His Heart's Delight (5 page)

“As you say, milord.” Roberts nodded and
began gathering shaving items.

The man was an insufferable snob. Morgan
picked up two of the discarded neckcloths before Roberts could
reach them, just to irritate him. Roberts had dressed and shaved
him since he’d come to Town. He had seen him ill, drunk, and close
to ruin. Despite that familiarity, his valet maintained a formality
that was as admirable as it was irritating.

Morgan held out the discarded neckcloths and
Roberts took them with obvious reproof and moved toward the door.
“Is there anything else, milord?”

Advice, damn you, I want advice.
Truth
to tell, he would rather have Roberts’s advice than ask almost any
of his friends. There was thirty years difference in their ages and
Roberts had, after all, spent his life observing society.

The man was right. If Morgan called on Miss
Lambert it would only add fuel to the idea that he was courting
her. No, the solution was to make an appearance at Almack’s,
preferably on a night when Miss Lambert was otherwise engaged. If
he danced with every eligible chit in the room then surely that
would put the gossip to rest.

Almack’s. He groaned. He had managed to avoid
the weekly assembly so far. Now it would be a penance more than
worthy of his thoughtlessness.

He thought he had found the perfect solution
to James’s command that he find a wife. He could dance his way
through a dozen balls and convey the essence of courtship with none
of the heart. He could pretend to find a wife. It had worked
beautifully until his overconfidence had undone him.

It was such a good plan. There must be a way
to revive it. Once he had sufficient funds he could establish his
own Town residence and see to it that the property in Wales had the
subsidy it needed until the harvest. In a year or two the land
would produce enough to support a wife and family. It would be a
time of his choosing and not because of a command from an arrogant
brother willing to step into the shoes of their autocratic
father.

Those few lines of gossip taught him a
valuable lesson:
Pretending
to find a wife would be more of
a challenge than a real courtship. Unless he exercised unusual
discretion, he could stumble over his pretense and find himself
engaged. Last night had been a simple error on his part: He’d let
the cards distract him. And that mistake had become today’s
on-dit,
interpreted in such a way as to embarrass everyone
involved.

“Everyone” included his grandmother. For all
practical purposes she had been the one to introduce them. Miss
Lambert had caught her eye and, without a ducal granddaughter,
cousin, or niece making a debut this year, it was entirely possible
his grandmama would make Miss Lambert her protégée. Heaven help
them both if that happened.

He groaned again. What he really must do was
pay a call on his grandmother and convince her that Miss Lambert
was not a candidate for the coveted position of Braedon wife.

Of course that meant that the delectable Miss
Lambert could not be considered for any other part in his life. He
acknowledged some disappointment. She was lovely, lively, and had
not seemed at all averse to a flirtation. Just as well it was not
to be, he rationalized. Girls in their first Season were not in his
usual style. They were too easily hurt and rarely understood the
finer points of dalliance. But Christiana Lambert had been a rare
one. He’d been tempted to make an exception with her. The feeling
that wedged itself right under his heart must be hunger, Morgan
decided. He’d delayed breakfast too long.

Roberts cleared his throat and Morgan
realized that the man was still waiting to be dismissed. He waved a
hand at his valet and the man moved to leave, then turned back. “I
believe your brother arrived last night and will be waiting below.
Perhaps he can advise you.”

As unwanted as the news was, Morgan hid his
surprise. “James is here?”

“No, milord. I am speaking of your younger
brother, Lord Rhys.”

A reprieve only, he thought. Eventually James
would arrive. There was at least one good thing about having Rhys
in residence, Morgan thought. He never read the gossip columns.

The breakfast room was bright, the curtains
pulled open to encourage the rare burst of London sunshine. Rhys
looked up from an empty plate. “Happy to see me?”

“Most days.” Morgan made the concession, but
was more honest with himself.
I need your honesty, your
enthusiasm. Yes, I’m devilish glad you’re here.

Then he spied his brother’s empty plate. He
could smell bacon and ham, but saw little more than dirty dishes on
the sideboard. “Did you leave me any food at all, you pig?”

Rhys grinned at the welcome. Morgan reached
for a muffin as his brother grabbed the last piece of toast and
slathered it with strawberry preserve.

Before he could ask, Rhys announced his
reason for the rare Town visit. “Morgan, I have an appointment with
the Astronomer Royal.” Rhys made it sound as though he had an
audience with the King.

Morgan nodded and bit back a grin as Rhys
prattled on about comets. His brother had been fascinated with the
night sky since childhood. It did not appear he was going to grow
out of it.

Morgan stood up and tossed his napkin on the
table. “Your meeting is tomorrow?”

When Rhys nodded, Morgan welcomed an
inspiration. “I’m off to visit our grandmother. Come with me. With
you along she is much less likely to try to convince me of the joys
of the married state.”

Rhys shook his head without even a hint of
regret.

“If you called with a day-old beard she might
be less inclined to treat you like a lad.” Morgan leaned closer and
took on an exaggerated air of supplication.

Rhys rubbed his beard. “No, she will guess I
traveled by moonlight and rant at me while she calls for a razor.
No, Morgan, I am going to wait. I will call on her when I am
ready....”

“To be treated like her favorite?” Morgan
suggested, as he straightened and turned for the door.

Rhys threw a napkin at his brother and was
reaching for a piece of muffin. Morgan escaped before their
conversation descended into a food-throwing contest that would
validate Grandmama’s assumption that her youngest grandson was more
boy than man.

By the time he raised the knocker at the town
house and was shown into her too-warm salon, Morgan knew the day
was not going to move along on his terms. He had taken the long way
round to her door and stopped at White’s to check the betting
books. There was a new entry. His name was now firmly linked with
Miss Lambert.

He’d been fully prepared for a tongue-lashing
from his grandmother, but her words surprised him. “Really, Morgan,
I stopped putting any credence in the gossip columns long ago.” She
pulled her shawl closer around her and looked at him. “Move away
from the fire, boy. You block the heat.”

He sat on a chair next to hers and let
himself be soothed by the lavender and rose scent that had been his
mother’s as well. Did she know about the betting book?

“One of the great pleasures of old age is
watching others make the same mistakes I did. There is reassurance
in the truth that stupidity is a function of all youth.”

So there would be a lecture after all.

“Still, my boy, I can not count your
stupidity the most unfortunate thing. How long would it have taken
you to pay me a call if this gossip had not compelled you to
apologize?”

“Grandmama”—his voice was filled with
reproach—“you know that you are the first person I call on when I
am in Town. I know how you rely on me for all your news.” The last
was said with his usual cynical smile for it was a joke and they
both knew it. His grandmother had as wide a network of friends as
the Queen did.

“So you say, but I did not know you were in
Town until I saw you at Westbourne’s.” She rapped his knuckles with
her fan. It was a gesture of affection.

“I only returned in the late afternoon from
Braemoor. I had some business there.”

She leaned still closer, obviously distracted
from her more immediate concerns. “Eh? Did you say business? I
thought you were at Roland’s house party?”

He flicked dust from his sleeve. How did she
know about Roland’s? Did she have a spy on her payroll? “Roland’s
was a bore and I left early.”

“And went to Braemoor?”

He heard the surprise in her voice and almost
wished they would return to the lecture she had begun.

“Yes, I stopped in Sussex. It was hardly out
of the way.”

“And how did you find your father?”

“Much the same. He will allow only James to
see him plus a couple of servants and, I suppose, the doctor. James
tells me he is not improving.” He tried to keep emotion from his
voice, amazed that the imminent death of a parent who had never
approved of him could make him feel so melancholy.

“We can be thankful then that he is not
reading the papers. You know how he loathes gossip.”

Back to the lecture again. “On my way to Town
I stopped at Cashton to visit with Mariel and Charles.”

His grandmother raised her brows. “Eh? You
say you visited your sister and her husband?”

“Yes, I did.” He knew that tidbit would
distract her.

“Despite your father’s express orders not to
acknowledge them?”

“Yes.” He bit back a smile and kept his face
as solemn as he could. Surprising his grandmama was a rare
event.

“Your mother’s death was the worst thing that
ever happened to the Braedon family.”

Morgan nodded even though he could not see
the connection to his sister’s situation. His mother had been the
light in all their lives.

“When your father buried her, he must have
put all his common sense in the ground with her. How he could have
given Mariel the ultimatum he did.” She shook her head. “Yes, she
looks the picture of my daughter, but she was also born with a full
dose of Braedon rebellion, as her life has proved.”

He could swear there were tears in her eyes.
Or was it a trick of the light?

After a bare moment of silence, she rapped
his knuckles again. “Tell me how they go on! Mariel, Charles, and
my great granddaughter. Are they comfortable?”

“Oh yes, they seem to be thriving, quite
settled into the life of a country parish.” As comfortable as love
and like minds could make one. “Being disinherited does not seem to
have affected their happiness one jot.”

She sat back a moment, satisfied. “Just
so.”

She said no more, but Morgan had heard the
words often enough.
There are definite benefits to a happy
marriage.
It was one of Grandmama’s favorite sayings. He was
not convinced the benefits outweighed the sacrifices.

“Do Charles and Mariel see the
Harbisons?”

“Yes, Mariel is teaching the girls the harp
and pianoforte so she is at the manor quite regularly.”

“And it gives Mariel an opportunity to play
herself.” She nodded her approval. “Good, for I know how much
pleasure it gives her.” Glancing away from him, his grandmother
made a show of examining the tea tray.

“One of the Harbison girls is ready for the
Season, is she not, with the two others champing at the bit.” She
said nothing more for a moment and then chuckled at some private
joke. “The oldest. Is she pretty?”

“Elaine? Blond hair and very blue eyes. A
kind of porcelain...” Morgan stood up and walked back to the
fireplace. “Not matchmaking are you, Grandmama?”

“Eh? Matchmaking? Certainly not.” She paused
a moment then added with a small smile, “Still, Morgan, Elaine
Harbison would be someone to dance with besides Miss Lambert.” She
laughed at her own joke and missed the scratch on the door.

When she did hear she called, “Enter.”

The butler shouted the names of her guests,
“Mrs. Lambert and Miss Christiana Lambert.”

N
ow here was a
stroke of purely rotten luck. Best not go near the tables today. He
glanced at his grandmother. Her lack of surprise was all the hint
he needed. She’d known this was going to happen. He swore to
himself with real annoyance. This was carrying meddling too far. It
was hardly the first time that Morgan wished for a god that would
bless him with the ability to disappear.

Mrs. Lambert sailed into the room and made an
elegant curtsy to the duchess. Christiana followed, paused for the
briefest of moments when she saw him, and then smiled. It was a
conspirator’s smile, meant only for the two of them to share. In a
thousand other circumstances, he would have found it easy to
return, but in the present situation it would almost surely make
things worse.

He bowed slightly and held back an answering
smile. It was not easily done. He swore he could smell the floral
scent she wore. It had lingered on his glove long after last
night’s dance. And when faced with Miss Lambert’s laughing green
eyes, it was almost impossible not to give in to the urge to share
the joke with her. Oh, those eyes spoke to him as surely as her
lips did.

The last thing you need right now is to
appear even slightly interested.
He kept his expression
neutral.

Her smile changed. No, not her smile. It was
her eyes that changed. The smile had been as firmly in her eyes as
it had been on her lips, but with his reserved response it faded,
replaced by confusion and a glimmer of embarrassment.

Mrs. Lambert called her daughter forward to
make her curtsy and Morgan stepped back a little farther into the
shadows. It would be the height of bad manners to make an escape.
No matter, he was sorely tempted.

“Morgan, come be introduced!”

Morgan moved forward to obey the summons,
wondering if he was the only one who understood the mischief she
was brewing. Before he turned to the Lamberts, he took her hand and
kissed it. “I live to entertain you, Grandmama.”