His Heart's Delight (7 page)

“Leave the gel alone, Morgan.”

Morgan hid his irritation behind his
gamester’s mask and waited for more. He would have thought his
grandmother would be thrilled at his courtship of an eligible
chit.

“Christiana is too young, too impressionable,
and much too taken with your dancing style.”

Is this what the two of them had been talking
about while Mrs. Lambert prattled on? It was hard to believe that
Christiana had felt comfortable gossiping with his grandmother.
“And how is it that you became her confidante so quickly?”

“She sees some parallels in our
situations.”

Morgan laughed out loud at that absurdity.
“Pardon me, Grandmama? You are an aging widow and she is an
eighteen-year-old virgin. Where are there parallels?”

She snapped at him. “We both think you are
impertinent.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I am sorry,
ma’am. I would not hurt you for all the world.”

“And we both know you are much too charming
to be safe.”

“Did she say that?” He was surprised at how
much he wanted to know.

“She had no need to. No woman would deny it.
Even her tiresome mother was bewitched.”

He bowed and held his tongue.

“However, even an appealing rogue like you,
Morgan, can not expect to find a match so quickly. She tells me she
has a beau from home and is not seeking a match.”

He shook his head. “Is there a girl in
England who does not have a beau from home, Grandmama?”

“He is on the Peninsula and she intends to be
loyal to him.” She paused a moment and then added, “An innocent
flirtation is not your usual style, my boy.”

It had been years since she had lectured him
on propriety, or was it that she was turning protective of her
newest protegee? Morgan held on to his good humor by reminding
himself that she lived through her grandchildren now. He should be
grateful that she was not trying to bring them together. He took
her hand and held it with both of his. “I can see that you are
sorely disappointed that your newest friend does not need your help
in finding a husband.”

She pulled her hand from his and let her
irritation show. “Your cynicism is not one of your more attractive
traits, Morgan.”

He straightened, ready to give up his efforts
to restore her good humor. “Grandmama, dearest, I am near
twenty-seven years old and have been in Town long enough to know
what is acceptable and what is not.”

She looked away from him. “Once, just once I
would like to see you knocked to your knees. It was the making of
your father. It could do you nothing but good.”

He recognized the story coming: how his
mother caught and tamed his father. It would be a fairy tale if his
mother had lived longer and if his father had not reverted to his
old ways.

Grandmama might be forever saying that a
happy marriage made life a joy, but she never added what was
obvious to him: that the end of a happy marriage made the rest of
one’s life an empty misery. Morgan knew a way to distract her and
apologized to his youngest brother for offering him up as a
sacrifice.

“You were asking about Father before. Rhys
arrived in Town today. He may have news of him.”

“Eh? You say Rhys is in Town?”

“He arrived this morning.”

“Riding at night again. The boy will catch
his death of a chill.”

Morgan nodded. “He will call as soon as he
has rested. He promised.” Morgan lied glibly, but in fact it was
the truth. He was going to insist Rhys call before the day was
over. There was always the hope that she would be less inclined to
meddle in his life with her favorite close at hand. She could worry
Rhys to death and leave him in peace.

~ ~ ~

Morgan lost over a hundred guineas at faro
before the solution struck him. He tossed a coin to the dealer and
left, not certain he had the time he needed to put his plan into
action. Thanks to the loquacious Mrs. Lambert, he knew exactly
where to look for them and reached the exhibition rooms within a
half hour of its close. He made his way through the several rooms,
greeting friends, pausing for conversation, and curbing his
impatience until finally he found his quarry.

Christiana Lambert stood in front of a large
allegorical picture featuring Daniel in the lions’ den. She was not
alone. He did indeed recognize Peter Wilton. There was another
young girl with him. The sister, the one Mama had wanted him to
meet. And thank the god of mercy, Mama was not part of the party.
If she had been he would have left and waited for another day. But
this situation was ideal. His luck had turned.

Morgan ducked back into the next room they
would approach, pleased that the only other party examining the
paintings was unknown to him.

As the group made their way to the door,
leaving the room empty, Morgan took a moment to examine the
paintings himself. More religious allegory. Not to his taste. Who
wanted such a strong reminder that the life one led was too full of
pleasure to merit entrance into heaven through the martyrs’
gate?

“... But it seems to me that they could
convey the same sentiment without so much dark and brooding
feeling.” Christiana’s voice carried through to him.

Her sister’s voice was much quieter, but it
still reached him. “Exactly how would sunlight and smiles make one
feel the pain of the martyrs?”

Christiana laughed. “I would prefer to
imagine it all on my own. When I see it in color like this and
larger than life, I feel nothing more inspiring than guilt. It
becomes quite clear that any effort to improve myself is bound to
fail when compared to these saintly people.”

“I think Mama wished you to be inspired, not
discouraged.”

“You will notice she is not here, hoping for
insight.” Christiana sounded more relieved than aggrieved.

Joanna giggled. “She said she had all the
excitement her nerves could tolerate.”

Morgan suspected he was directly connected to
the excitement that had so exhausted Mrs. Lambert. He sauntered
over to the small group, careful to give Peter his full attention.
“Mr. Wilton! Miss Lambert! Well met!”

“My lord!” Peter seemed stunned at the
recognition, and delighted.
The boy does do wonders for the
ego.
Morgan chanced a quick look at Christiana. She was
smiling. Good.

Wilton knew his manners. He turned to the
ladies. “You know Miss Christiana Lambert of course. My lord, this
is Miss Joanna Lambert, Miss Christiana’s sister. Joanna, may I
present Lord Morgan, he is the son of the Marquis of
Straeford.”

The introductions made, Morgan accepted young
Wilton’s invitation to join the group. He discussed the pictures
they had already seen, even though he had not viewed one of them.
It was easy to earn Miss Christiana Lambert’s approval, having
heard her one comment. “It would seem to me so much more
inspirational to show the joys of heaven rather than the cruelty of
one man to another.”

Christiana stopped abruptly and the other
three turned to her. “Exactly so, my lord.”

They paused before a particularly poor
painting of the crucifixion and then moved on as one. Christiana
shook her head. “And to think the artist—”

When she stopped, Morgan picked up the
thought “—to think the artist spent hours painting in hopes of
conveying some worthy thought—”

At this pause, Joanna waited a moment and
then added, “—and failed miserably.”

Three paintings later they were laughing
heartily and in complete agreement with the gentleman who inherited
these paintings and was now willing to sell them.

“Philips tells me that his uncle bought them
at the urging of his second wife, who was extremely devout.” Wilton
stopped there but Morgan was certain that they were of the same
mind.
What a burden that marriage must have been.

Christiana whispered something to her sister,
who shook her head and turned to their escorts, trying not to
laugh. “Mama thinks that I will have a steadying effect on Christy,
but you must know already that the opposite is true.”

The elder Miss Lambert was indeed lovely when
she smiled, but therein lay the difference between the sisters.
Joanna Lambert’s expression was solemn in repose, while her younger
sister’s held the promise that laughter was a heartbeat away and
she was about to share it with you.

Joanna drew out his fraternal, even
protective, feelings. Christiana made him smile and roused not one
brotherly thought. Exactly how committed was she to her distant
lover?

Morgan walked over to where Wilton stood,
trying to regain his composure. “Wilton, I was wondering if you
might join me for dinner tonight. My brother Rhys has come to Town
and I thought he might enjoy meeting some others his age. I thought
afterward we could stop in at the Quarter Moon.”

Surely Wilton would not refuse a chance to
visit the private gaming club. It was a generous offer, made even
more generous by Morgan’s determination that none of his guests
would come to ruin at his invitation. That meant a night more
inclined to caring for children than deep play.

Wilton’s acceptance bordered on incoherence.
Morgan nodded, thanking the god of wisdom that he had never been
this young. When he spoke again, it was for Peter’s ears alone.
“Now let me have a moment of conversation with Miss Lambert.”

Peter looked hesitant.

“God bless us, Wilton. I just want a word or
two with her, nothing more, I promise.”

Wilton blushed and Morgan turned toward the
ladies.

It took a moment or two, but Peter managed it
so that he and Joanna were several depictions of hell ahead,
leaving him and Christiana staring at a painting of a monk in
chains.

Christiana turned to Morgan, her back to the
painting. “I cannot bear it.”

She looked surprised at her own admission and
shook her head, the hint of laughter eclipsed by a look of horror.
“Zuburan is a very good artist, is he not? It is such a simple
painting, but still so moving. This man is willing to die because
he knows what he is doing is right.”

She kept her back to the picture and the
smile crept back into her eyes. “But you see, if the artist means
to shock me into a life of good works he does not succeed. For all
I can see is a man who is giving up his life without ever fully
living it. It is a waste.”

“One could say that this monk knew more of
God and service to Him than most do if they live to be
seventy.”

“Do you think it impossible to serve God and
enjoy life too?” She blushed when he took her arm and they moved on
to the next painting.

Oh, Lord. Oh, heaven. He was lost. This woman
could undo him with a smile. He was about to condemn himself to a
Season of pure torture. He could hardly wait.

S
ervice to God had
not occupied a single one of his waking moments as far as Morgan
could recall. He had, however, heard enough of his brother-in-law’s
sermons to improvise. “I think the secret to serving God is to
understand what His mission in life is for us.” He felt like a
hypocrite, thinking of her lips one moment and then prosing on like
a man of God the next.

“That sounds like something your grandmother
would say.”

“She might well have.”

The porter was making the rounds, announcing
the closing time, some fifteen minutes away. He could hear the
others in the next room. But all he could see was Christiana
Lambert’s eager eyes full of question and curiosity.

There was an inherent vulnerability in such
an open manner. He wanted to provide the answers and satisfy the
curiosity, but he also wanted to shield her from insult and slay
every dragon that threatened her door.

Morgan shook off the melodrama. That was not
what this proposition was about. It was the means to a very
practical end.

They were alone in the room. He had her
complete attention. Morgan took her hand and bowed over it.

“Miss Lambert, I am sorry if our dance last
night caused you any embarrassment.”

If his gallantry had succeeded, she would not
be blushing.

“Oh no, my lord, the dance was wonderful. It
did not cause me one moment of embarrassment.”

Ah, so that was why she was blushing. How
flattering.

“It is only Mama who was concerned about the
gossip in the paper. And after all, my lord, how many people
actually read that?”

Only everyone in London, he thought, but was
not about to admit it. “With the Season fully under way I think we
can count on something far more intriguing catching their attention
tomorrow.”

She nodded, her expression hopeful, close to
confident. “Only this afternoon someone was telling me that Lord
Ramsdon has bet his favorite horse in some ridiculous wager. Surely
that will draw more attention than who you are dancing with.”

Satisfied that each had convinced the other,
he pushed on to the greater challenge of the day. “Grandmama tells
me you have a beau from home.”

She looked around the room. Was she afraid
that it would become the next
on-dit?
“My grandmother shared
the secret with me and I understand that it is not something you
wish widely known.”

On a sigh of relief Christiana nodded. “His
name is Richard Wilton and I hold him in great esteem. But I have
agreed to honor Papa’s request that I remain unattached until the
end of the Season.”

“I suppose your father does not fully
appreciate that this will make things somewhat difficult for you.”
He hoped his sympathy might strike a chord.

“Yes, my lord, that describes it perfectly.”
She brought her hands together and spoke with the intensity of
strong feeling. “It is so unfair to anyone seeking a match to pay
their addresses to me. It is not that I think I will have all
London at my feet, you understand, but it seems to me the height of
selfishness to receive attention you have no intent of returning. I
do hope you understand.”