Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

December 1822

Tilly drew in a breath and started again, her fingers dancing over each key until, from behind, her house tumbled into chaos.

She angrily pounded at the piano until her patience broke, then spun on the bench. "I am trying to practice," she called out.

Her siblings continued their mischief.

"I am a working professional who needs ten minutes of calm to practice."

Still, they continued.

She loved them all madly, but some days, she wished to be far, far away from her Brennan brothers and sisters. Her parents were still in Ireland, as her father was too sick to ever make the move. The doctor advised him to stay out of the London air and remain in the Irish countryside near Dublin.

Tilly was the third oldest, her older brother and sister, Patrick and Imogene, were both settled now with families of their own. They both helped Tilly establish herself in London after having Ethan and, along with visiting, helped financially when they could. It was agreed upon that the other siblings would remain with Tilly and help with Ethan as her acting career became more established from playing smaller circuits to larger London theaters.

Nearly twenty-two, and Tilly felt as if she were years older. Her house was full of rowdy children, she worked long hours, and she was trapped in a relationship she wished to escape.

Younger, she had dreamed of more.

But so was life.

She pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and stood, glancing outside at the dull December day. Oh, how she wished for snow. It never felt like Christmas time otherwise.

"Really, what is all this racket?" she asked.

Then she stepped into the hall.

Tiny bits of paper rained down upon her as her siblings giggled and laughed, merrily singing Christmas carols.

"We've decided we need snowflakes," shouted Maeve from over the railing. Maeve shared the same fiery orange hair as Tilly, though she was much shorter like their mother, and her face was dotted with freckles.

"Loads of ‘em," Daniel added, popping his head around Maeve. At fourteen, Daniel was losing the rounded facial features of boyhood much too quickly. He made up for it with a head of wild chestnut curls and an impish grin.

The twins, Bridgid and Fiona, twirled down the hallway toward Tilly carrying an armful of ivy sprigs for the windows. "Yes, coming through. It's time to decorate, Sister."

"But why is it raining paper in my front hall? And more importantly," she said, fighting off a smile as Ethan raced down the stairs in a crooked paper crown, "why are you decorating without me?"

The twins, tall and lean like Tilly, fussed with the ivy and red ribbon. Tilly had been so busy, she had only baked oranges and poked them with cloves. She hadn't done much planning otherwise. She had spent her time at the theater far too much lately.

Ethan threw his arms around her waist.

Tilly sank down, dropping a kiss on top of his curly blond hair. "How are you, love?"

"They won't stop singing," he said, pointing to Bridgid and Fiona. They both spun around and stuck out their tongues before breaking into giggles.

She laughed. "Yes, well they do that sometimes."

"Up here, Ethan," Daniel called. "I need your help pasting these snowflakes."

"It looks wonderful." Tilly stood with her hands clasped in front of her, sorry for her absence of late. Sorry she couldn't be there as her siblings needed her to be. Patrick and Imogen were too occupied with their own families to help. And Imogen especially didn't wish to tangle her reputation with that of her sister. Having an actress in the family was shameful to her.

Which is probably why she had married a vicar and lived in the north now.

And while Tilly felt a little sorry for herself, she was thankful her younger siblings reliably made her life chaos. She drove herself because she wished to provide them with a fine life, with fine schools, and the best social connections possible.

"Miss," Mrs. Tufts interrupted. She was a mouse of a woman, petite, and silvered hair under her cap and her gold-framed glasses were always dirty and sat askew her short nose. "Children, this mess must be cleaned up. It's too early to decorate. It's bad luck."

"I've told them so." Tilly glanced toward the housekeeper, and her stomach sank. The woman's green eyes were filled with worry, and Tilly knew without a doubt who was behind it.

"He's here to see you," she whispered. "I tried telling him you weren't home."

"But I see that you are, and I guess I am correct once again." Roger strutted into the room in a large black overcoat, and removed his top hat, smiling at Tilly as if he had just arrived out of her dreams to whisk her away.

She felt sick.

The merriment was instantly sucked out of the room, and the Brennan siblings quieted.

"Morning calls exist for a reason, Roger."

"Have you been practicing?"

"She's been trying," Ethan shouted from upstairs.

Daniel muttered a comment she didn't hear, but the tips of Roger's ears reddened so perhaps he had.

"Let's leave them." Maeve gathered the others and quickly ushered them upstairs and out of sight, just as Tilly preferred. No sense in letting Roger terrify everyone in the Brennan household.

Roger Haskett was tall, and probably considered handsome if his personality wasn't so horrid. He walked with his broad chest puffed out and his tawny hair slicked back, and he always smelled of cigars.

Another reason why her stomach always turned as soon as he was near. The smell made her sick.

"Are you going to offer me a seat or some tea?" He tossed his top hat to the table in the hallway under a large gilded mirror. It knocked against the potted poinsettias.

"Why are you here?"

He narrowed his blue eyes on her, then stalked closer. "You left after the opera last evening without coming to see me. We had arranged for you to see me."

"I had a headache."

"We should see a doctor, then. Seems you suffer a lot from them."

Tilly wrapped her arms around her waist and shifted her body away. Running off to Dublin and placing the Irish Sea between them still wouldn't be enough distance.

"Well, don't beg off from what I'm about to ask of you. You better find some miraculous cure for your headaches. I have arranged for you to attend a Christmas house party that the Duke of Maitland is hosting at Haddington Court. Lots of deep pockets in attendance. You will be performing for him and his friends."

"I'll be away? For Christmas?"

He reached out and snatched her wrist, squeezing to make his point. "You will be there, or I will expose you. I will ruin you."

"You have said that for a few months now, Roger." She yanked her wrist away, rubbing at the red bruise blooming on pale skin.

"Do you want to test me, dove? Want to see how warm a Christmas is out on the streets?"

"It's not as if I am without family. I could return to my parents."

"And you'll dirty your pretty hands will you, with the sheep farming? Your father is frail enough as it is."

Tilly lifted her nose at the ugly man.

"Don't look at me that way. I hate when you look at me like that."

"Stop threatening me and my family." She balled her fists at her side, her heart thumping against her ribcage, feeling as if it would burst. How she hated this man. Just as much as she hated the man who left her with child when she was only a child herself.

Matilda Brennan was talented, she knew that, and so did the stage managers who tried to leverage her success to fill their pockets. Once she was pregnant with Ethan, she had left Dublin and the stage. She waited a year after his birth to return to the theater and started in smaller provincial circuits in England. She dropped her stage name, went by her family name, and had finally signed for her first of several performances at Drury Lane.

Roger had discovered her at a smaller production and offered her a role last year. That began a frenzy of other theaters fighting to gain her as an actress in their production as well.

And now he wished to take it all away because she didn't want him.

"You don't own me, Roger," she spat out.

He reached out and squeezed her cheeks in his hand, gripping until tears sprang to her eyes, and she dragged in a breath. He hauled her close, pulling so tightly she thought her jaw might break from the force.

"You signed a contract with my theater, Matilda. You are mine. And I will have you or you will kiss everything I have given you goodbye. You'll be another miserable, hungry mother with ten brats to feed in Ireland and no coin to do it."

She met him in the eye the entire time, even as she wished to curl up and cry. This was nothing. She had a bruise on her arm from last week. He was always careful not to bruise her face. But today, that careful consideration seemed close to slipping.

"You're pathetic. You'd be nothing in this Town without me. Remember that, dove. Nothing. And when London discovers the truth about Ethan, they'll turn their backs on you, too. No one can afford to befriend a scandal. And that's all you are. You're a lying adventuress with a bastard child. London will find out."

"Keep his name out of your mouth."

Roger narrowed his eyes, grabbed her dress by the bodice, ripped off the green rhinestone brooch pinned at the top, then pushed his mouth against hers in what was supposed to be a kiss. For him.

For Tilly, it was torture. She stood there, frozen as his mouth moved over hers in greedy possession.

"Mine," he said, stepping away and stuffing the brooch into her pocket before stalking down the hall. "Pack your things. A carriage will be here in the morning," he shouted.

The door slammed, and Tilly startled, slowly remembering where she was.

Alone, in her home, with her siblings and son.

Roger was right. And without London, she would have nothing even if that meant leaving everyone behind for Christmas.

She would see them safe and untouched. Tilly would go to Haddington Court and spend Christmas away from those she loved because if she didn't, she feared Roger might finally reveal her secret.

Henry sipped his tea, thinking of one thing or another before tripping on a stack of books in his apartment. The china cup flew from his hand and shattered onto the rug. The small fragments scattered everywhere, and the tea splattered and stained his new shirt. He would need to dress once more.

He was already running late.

Perfect.

All he had wanted in the world was a cup of tea. Packing up his apartment to make the move to Cliffstone Manor wouldn't have been half as arduous if he didn't possess—at his best guess—five thousand books. Whether true or not, it felt that way anyhow.

He grumbled to himself, shuffling back through the crowded floors to fetch a broom to sweep the mess up. Did he even own a broom? His housekeeper came once a week to assist with tidying the place, so he surely had a broom. When he opened the small closet, more books tumbled out, falling at his feet, begging to be packed.

Henry didn't wish to leave London but matters needed to be sorted.

Duty. He loathed that word.

Never in his thirty-one years did he wish to be an earl. He had worked exceedingly hard to be the best barrister he could become. And now he would step away to balance ledgers, attend balls and the opera, and take his seat in the House of Lords. Being Lord Devlin sounded as if he would be expected to know everything and do everything perfectly while being surrounded by the peerage, who had been doing the same for centuries.

Sleet pelted against the window. December had London firmly in her grasp, and it was dark and cold, and the days far too short.

Christmas was only a week away.

And he would likely be spending it here, alone, by the fire with a glass of brandy. He'd be loath to admit as much, but he did miss his family around the holidays. The Welsh seaside cottage where he had grown up possessed a sort of magic he hadn't encountered since.

No, magic wasn't the right word. That was much too muddy of a term, and he preferred black and white, right and wrong, true or false.

Magic didn't exist within those parameters.

Just as he knew that beautiful stranger who he had met months earlier had vanished well and good, and he would likely never find her again. He blamed his heart for getting ahead of his brain. As if she would meet him in that spot when the gardens opened next spring after one kiss?

A knock rapped at the door.

He glanced up from sweeping the remains of his teacup and growled. Actually growled because if one more thing went wrong, he wasn't sure what he would do, but it would likely involve a long holiday in Bath.

"Who is it?" Henry demanded.

"Is that how your mother taught you to answer the door?" A familiar voice asked from the other side.

"I don't have time to see you, Stephen," Henry called out. He virtuously swept up the remaining pieces and then scanned the carpet, discovering one last remaining shard of china.

It was better to find it now than later and stick himself like a pig.

"Let me in," Stephen said, playfully banging around on the door. "I promise to keep it brief."

Stephen Greenwald was a lot of things, but never brief.

Henry stalked to the door, whipped it open, and glowered at his friend.

"Doing a bit of housekeeping?" Stephen asked.

Henry was still clutching the broom and dustbin piled high with shattered china. "Now is not a good time."

"It never is with you." Stephen weaseled his way past Henry and strode into his apartment, stopping abruptly at the kingdom of books piled high on the floor. He removed his top hat, revealing the long silver scar that cut across his face from a carriage accident during his Oxford days. He wore his dark auburn sideburns bushy in an attempt to distract from the injury.

"You don't have to leave London. You will be back to take your seat, you know."

Stephen was the second son of the Viscount Rawlings and solicitor to the Duke of Maitland.

"I realize that." Henry closed the door, emptied the dustbin, and returned the dustbin and broom back in the closet. He gathered up the pile of blankets on the armchair and sank down with a sigh. "It's only this place isn't practical for when I return. It's halfway across Town to start. Perhaps someplace bigger for when…"

Stephen froze with his eyebrows arched high, waiting.

"I'll need an heir, Greenwald. I am not searching for a love match, only for a woman who is from a respectable family who has a comically large dowry to help the estate dig out of debt."

"Right, practical."

"I am nothing if not consistent." He scrubbed his hand over his face. He hadn't shaved in two days, and the dark stubble covering his jaw scratched against his palms. "Do you have any need for these law texts? I thought about donating them. I could bring them to Cliffstone with me, I guess."

Stephen removed his top hat, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes toward his friend. "Have you slept?"

"At some point in my life, yes. Recently? That would be up for debate."

"I feel terrible for coming here today. If I knew you had this to contend with, I wouldn't…"

"What do you need?"

"Well, a favor. A friend of mine is in a spot of legal trouble and could use your counsel."

"He's welcome to write a letter. I have?—"

"It's a delicate matter. One best discussed in person."

Henry rolled his eyes, instantly understanding. "You know I will not help one of your well-off friends who think they are above the law."

Stephen nodded. "You are now among the Upper Orders, dear Henry. Privilege does come along with money, but you will soon find out it comes with a whole host of other problems. Problems that are best kept out of the papers."

"My inheriting an earldom does not change my views. I will not use my position to do whatever I please. A title is a great responsibility. It is a duty, and that position should be respected."

"And you do so love to uphold duty, don't you?"

Henry jumped to his feet, eager to have this meeting over with. "If I had known you were going to invade my privacy and mock me, I would have left the door locked."

Stephen darted a glance around the room, shifting from foot to foot. "No, that's not… hell, I haven't slept either. Can I start again?"

"If you must."

"You are a right arse sometimes."

"And now you insult me."

Stephen laughed. "I came to ask if you would consider visiting the Duke of Maitland. He's in need of some legal advice that I cannot give as his solicitor. In return, the duke has offered you a room. He's hosting a Christmas house party, and I will attend as well. I have business here in Town to handle before I travel, but I can arrange for you to head to Haddington Court alone."

"No."

"What if you only went up for the meeting and left? No house party."

Henry Davies, now Lord Devlin as he so liked to remind himself, did not do house parties. Not now, not in the future.

"There might be a few marriage-minded young ladies there as well. It might be easier to meet them at a house party than at a ball."

Stephen had a point, still, Henry knew his limit. He would never be agreeable enough to last an entire house party. "Then I would need to contend with their mothers… or worse yet, their chaperones."

"I will be there to assist with them. Mothers love me."

"Does that explain why you have an incurable fondness for widows?"

"One day, friend, you will understand."

His chest ached suddenly. It was happening more and more. The most minor thing could set it off. A mere memory of that night a few months ago, and his body rebelled. It made no sense, and he disliked it very much.

One kiss and he became sentimental.

"Tell me you will think about it. I can arrange everything since I know you are busy with other matters. It would mean a great deal to me, this favor. I can arrange for you to travel there for the day and return the next. No need to spend Christmas in one of Britain's finest homes with a duke and his dearest friends."

"I think you meant for that to entice me."

Stephen navigated through the stacks of books and gently bumped Henry against his shoulder with his fist. "It would entice a great many people, but the fact that it doesn't you, delights me." His friend cleared his throat and dropped his smile. "In all seriousness, the duke would be a good friend to have now that you have a title."

More gray. He had no plans to veer beyond what was allowed, not when he had a legacy to rebuild. "I will go. For you, not for any other reason. But I will only go for the meeting and wish to leave the next morning. Give whatever excuse necessary to see it done. I wish for a Christmas here in Town."

"By yourself? Where is the fun in that? Come on, come enjoy some Christmas cheer."

"One night, Stephen."

His friend grinned, bowing before placing his top hat on his head and spinning for the door. "Very well. One night. I will have everything arranged and will send word when you can expect to leave tomorrow. Thank you, friend."

The door closed behind Stephen, and Henry remained fixed to his spot on the carpet, certain he had made this very promise before.

And it only left him with a hole in the back of his head and a heart that was now prone to tripping now and again at the memory of a haunting kiss.