An Improper Proposal (The Distinguished Rogues Book 6) (27 page)

“That is a fine idea.” He lay down with a groan and curled up on his side with his hands resting under his cheek. “These places do become uncomfortably overcrowded around meal times.”

Iris slipped from the room and, once alone in the hall, covered her face. His insistence he was staying at a coaching inn was growing harder to refute. She could not seem to talk him out of his delusion he was on a long journey and the strain of correcting him was already getting on her nerves.

“Is there anything I can do, my lady?”

The butler’s polite question made her cry out because she’d not heard his approach. She faced him and noticed a footman lingering a few steps behind. “No, nothing. My father wished to go back to his bed. He’s very tired today.”

“Very good, madam.” Gibbs peeked into the room, and then crept inside to retrieve the tea tray. The familiar strains of her father’s heavy snore added a comfort that she’d missed this morning. Gibbs closed the door carefully and smiled. “He never noticed me. If there is nothing else you need, I will go about my duties.”

When the footman hurried off with the tray, Iris assumed Gibbs would follow him. However, he opened the door to an adjacent room and stepped inside. Curious about what he was doing in a bedchamber at this time of day, she glanced around. A round table had been stacked with tarnished silver. When Gibbs picked up a cleaning cloth, and turned out a chair to sit upon, she frowned at him. “Should that not be done below stairs?”

Gibbs nodded. “Ordinarily it would be done elsewhere, however, his lordship has asked me to keep an eye on your father during the day, should he require any assistance. I abhor the idea of sitting about doing nothing. Brown has been promoted to answer the door, as per Lord Louth’s instructions. Mrs. Clayton is waiting on your ring to discuss the menus at your earliest convenience.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, of course.” She turned to go but then changed her mind and doubled back. “Will you bring my father to me when he grows tired of his room?”

Gibbs nodded. “I would be very happy to, my lady.”

She should also visit with her husband’s cousin. Whitney had made herself scarce after their vows had been spoken and that would never do. She did not want their marriage to alienate the girl. “And Miss Crewe?”

“She is in her studio, as usual for this time of day.” Gibbs gestured behind her. “The room is at the end of the hall, to the left.”

She nodded, adding the location and Whitney’s habits to her memory. “And my husband. Do you know where I might find him?”

The butler’s gaze grew wary. “He went out, my lady.”

“Out?” He’d failed to mention any errand he’d needed to run this morning. “Where? Or do you know when he will be coming back?”

The butler straightened. “He never said, and it’s not my place to ask.”

Iris nodded. “Of course. I merely wanted to thank him for the care he is giving my father.” At least with him out, she had time to work up her courage to broach the subject of her father’s scattered memory. She shouldn’t put it off much longer. He seemed worse today.

Gibbs nodded. “I will pass along your desire to see him on his return.”

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.”

Iris headed toward Whitney’s studio, a room she’d never ventured into before her marriage, and tapped on the door. Upon hearing no response, she let herself in and glanced around. Whitney stood with her back to the door, paintbrush poised in her hand as she stared at the incomplete portrait before her.

“Miss Crewe?”

Her brush lifted high and then she made a small, delicate brushstroke. “I can never get the eyes the way I want on the first attempt,” she murmured and set aside her brush. “Good morning, dear cousin. You’re looking very well this morning.”

“Thank you.” Iris glanced around the walls of the room to hide her blush. Aside from her growing concern for her father’s failing mind, she felt wonderful—full of hope and optimism about her marriage. The ease at which they’d come together in his bed filled her with relief. The earl had doubts about her size in comparison to his. That he had regretted withdrawing to prevent a pregnancy and wouldn’t say why filled her with unease, though. Would he ever tell her about his child? If she closed her eyes for even a moment, she could still remember the feel of the little girl in her arms. She needed a mother and her father to love and protect her too, didn’t she?

There were few pieces of art hanging but many canvases were stacked against the walls. “So this is where you prefer to spend your time. Your cousin spoke often of your interest in art but I never had a chance to see any before we wed.”

“And that is how it should have been.” Whitney dropped her paintbrush into a glass jar filled with liquid and stood back. “You only had eyes for him, and that is very satisfying to me.”

She hid a grin. “Was my interest really so obvious?”

“To one who cared to wonder, oh my yes, indeed it was.” Whitney snatched up a black satin cloth and carefully cleaned the brush on it. “You did appear smitten. I was so relieved my cousin had found the right woman to marry. I hope to claim my cooperation played a small part in your success with him.”

Iris faced the woman, surprised she’d try to take credit for her marriage. Most women were not that bold. “I never quite believed my husband before when he spoke of your character, but you truly are not afraid to voice your opinions, are you?”

Whitney shrugged. “I know what I like and what I don’t. Most women will never tell you how they really feel or think.”

That was unfortunately all too true. “What will you do today?”

Whitney carefully set her brushes out to dry then smiled. “I am at your disposal.”

“Good. If you don’t mind, I would like your company for another tour of the house, and perhaps you might remind me of the servants’ names and duties as we go along, too.”

Whitney leafed through some papers in a side table drawer and handed them over. “This should help. I started making notes for you when we returned from the park that day.”

Iris scanned the list. Whitney had noted every servant by name, detailed their duties, and added little side notes about their character, too. Everything the new lady of the house might require at short notice. The second to last sheet contained the names of members of society, including their London addresses. People she suspected her husband was best acquainted with. There was also a sketch of the London townhouse and of Holly Park, their country estate in Lincolnshire, and a short list of other properties the earl owned, including the Pollen Street residence where his daughter lived. She folded the papers carefully without commenting on the nearby property. “Thank you for your help. These lists will be invaluable.”

“Anything I can do to help the transition.” Whitney smiled. “Where’s that cousin of mine hiding today? I’ve not seen him all morning. Did you leave him in bed?”

“No. He went out alone ealier.”

“Bare days after he gets married? I do hope he brings home something precious as a wedding gift.”

Iris’s pulse quickened. She didn’t need anything more than he’d given her above marriage but she hadn’t truly considered what he did when they were not together. Had he gone to Pollen Street to see the babe or did he ignore the little girl altogether? How long would Mrs. Hughes conceal her secret visits to the baby? “I’ve no idea of what he might be doing but I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.”

Twenty-Two

“I can’t begin to thank you enough,” Mr. Hedley began as soon as his daughter exited the room, on her way to confer with the housekeeper about the chances of setting out their dinner earlier than planned. Hedley could barely keep his eyes open and Martin was growing concerned.

“You’ve already been profuse enough with your thanks.” Martin smiled gently, admiring the color of his whiskey. “I’m just glad I had the opportunity and funds to do so.”

At the mention of money, Hedley swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. “I can never repay you, you know.”

“I knew that from the beginning, sir.” Poor Hedley, the man was extremely uncomfortable but the deed was done, money spent, and Martin’s conscience was clear. Hedley was at large and Iris was happy.

In all but one respect, Mr. Hedley had no further worries. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your wife. Iris hasn’t mentioned her stepmother, but I understand Mrs. Hedley returned to her family soon after your losses became known. Do you wish to send for her? There is more than enough room.”

At the mention of his wife, Hedley’s face grew dark with anger. “She married me only for my money; came as quite a shock after fifteen years of believing myself a happy husband. But when there was nothing left but me, Jane fled to her family without a backward glance.”

Martin had never met Iris’s mother. He did remember the second Mrs. Hedley as elegant but a trifle haughty. She would not have fared well visiting debtor’s prison. “Why did Iris not go with her to stay with family?”

“My wife accused me of spoiling her life, as if I’d ruined us just to spite her. The love of my daughter is the only thing that has kept me going. Iris would not leave no matter how hard I tried to convince her to go.” Hedley swallowed his whiskey in one gulp.

Martin had had no idea the marriage had broken down so completely, but he should have suspected as much, given how neither Hedley nor Iris had mentioned the absent wife. “Would you like to write to her and give her your address?”

“And have her send her bills?” Hedley shook his head violently. “No. I’ll not do that to you, or to my daughter. Jane would only meddle and cause trouble.”

Martin studied Alexander Hedley and let the matter drop. “Very well.”

Hedley pursed his lips a moment then sat forward. “Take one last piece of advice from me if you will before I go: When you’re thinking of proposing marriage, think about it a bit longer before you speak up. A fair-weather wife isn’t for any man.”

Martin winced. Could the man not keep it straight in his head that Iris was now married to him and this was now their home? The only conclusion he could make was that the man was losing his mind, or had lost it. There were times he understood, but more often than not he was confused. “I am married to your daughter, sir. Do you not remember the ceremony that took place in the drawing room?”

As much as he wanted Alexander Hedley in his home, the situation was not ideal when he questioned his marital status all the time.

“A man your age,” Hedley continued, unaware Martin’s mind had strayed to worry for the future, “should have a wealthy wife with good connections. My Iris, to my shame, has neither advantage.”

“She has enough appeal for me.” He stood quickly and replenished their glasses. He was well satisfied with his decision to marry Iris and discussions like this with Hedley were beginning to irritate.

So far, there had been no upheaval in the running of his home as his wife had assumed the role. She had taken charge smoothly and by all accounts had won over the staff on her first day as countess. The matter of the robberies, Iris’s part in them particularly, had not resurfaced in discussion but plans were afoot to bring an end to Talbot’s thieving.

He peered out the window onto the street as he stoppered the decanter, dreaming of a pleasant future ahead. He could have Iris in his bed, tease her until she woke from slumber as he had that morning. And then later he’d slip away to visit his daughter without anyone noticing. It wasn’t ideal but he couldn’t see how to bring his wife and daughter together in the immediate future.

After a moment, he registered a man standing opposite his home on Golden Square. The fellow was dressed poorly compared to those passing him and stood out for his lack of fashion. Those strolling the square gave him a wide berth but his attention was on Holly House.

He took a closer look and at last recognized the man as the turnkey from the Marshalsea.

Martin was moving for the front door before he fully realized what he was doing. That man had no business loitering outside his home.

He burst out of his home, crossed the roadway with little thought to the traffic, and pinned the turnkey with a cold, hard stare. To his credit, Fitzhugh stood his ground until Martin drew near. The man bobbed his head deferentially. “My lord.”

Fitzhugh was half a head shorter, slightly rounded in the middle and clearly wearing his best clothing. “You’ve no reason to come here.”

“I was wanting a word with Mr. Hedley but the knocker’s gone from the door.”

“Yes, it is.” He wanted no callers at all today.

“I’m Mr. Fitzhugh, if you don’t remember. From the Marshalsea Prison.” He smiled widely as if such a place was a credit to him rather than a disadvantage, revealing unshapely, stained teeth.

Martin gritted his. This man had allowed Talbot access to the prison and to blackmail his wife. “I know who you are.”

“I trust Mr. Hedley, and his daughter, are in good health?”

Martin narrowed his eyes and used his bulk to intimidate. “My wife’s health is none of your concern, sir. Be off with you.”

“You really did marry her?” Fitzhugh appeared stunned. He thrust his hand into his pocket then held out a grubby, folded square of paper. “You should have this.”

Martin stared at the note in disgust. “What does that concern?”