Chapter 4

Thel found it difficult to release Lady Allen’s hand when they reached the top of the stairs. He wanted to clutch her close and chase away the coldness that had settled over her when he’d mentioned the newspaper. It had felt as if she were angry with him, although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to upset her. Perhaps it was the articles.

He had considered using his resources to track the source of the articles down, but Lady Allen had not requested his assistance, and he would not offend her by getting involved without her consent. If she required his help, she would ask for it.

He had never met a woman who was more in control of herself, as if she could command the dark locks coiled atop her head to remain perfectly in place, despite the breeze from the open windows.

An image flashed into his mind of her on her hands and knees on his bed, her rear presented for his enjoyment, a silky, black waterfall spilling over her shoulders.

He mentally shook himself. His personal desires were irrelevant. Ensuring Constance found a loving husband was his highest priority. He had promised Marguerite.

When they reached Constance’s room, he knocked. When no one answered, he turned the doorknob and eased the door open.

Constance sat at her writing desk, bent over a sheet of paper. She wore a bright-yellow tea gown that faded to a deep green at the hem. The color suited her sunny personality, and he made a mental note to thank Mrs. Quill for choosing it for her first day with her sponsor.

The door let out a creak, and Constance met his gaze in the mirror. She jolted upright. “Father!”

She looked so startled that he felt a twinge of guilt for interrupting, but she hurriedly returned her writing implements to their proper locations and stood. “Good morning, Father. Good morning, Lady Allen.”

Olivia stepped closer. “If we are to be working together, we do not need to observe such formalities.”

Constance pursed her lips. “You may call me by my Christian name, but as you are my sponsor, I should continue to refer to you as ‘Lady Allen.’”

“If that is your wish,” Lady Allen said, although it was clear from the crinkling around her eyes that she was holding back a smile. “Now, tell me, what is the name of the Duke of Wintermoor’s eldest son?”

Constance hesitated a beat before replying, “Lord Adam. He has two sisters, Lady Deirdre and Lady Lilian.”

Lady Allen nodded. “Excellent. What fare would you serve for an afternoon tea with Lord Adam and his sisters?”

“Sandwiches and tea or coffee, but not wine or beer.”

“Entertainment?”

“Lady Lilian has a wonderful singing voice, and Lady Deirdre is very skilled at the pianoforte.” She grinned. “I prefer to take my afternoon tea outdoors, if the weather is fair.”

Thel strolled to his usual seat by the fireplace as Lady Allen tested his daughter’s knowledge. She would find no deficits there. He had hired the best tutors and overseen her education himself. He would have proceeded with presenting her to society as well, if not for the fact that Felix’s wife shared Felix’s views regarding arranged marriages, and his mother’s poor constitution meant she rarely ventured into London.

Lady Allen walked around the room as she fired off more questions, giving him the chance to admire her from different angles. Her large, green eyes, framed by thick lashes. The soft curls at her nape. Her tall frame that would fit snugly against him, as very few women would. God could not have presented him with a better woman to test his resolve.

“Uncle,” a soft voice said.

The room fell to a hush.

His youngest niece, Alanna, stood in the doorway, a pink blanket dragging along the floor. Behind her, Constance and Lady Allen watched in very different manners. Constance’s scowl reminded him of the need for a discussion about boundaries with the other children. Lady Allen, however, clenched one hand at her waist and clutched a bedpost on Constance’s bed with the other.

Alanna crossed the room and tugged on his trousers. “Want up.”

He ruffled her black curls. “Trying to avoid naptime again?”

He knew better than to give her what she wanted. The head nanny had made it abundantly clear what the consequences were for the children missing their afternoon nap.

Alanna screwed up her tiny face and thrashed her blanket. “Up!”

A strangled cry came from Lady Allen, and then she knelt in front of his niece with her arms open. The powerful expression of yearning on her face left him speechless. Gone was the cold, sharp-tongued woman he’d bantered with on the stairs. The difference was striking and for a fleeting moment, he felt what he thought she was feeling, a familiar loneliness so sharp, it cut him up inside. He reached for her before he realized what he was doing, drawn to her pain, unable to stand the thought of her hurting.

Alanna shuffled back and shook her head.

“Come here, darling,” Lady Allen said in a tremulous tone.

The sound of quickly approaching footfalls came from the hallway, and then the nanny said, “Has anyone seen a young girl up past her naptime?”

His niece stuck her thumb in her mouth and exited the room as fast as her little legs could carry her.

“How many dresses will I need?” Constance asked loudly.

Lady Allen straightened. “An excellent question. You must have evening gowns, of course, and at least one costume. Several afternoon dresses…”

He leaned back, stunned by the strength of emotion he’d felt. There was something about Lady Allen that reminded him so much of Marguerite. Not the cool, confident woman she portrayed to society, but the woman whose face had softened when his nieces and nephews had tugged at her skirt. It made him wonder why she had never had children of her own. She had certainly been married long enough, although to a much older man.

As he crossed his legs, something jabbed him in the thigh. He reached behind a cushion and withdrew a crumpled sheet of vellum. When he unfolded it and saw it was addressed to Constance, his first instinct was to place it back where he had found it. Then he skimmed a line that made him go cold.

He slipped the paper into his pocket and took his leave of the room. When he was back in his office, with the door locked, he spread the letter onto his desk and read it from the beginning. His stomach dropped with each word, and by the time he’d reached the end, his suspicions were confirmed.

He did not need to search out the person attacking Lady Allen in the newspaper because the source of the articles was living under his roof.

It was his own daughter.