Chapter Nineteen

August, 1817

One month later

“W ell, show him in, man!” Felton barked at his butler then regretted it immediately. “I apologize. Please bring him in.”

The man simply nodded and turned on his heel.

Not sure why he was so irritated with everything, he strode to the window and tried to focus on the rolling lawns and forest beyond, but the lawns were no longer green and the leaves had turned a dead yellow.

“Lord Harewood. I’m Anthony Taylour.”

He turned back toward the room, determined to hold in his temper. It wasn’t as if he were angry, just frustrated. Frustrated that Dory was to wed Dearling, who would have no idea how to protect her, even if he were smart enough to recognize a threat. That the man had no understanding or appreciation for who she was made the arrangement even less palatable.

He still didn’t understand why she’d accepted, or why a low, burning rage simmered in his gut at the thought of her being Lady Dearling. Since being correct made him happy, as she’d pointed out, it must be because he’d been wrong that she would wait until the next season to choose a husband. He was rarely wrong.

In addition, it had been a fortnight since he’d corresponded with Mr. Taylour, and there had been nothing unusual reported about Leighhall. Of course, he hadn’t explained why he wanted the man followed, just that he be followed. So the letters about the viscount’s visits to brothels and the homes of a couple of married ladies were of little use.

He strode across the room to greet Mr. Taylour. The former Bow Street Runner didn’t appear to be as deadly as Sommerset had suggested. In fact, his broad frame, wavy, blond hair, blue eyes, and full smile made him appear quite jovial. His clothes were impeccable and well-tailored. If he’d met Mr. Taylour on St. James Street, he’d think him of the peerage, which did not inspire confidence in the man’s abilities. Peers were not suited to this type of work. “Mr. Taylour, thank you for journeying out here to Denton Hall. I wished to speak to you with the utmost privacy.”

The man immediately sobered, looking far more like what a detective should have looked like. “Of course.”

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward a wingback chair before his desk, then strode toward the door and closed it. Returning to his desk, he found Mr. Taylour reading one of the open books. He reached over to close the book and added it to a pile.

“I see you are a philosopher.” Mr. Taylour ignored the rudeness of the action and perched on the arm of the chair, a rather odd way to take a seat.

Felton leaned against his desk. “Not I, but a friend of mine. I thought to study up to better converse. Now what is the latest on Lord Leighhall?”

Mr. Taylour’s brows lowered in confusion. “I believe I outlined it all in my last letter.”

“Yes, yes, but what about since then?” He needed to know if the man had traveled anywhere near Northampton, where the school was located and where Dory even now prepared for her marriage in between her studies.

“Lord Harewood, if you told me what you were looking for particularly, then I could delve into the details of the man’s life with more success. But with no instructions beyond following Leighhall and reporting on his activities, which I have done, that is all I can help you with.”

Which was why he’d brought Mr. Taylour to Denton Hall, only after corresponding with the Viscount of Blackmore himself on the man’s ability to keep his mission to himself. Still, Felton tapped his fingers on the desk, hesitant to make his true motivations known.

“If you are concerned about my trustworthiness, I assure you that I hold many secrets that have never been divulged nor will be. I also first investigate those who would hire me to be sure they will not use my specific talents for nefarious purposes before accepting an assignment.”

Affronted, his irritation raced through him. “You investigated me?”

“I did. And in the course of those investigations, you received high recommendations from not only Lord Sommerset, but also the Duke of Northwick.”

Appeased somewhat by the duke’s favorable opinion, he forced himself to remain civil. “Then it appears I have no choice but to take you into my confidence.”

Mr. Taylour remained relaxed on the arm of the chair. “I understand.” The man nodded sagely as if he’d been among other peers with similar needs.

That was highly doubtful, but he could not ignore his own need to protect Dory. “Very well. My interest in Lord Leighhall is in regards to his threat to a young woman whom I have taken under my protection, though neither she nor her betrothed are aware.”

The man didn’t move a muscle in his face to indicate any level of surprise. Still, Felton felt the need to justify his actions. “Lady Dorothea Ansley is a student at the Belinda School for Curious Ladies. Lady Belinda Mabry and I were planning marriage, but she passed. I have a vested interest in the school’s success, so to that end, I aided Lady Dorothea in making a match.” That was a bit of exaggeration, but the easiest way to explain his stake in Dory. “Fortunately, she accepted a proposal, but not before catching Leighhall’s eye. The man is convinced that Lady Dorothea is like her mother, Lady Preston. The Countess Preston is rumored, though no proof has been produced, to be enjoying the company of a variety of men.”

“Ah, if Leighhall believes the future bride like her mother, I imagine he will wish to have access to her at some point.”

Somewhat relieved that the man understood the delicacy of the situation, Felton found his tension abating. “Precisely. You see, her betrothed is Lord Dearling and though the man worships Lady Dorothea, he is not aware of his surroundings. He’s much like a hound’s puppy in his excitement, ignorant of the danger lurking in the bushes. This is why I hired you. I need to be sure Leighhall does nothing to Lady Dorothea.”

“When is the lady to wed?”

He moved off his desk and strolled toward the window before facing the man again. “Within a fortnight. The banns have been read and the license procured.” He had contemplated lodging an objection to the marriage, but Dory would never forgive him, and a future husband being weak was generally not considered a strong enough reason to halt a wedding.

Mr. Taylour nodded, clearly contemplating the new information. “And you believe once married, Leighhall won’t be a problem?” The man’s doubt was clear in his voice. “As I have watched Lord Leighhall, I have discovered that marriage does not hinder the man’s actions in the least. Is your goal to preserve the woman’s reputation only before the marriage?”

“Devil it!” Of course. Once Leighhall’s mind was made up, he became obsessive. If Leighhall destroyed her reputation after her marriage, she would be shunned. He felt the tick beneath his ear start as his tension spiked. “That means I’ll need something to keep Leighhall in line for the rest of his life. Pity he could not meet an untimely death.”

Mr. Taylour jumped to his feet. “I’m an honorable man and will not commit murder.”

Belatedly, Felton realized what his words sounded like. “No, of course not. Nor will I be a party to one. I was simply hoping, perhaps wishing that the man would die of the pox. Lord Sommerset’s father did, so it is possible.”

Mr. Taylour relaxed but did not sit. Instead, he leaned his elbow on the top of the chair. “This kind of investigation could take years. Is this lady worth it?”

“Yes.” At his quick answer, the man’s brows raised. “I mean, she is a rare woman among the peerage with a unique mind and a kindness of heart not often encountered. She is the epitome of what Lady Belinda wished for in all women. Not that Dory is perfect.” He grinned as he remembered her foibles. “Her conversations are tangled at best, her game of pall-mall truly lacking, and her waltz rather deplorable. But she is unique and stunning both in mind and body.”

Mr. Taylour studied him. “Wouldn’t it be easier to simply marry her yourself? A broken betrothal won’t ruin her reputation like Lord Leighhall would.”

He sighed, having given that much thought long before he’d known of the Leighhall threat and his reasons were still sound. “It would not be a good match. I couldn’t make her happy. And unfortunately, she discovered my motivation for helping her, so I am hardly in her good graces.”

“And this Lord Dearling would make her happy? From what you’ve told me, he doesn’t sound as if he has many good qualities beyond loving her.”

And was that enough? He certainly didn’t want it to be. There were so many eligible men who were far more protective, but having thought about that as well over the last weeks, he found they also came up short. “I have to believe he will make her happy, as he was her choice.” That is what he’d told himself, but as he voiced that very idea, it felt shallow.

Mr. Taylour shook his head. “That is your concern. I am simply here to help how I can. Now that I know what you want, I will not only look into Leighhall’s activities in more detail, but I will also be sure to alert you if he moves in the direction of Silver Meadows. I’m very familiar with the area, as I stay with Lord Blackmore, a neighbor, when not on an assignment.”

Having heard that the two had served together in the war, Felton was not surprised by that fact. “I greatly appreciate your aid in this matter. If there is anything I need to do in order for you to access places or items as you dig into Leighhall’s activities, do not hesitate to contact me. I want any possible weakness recorded.”

Mr. Taylour’s brows rose. “Do you suspect something beyond his sexual activities?”

“I do. I’m not sure exactly why, but I’m convinced there is something beyond his supposed prowess with women. I would like to know what it is to use it as leverage, if you will.”

“Those very activities could well be a distraction from what he’s actually into.” The man grinned. “There is nothing I like better than a puzzle to figure out.” Mr. Taylour straightened and gave a nod. “I shall be sure to report to you as soon as I discover his secrets.”

“Thank you.” Felton strode forward, opened the door, and called his butler. “My first priority is Lady Dorothea’s safety. My second is that no one know what you are about.”

“I understand.” Mr. Taylour gave a solemn nod then followed the butler out.

He wandered to the sideboard and poured a short glass of whisky, his mind filled with the conversation. Surprisingly, he felt more confident in Mr. Taylour’s abilities after meeting him. No doubt it was because the man’s mind worked much like his own, even if he didn’t resemble the two Bow Street Runners he’d met. That Mr. Taylour had also concluded Dory could be more easily protected if Felton were to marry her showed how quickly the man had sized up the entire situation.

Returning to the desk with his drink, Felton pulled out his desk chair and sat. He took a sip before opening the top drawer and withdrawing a miniature.

He set the oval frame on its stand upon his desk and sat back. “We haven’t spoken in a while, Belinda. But I know that you are aware I never stop thinking of you.” He stared at the little portrait, wishing as always that she would actually speak, but well aware that would never occur. The portrait had been one of many Lady Amelia, now Lady Sommerset, had painted and discarded as not good enough. Belinda had her signature poignant smile, her head slightly cocked, but a strand of hair had come loose and fallen across her eyebrow.

He’d never forget the afternoon Belinda had shyly handed it to him, explaining it wasn’t the best, but it was the one she liked most because it wasn’t perfect. She liked that it showed her hair having a mind of its own, as often happened. She said the picture captured the living, breathing Belinda, and not the perfect one whom her sister had sought to paint. But in his eyes, Belinda had been perfect. Or rather, she’d been perfect for him.

“I imagine you have been perplexed by my actions over the last month or so. To be honest, so have I.” He waited, always having that hope that he would hear her in his mind, giving him the counsel he needed.

“My father thinks I keep looking for the perfect woman. I’m not. I already have you, and I know no one can be you. I don’t want them to be you.” He paused, not sure what he wanted to say, but talking to her always helped him find solace, if not solutions.

“As you know, I’m determined to protect Lady Dorothea. She’s interesting. Like you, she is unique, but in a far different manner, and she is far from perfect. I know if you met her, you would be very kind to her, but probably puzzled by her. I befriended her to help her be successful with finding a husband, and she has. But I am not happy with my success. I thought by helping her, I could make the school named for you as revered as you are. But I fear my priorities have become entangled, as she might say.”

He tapped his fingers on the desk even as Belinda’s soft, blue gaze never wavered. “I still want the school to be a success. You deserve to have your name on everyone’s lips. Lady Dorothea took my advice, changed how she conversed, and is now betrothed.” According to Dory, he should be happy because he’d succeeded, yet he felt unsettled.

“But I actually prefer her as she was. I should be pleased she managed to change, but I wish she hadn’t. Why? That’s the question. Maybe I don’t want her to be successful because I like that I’m the only one to understand her and appreciate her for who she is, flaws and all. That’s what you always told me. You said to love others for their flaws, not despite them. I don’t think I ever understood that until now.”

He stopped tapping the desk as his heart started to pound in his chest. “Am I in love with her?”

Even as he said the words to the empty room, a shiver raced over him. He shot to his feet. He couldn’t be. He looked at the portrait, the gaze now focused on his groin. Quickly, he lifted the image. “This can’t be. I love you.” He shook his head, then set the portrait down and quickly strode around the desk to the window again. He stared unseeing. How could he be in love with Dory? She was an experiment to help the school. His heart was dead.

Or was it?

He thought back to their first encounter, to their first kiss, to when she’d told his fortune, sensuously running her finger over his bare palm. Then the night he’d given her pleasure. As much as he’d wanted to bury himself inside her, he couldn’t defile her because…because he loved her.

He spun around, his gaze going to the stack of books on his desk. He strode to them and opened the top one. Even in his frustration, he’d been reading the philosophers Dory had mentioned, unconsciously prepping for their next conversation despite the fact that he hadn’t planned to have another with her…ever.

Rifling through the pages of Immanuel Kant’s writings, he found what he sought. “‘Love is a matter of feeling, not of willing…so a duty to love is an absurdity.’”

It was not a matter of will.

An odd relief filled him at the thought that loving was not of his choosing. Of course, he hadn’t chosen to love Belinda, he simply did.

And he hadn’t chosen to love Dory. “But I do.” His spirits lifted as if a shroud had been pulled from over his heart and allowed it to beat freely. “I love her.”

His gaze returned to the portrait. Did Belinda know? Did she approve? Even as he asked the question in his mind, he heard her voice in his head. Yes.

He closed the book as new possibilities stretched before him. If he loved her, she could be his wife. He lifted the portrait. “Thank you.” Reverently, he returned it to the drawer.

For the first time in over ten years, he could see beyond his past to a future. He would make it perfect. No, not perfect. According to Dory, perfect was boring. According to Belinda, perfect was not a human possibility. According to his father, perfect was loneliness. No, his life would be perfectly unique with Dory by his side.

Would she accept him? His enthusiasm dimmed. She was betrothed, but she could break the betrothal. She was also angry with him. Could he convince her he regretted his actions? After all, he was her Fen. It would be no easy task. He’d hurt her.

His heart began to pound, fear of rejection seeping into every vein. Maybe he could simply tell her it would be safer if she married him. Even as the thought materialized, he discarded it. Dory wouldn’t care about that. She would demand his heart.

If only he knew how she felt about him, besides angry. Had he truly lost her before he had her?