A Certain Wolfish Charm (29 page)

   The visit brought back many memories for Simon. The years he and Daniel had spent there together, the scrapes and adventures they'd shared. He wished again that his closest friend had survived that awful carriage accident. There was no doubt in his mind that Daniel would have been proud to see Oliver grow into a man before his eyes.

   The headmaster gave his permission for Simon and Oliver to explore the grounds alone. The countryside wasn't different from Simon's memories, so he was able to direct Oliver down a secluded path that very few people knew about. It had been used by one Lycan schoolboy after another through the years. Even after all this time, Simon easily found his way through the thick foliage until they reached a small circular clearing.

   "This is where you'll come," he told Oliver. "When the moon is full, this place will be your haven." He pointed to the sky above them. "The light will hit you in the middle here." He gestured to a circle of white rocks just a few feet from where Oliver stood. "After the transformation, you'll be free to roam the grounds, like we did at Westfield Hall. Then you'll return to this spot when the time has come to resume your human form."

   Oliver quietly looked around the clearing. "Will there be others like me?" he finally asked.

   Simon didn't have a clue. He supposed he could take a look at the rolls. "It's possible there are others. When I attended Harrow, it was just Daniel, Will, and me. I'll see if I can find out for you."

   Oliver circled the pile of white rocks. "What is this?"

   "I never thought to ask. It has always been here, even in my father's time."

   Oliver nodded, sniffing at the air. "It does smell as if someone has been here."

   Simon did the same. A faint scent lingered, yet the breeze rarely found this place. "Do you hope there are others? Are you afraid to be alone?"

   The lad's back straightened instantly. "I'm not afraid of anything," he boasted proudly. "Just curious."

   Simon bit back a smile as he remembered saying something similar to his father years ago. "My apologies."

   After he sniffed back his indignation, Oliver glanced around the clearing once more and nodded. "All right, Blackmoor. I think I've got the lay of the land."

"You sure?"

   The boy let go a sigh. "If I know Aunt Lily, she's wearing a path through that churchyard. She doesn't like to be kept in the dark."

   Somehow, Simon knew that. He clapped a hand to Oliver's back and directed him back down the secret path. "We'll have to distract her then. Does your aunt like the theatre?"

   Oliver pushed his way through the dense flora. "She likes to read Shakespeare. I don't know that she's ever seen a play."

   That brought a grin to Simon's face. "Well, I'll have to remedy that. We'll stay in London a few days. Get you fitted for new school clothes." Order something shee
r
for Lily, or several somethings. A new wardrobe befitting a
duchess. Jewels. Ribbons. Hair combs. "You won't mind u
s going out at night and leaving you alone, will you?"

   "No," Oliver answered and then jumped back when a tree limb smacked him in the arm. "I'd like to read more about Lycans. I found a couple of books at Maberley Hall. They're different from the ones Will gave me."

   Same information, however. Simon kept that bit of fact to himself. As long as Oliver wanted to study up on their heritage and lore, he would support him. Keeping the boy occupied would also leave Simon and Lily to their own devices. He looked forward to offering London on a platter to her. Starting tonight with his box at Drury Lane.

   "Aunt Lily!" he cried, running toward her.

   She laughed as she embraced him. "Well, you obviously enjoyed yourself."

   Oliver pulled back from her and nodded. "I do wish you could have seen it."

   So did Lily, but seeing Oliver so happy, she felt her annoyance melting away. "Do tell me about it," she said as they walked toward the coach.

   Simon stepped from the conveyance at that moment, his eyes light with merriment. "Isn't St. Mary's lovely?" he asked.

   Lily nodded as he took her hand. "I can see why Byron enjoyed his time here."

   Simon chuckled, helping her into the coach. "You'll have to ask Will about him some day."

   "Oh?" Lily asked as she settled herself against the squabs. "Did he know him?" She couldn't keep the scandalized tone from her voice. As lovely as Lord Byron's poetry was, he'd very recently been exiled; the offenses were too shocking to speak of in polite society.

   Simon took the spot next to her, just as he had the entire journey, and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. He smelled of sandalwood and the outdoors. "They were in the same year."

   Oliver climbed inside the coach, sat across from them, and rolled his eyes. "Must you go about touching her
all
the time?"

   With a warm laugh, Simon squeezed her arm. "As she's my wife, I don't see where you have anything to say about it, Maberley."

   Oliver groaned, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the wall of the coach. "It's enough to turn a fellow's stomach."

   "Well, we'll give you a reprieve tonight then, my boy."

   "Oh?" Oliver asked, sitting forward in his seat.

   "I believe I will take Her Grace to the theatre tonight. I can trust you to stay out of trouble for one evening, can't I?"

   Lily looked up at Simon. "The theatre?"

   "We have a box at Drury Lane. I believe
Richard
III
is on stage. At least it was when I left Town a few weeks ago."

   Shakespeare? Drury Lane? Giddiness spread through Lily.

Simon loved seeing Lily's expression of awe when they entered his home on Curzon Street. Having grown up with all the grandeur of one ducal home or another, Simon enjoyed seeing his world through her eyes.

   The Rutledge family was landed gentry, but foolish investments had left them penniless. He'd been surprised when Daniel had insisted all those years ago on marrying Emma. They were both so young at the time. She hadn't had fortune or connections to lend him, only herself. She was a quiet girl with simple tastes. But she spoke to a part of Daniel that Simon

was just now beginning to understand.

   He wanted to give Lily everything. Jewels, gowns, new experiences, anything to make her smile and see her pretty eyes grow wide with surprise. To that end, he went to the safe in his study, certain he had more of his grandmother's moonstone jewelry there.

   Pulling back a portrait of his grandfather, he worked the combination until a cough from the doorway halted him. Simon stepped away from the hinged portrait to find his butler, Anderson, standing just inside the study.

   "Yes, Anderson?"

   The middle-aged man appeared uncomfortable and shifted in his spot, which was not like him at all. Simon had never known the butler to hedge.

   "Well, Your Grace, it is Friday."

   Simon raked his gaze across the man. What was this about? "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

   The man barely met his gaze. "The, um, well, the society pages came out today."

   Something Simon never cared about. "And?"

   The butler gestured to his desk, where a small stack of papers sat, awaiting his perusal. "Well, Your Grace, I'd rather not have to speak the words aloud. Perhaps you could read them for yourself."

   "Why don't you just tell me what's going on?" Simon barked. He really didn't want to waste his time like this.

   The butler shook his head. "Speaking frankly, I've seen you in a bit of a temper in the past, and I'd prefer not to be the messenger. Though," he pointed again at the stack of papers, "I thought you should be aware

of the word about Town."

   Thoroughly annoyed, Simon dismissed the man and sat at his desk. He first opened the
Mayfair Society
Page
. He clenched his mouth shut after reading the first paragraph.
Bloody hell!

Simon stepped from the coach and held his hand out to Lily. He smiled a smile she was sure he intended to be encouraging. However, it did little to ease her nerves. She'd never attended the theatre before, and, though she was excited, the prospect was a bit intimidating. She fingered the moonstone that rested right above her cleavage. She'd been shocked when Simon had presented her with matching earbobs before they left Curzon Street.

   For years, the talents of Edmund Kean had been gushed over in one review after another, ever since he'd portrayed Shylock in
The Merchant of Venice o
n the stage in Drury Lane. Lily never imagined she'd see Shakespeare performed in a London theatre, and she certainly never thought she'd actually see Kean himself on the very stage where he'd made his name.

   When Simon had informed her that they would watch the famed thespian in the role of Richard III, Lily could barely contain her excitement. Apparently, being a duchess had its advantages.

   Bridges Street was clogged with carriages as drivers maneuvered their horses toward Drury Lane. Men and women moved en masse toward the entrance, all dressed in their finest clothes for their night at the theatre.

   Lily glanced down at her own dress. "I suppose I should be eternally grateful to Prisca for making this gown for me." She felt a little chagrin at wearing the green silk dress again, but it was the nicest one she owned.

   Simon pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled down at her. "Tomorrow, we'll commission London's most expensive modiste. You deserve a grand new wardrobe."

   "My reward for putting up with you, Your Grace?" she laughed.

   "
My
reward is you putting up with me." His gaze traveled up and down her body. "Among other things."

   "Simon," she scolded him. "Do behave yourself." But she couldn't hold back the smile that threatened to erupt. "You're positively incorrigible."

   His eyes narrowed at her. "And I thought beastly was the only description you had for me." He made the comment and looked away without meeting her eyes.

   "I have a lot more, Your Grace." She stopped walking and tugged his arm. She raised one hand to cup the side of his face. "Beastly is my favorite, though."

   He leaned into her hand. "Would that it could be true," he said quietly.

   "You doubt me?"

   He looked away and changed the subject, just as she'd known he would. "I can't wait to show off my lovely wife at the theatre." His eyes caught hers. "But I must warn you…"

   Before he could even finish his sentence, a booming voice said, "Well, there's the Duke of Blackmoor. Finally out of seclusion, I see."

   The man approached slowly and extended a hand to Simon. His height was nearly equal to the duke's, and the family resemblance was unmistakable. He shared the same black-as-night hair and grey eyes. Lily wracked her memory to come up with a name, but it eluded her.

   "Lily, this is Mr. Alstott, a distant relation on my father's side. Charles, meet my duchess." Lily's heart did a little flip when he said her new title with such pride.

   "Lovely to meet you," Lily replied.

   "Your Grace, I knew it would be a lady such as you who'd finally get Simon to the altar," Mr. Alstott said, pressing his lips to her gloved fingers.

   "I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not," Lily said quietly.

   Simon simply laughed and whispered dramatically, "It's a compliment, love. You may take it as one."

   "Most definitely," the man boomed. "It would take a woman of great strength to finally collar this pup."

   Simon narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, almost unnoticeably, at his distant cousin. At first, Lily thought she'd imagined it, but she knew she had not when Mr. Alstott tilted his head to one side in confusion. Then Simon made his signature move and changed the subject.

   "Where is your lovely wife?" Simon asked.

   "She's gossiping with friends, as usual," Mr. Alstott answered, as he searched the lobby with his eyes. Then he caught his wife's attention across the room and gestured her toward them. "Mary," he began when she reached them. "Meet the Duchess of Blackmoor." After the introduction, he draped his arm around his wife's slender shoulders.

   "Lily, please. I'm not quite used to the title yet."

   "Charles and Mary will be sharing our box tonight," Simon informed her and directed her toward the staircase.

   "Oh, how nice," Lily replied.

   Beside them, Mary Alstott leaned toward Lily, her brown eyes wide. "I think it's quite brave of you to come out in society like this after the…"

   Charles coughed loudly, interrupting his wife's statement. Mary stopped talking to place her hand on her husband's chest. "Are you all right?"

   Lily frowned as she watched them. All the male members of the Westfield family seemed to share the same predisposition toward untimely changes of subject matter.

   "Yes, yes, of course," he said. "I am a bit parched, however. Come, Mary. We'll find some wine."

   "Perhaps we should take our seats," Simon suggested. He ushered Lily through the crowd and up the stairs to his box.

   The number of theatre-goers was slightly overwhelming. Lily had never imagined such a crush. One lady after another looked at her out of the corner of their eyes, and Lily was certain she wasn't dressed nearly nice enough for this. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come," she muttered to herself.