue exquisitely designed and painted. And on the inside of the trinket box part, it was signed by Elizabeth Littledean, her aunt!

"Did you know they had this when you went to their showroom?"

"I hoped they had it," Lewis corrected. He ran a figure over the man playing the pianoforte. "I saw one in your grandmother's china collection at Versely Park when I was there last year. Since that was the first time we met, I thought you might appreciate it."

Gwinnie held the trinket box carefully in her cupped palms. Her eyes glistened. "Appreciate it? Just appreciate it? I love it!"

"Enough to shorten this courtship?" Lewis ventured.

Gwinnie laughed, then set the porcelain piece down on the table so she could pull her handkerchief from the cuff of her long-sleeved dress to dab at her eyes and nose. "I deserve this courtship. The answer is no . But it is a stunning entry in our journey," she acknowledged with a watery laugh.

"Can you tell me more about our journey so I may understand how to go on?" he asked plaintively, a suggestion of a pout on his lips.

"No," Gwinnie said simply, a teasing note in her shining eyes. "You shall have to figure it out."

He clapped a hand to his chest. "My love, you will unman me!"

"Well, I certainly hope not before our wedding night," Gwinnie said levelly.

Lewis's eyes widened, and he fought against a big laugh. "You are a vixen."

"Perhaps," she agreed tranquilly, leaning against him. "No," she corrected, sitting up again, "what I am is eight-and-twenty, not a na?ve debutant miss."

He laughed. "I wouldn't want one of those!" he exclaimed with a mock shudder.

In the doorway to the gold parlor appeared Stephen. "Excuse me, Mr. Martin. The duke requests you join him now in his library. The Altons are expected momentarily."

Gwinnie slouched and pouted. "Duty calls," she sighed.

"Hopefully this will be the last of the nasty issues we must face, and we can concentrate on us and our lives moving forward."

"Yes," she agreed as she stood.

He gave her a kiss on her cheek before he left her.

It was promising to be a beautiful morning.

"I did not write those letters!" Robert Alton, Earl of Wicholm, protested when shown the small stack of letters the Duke of Malmsby had received. "I know I ain't the smartest of fellows like Dicky, but I wouldn't do a ham-handed thing like this." He pushed the letters back across the desk toward the duke.

He turned to look at his father. "Do you think I would or could threaten a lady? What you must think of me!"

The earl looked shattered. Lewis wondered if they'd been too hasty in their assumptions.

"But you and my valet are the only ones who go in there," the marquess said.

"Why do you think that?" the earl asked. "Grandmother is in there all the time for her correspondence."

"She has a desk in her sitting room," protested the marquess.

"But she doesn't have access to franked letter paper at her desk," his son said.

"Do you know of times she has taken advantage of franking privileges?" asked Lewis.

"Every time she sends a letter to her best friend, Lady Culbrith, in Bath," said the earl.

The marquess frowned but slowly nodded in agreement.

"… You think she might have written these letters?"

"I do," said the earl.

"Your mother was Emily Satterwaithe, correct?" Malmsby asked.

The marquess nodded.

"I believe I have heard my mother affectionally call her Emily Scatteredwits," the duke said drily.

The marquess hung his head and looked down. "I could see that," he admitted, hiding a smile.

"If the author of these letters is the dowager marchioness— and this time let us not rush to assumptions," Lewis said, "how do you wish to handle this?"

The marquess looked at the duke.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," said Stephen, opening the door a crack.

"Yes, come in, Stephen, what is it?"

"The dowager duchess has returned from her outing, accompanied by the Earl of Harleigh. They say it is imperative they see Mr. Martin immediately. They are in the Lady Margaret Parlor."

"Harleigh!" repeated the duke. He looked at Lewis. "You had better go and find out what this is about."

Lewis nodded and begged pardon to Lord Alton and Lord Wicholm. When he came out of the study, he had an urge to turn and go to the gold parlor first to see Gwinnie, but ignored the desire as he knew he would not leave her side immediately. He went down the stairs to the ground floor and walked toward the parlor. The door was open.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked from the open doorway.

"Yes" the duchess emphatically said, waving him over to her. "We have a small fire we must extinguish before it becomes a society firestorm!"

"And this firestorm involves me?" Lewis asked, as he walked into the room.

"Yes, and Gwinnie," the duchess said, in patent disgust.

"Then it's a good thing I overheard Stephen and followed Lewis downstairs," said Gwinnie, coming into the room.

Lewis saw her balance wobble, and quickly went to her side to steady her and lead her into the room.

"I say, Lady Guinevere, that is a nasty bruise on your face," said the earl, looking at her closely.

"Yes," Gwinnie said, smiling at the man she now knew as Lewis's half-brother. "Dr. Walcott has said it might take two weeks to heal. I hope the headache that came with it does not take as long."

Lewis led her to an armchair, and when she was seated, tossed the sofa shawl across her legs.

She grabbed his hand as he moved to sit in a chair next to hers. They smiled at each other.

"Well," said the earl, "I can see how this may be more difficult than I'd hoped."

"In what way," Lewis asked, as he rubbed his thumb across the back of Gwinnie's hand.

"The Dowager Countess has decided to make mischief," said Gwinnie's grandmother.

"The worst," said the earl, "I'm so sorry, Lewis, I don't know what to do."

"What is it?"

"I told Mother you were likely going to wed Lady Guinevere. I was and am delighted for you, as is my wife. Not Mother. I have never seen her in such a rage! She threw a vase across the parlor, then stomped back and forth. She said she won't allow it, she won't allow you to get anything within society, that you don't deserve it."

Gwinnie pushed back in her chair. Lewis, however, shrugged.

"I am not surprised at her attitude," he said.

"But this time, she is not just spouting words," the earl said. "She says if you do not foreswear Lady Guinevere, she will ruin her reputation and the reputation of Mrs. Southerland's charity. I admit I have not heard of that charity; however, Mother said it is important to you. She will affirm to any who will listen that Lady Guinevere is a courtesan, which is why she has not married, and the women in the house are her courtesan students."

"Hmm. Does your mother indulge in snuff?" Gwinnie asked.

Lewis looked at her quizzically for a moment, then smiled in understanding.

"Yes, a vile, heavily perfumed snuff. I can't stand the scent. Why do you ask?"

"That rumor originated with Mr. Jeffery Simmons, proprietor of a tobacco and snuff shop. He moved on to the same street as Mrs. Southerland's charity. He didn't like the charity being where he lived, so he tried to start a campaign to see that the charity moved elsewhere."

"Now that is interesting," said the duchess, leaning back against the sofa pillows. She folded her hands together and smiled. "With that information I may see a way to tame Lady Harleigh?—"

"It wouldn't matter to me what she said," said Gwinnie, looking up at Lewis. "It has taken me too long to find Lewis, I am not giving him up now," she said emphatically.

Lewis's face lit with a big smile that carried to his bright eyes. He raised her hand to kiss her knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Lady Guinevere, but you don't know how she can be. She is a prominent, powerful source in society," exclaimed her son, rubbing his hands together.

"Only because I have, for the most part, retired to the country," the duchess countered. "Do not concern yourself with that notion— Lewis, it is time for everyone to know you are the Earl of Harleigh's son. Sally doesn't know it yet; however, she is giving a party Saturday night for all of society that remain in the city. A Winter Soiree, I think. Gwinnie, this will be a perfect opportunity for your former music teacher to take charge of your players. They will practice here, of course, for the first event of the season."

"Your Grace," Lewis said with a smile and twinkle in his eyes, "with your knowledge of society and penchant for devious plans, I think you might also be of assistance with a conundrum we have upstairs. Might I request you come with me to meet with the Marquess of Alton and his heir, Lord Wicholm."

"Does this concern Emily Scatteredwits?"

He looked at her with surprise. "It might," Lewis admitted.

"I do love that woman; however, she comes up with the most hairbrained schemes. She doesn't know how to scheme appropriately, and when we were younger, I did try to teach her."

Lewis laughed. You may not be in favor of this scheme either."

"Ah! Another fun problem to solve," the duchess said as she stood up. "Please wait for me, my lord," she said to Lord Harleigh. "We have more planning to do. I declare I have not had this much fun since my house party at Versely Park last spring."