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“Yes,” Marion whispered. “They shall be beautiful.”
Will a child make Simon love me more than he loves his last wife?Marion wondered inside her head.
“Oh, I have something for you!” Eleanor reached to the coffee table, pulling a letter from underneath a book. “It was addressed to you at the Brixton estate—clearly they did not know that you have lately married.”
Marion took the letter and broke the unfamiliar seal. She did not recognise the hand on the address or the script either. She read it quickly, her heart dropping with each word.
“What is it?” Eleanor asked, frowning. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“Oh, it - it is an old acquaintance ofMaman’s.It has - has quite unsettled me. I fear I must go.”
Marion rose quickly, handing baby Edward off to the nearby nursemaid and pulling her bonnet on.
“Really?” Eleanor frowned, rising. “Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
It was only when Marion had left the town house and climbed into the Reading carriage that she dared take a deep breath and look once again at the signature at the bottom of the letter. The words were simple, but words she had never expected to see in her life.
With the tenderest wishes, Your Father.
Chapter Fifteen
“Where is the Countess?” Simon asked Hughes as his butler brought him coffee in the library. Despite having a good book on hand to read in the afternoon, as was his preference, Simon found himself unable to concentrate. Instead, he found his mind wandering over the particular details of Marion’s exquisite flesh. He loved how coy she could be, but also so brazen that it took his breath away.
When he had nervously revealed that he was thinking about making love to her whilst they practised piano together the other day, she had responded to his kisses with ardent affection. He had been so taken with her that he had nearly been entirely carried away and they had been caught, like breathless young lovers, by a red-faced Loretta telling them that tea was ready in the parlour. Usually an afternoon of reading was exactly what Simon required to relax after a morning of work in the study, but now he found himself unsettled by a peculiar sensation he couldn’t immediately place. Then he knew what it was—he was longing for Marion.
“She has gone to visit the Countess of Brixton,” Hughes said, setting the coffee down on the reading stand.
“She has?” Simon frowned. “She did not tell me.”
Since he and Marion had been rising alongside one another, their warm bodies still entangled with the passion of their nights, they had often exchanged their plans for the day. She had not mentioned a trip to the Brixton estate. It was many miles away, and she would likely have to travel back in the dark. Simon’s chest immediately tightened with worry as he had visions of the carriage overturning on a steep bend, Marion injured on a dark road with no one to find her.
“What was she thinking, travelling so far in inclement weather?” Simon snapped, clenching his fists instinctively.
“The weather is quite fair, My Lord,” Hughes said lightly, looking out of the window. “And I believe it was quite an impromptu visit.”
“Going all the way to Nathan’s estate is hardly impromptu!” Simon exclaimed, lifting his coffee cup with a little too much force and spilling the brown liquid into the saucer. “She shall barely return for dinner!”
“Forgive me, my Lord, but My Lady has only gone to the Townhouse, not more than an hour or two’s ride,” Hughes said carefully, clearly noticing how quickly his master’s anger had flared. “She should back very shortly.”
“Oh,” Simon looked out of the window grudgingly, as if wishing Marion’s carriage to arrive instantaneously. “She still might have told me.”
“My Lady was going to Town for fabric samples, I understand,” Hughes reminded Simon delicately. “I believe she only got a letter this morning from the Countess of Brixton inviting her to call when she was up in Town, and thought it was not so far out of her way. I am assured she would have informed you if she thought it was significant, My Lord.”
“Wherever she goes is significant to me,” Simon said under his breath as he took another sip of coffee. Hughes looked down on his master with considerable empathy, and Simon had the uncanny feeling that Hughes was reading his mind.
“She shall be quite safe, My Lord,” Hughes said quietly. “Ranold is driving, and he is more than competent, and I know My Lady shall have taken pains to leave enough time to travel back in the light. The road from London is clear and good at this time of year.”
Simon appreciated the insights of his butler. With each word he spoke, the tightness around Simon’s heart eased a little. The vision of a fast carriage overturning on a dark road lessened slightly.
“Thank you, Hughes,” Simon said softly, rubbing his chest. The pain of worry was physical for Simon, like a tremor or a fever that could stop him sleeping or eating. He caught Hughes’s eyes and saw the worry there.
The last time Simon had exhibited these kinds of symptoms, this sort of fear and need to control everything, was after his wife had died. Hughes, along with Nathan and Mrs Bolton, had nursed Simon through the deepest of depressions. It had nearly been all consuming, and since then Hughes had always kept a close eye on Simon, and Simon was grateful for it.
Hughes was an older man, had served Simon’s mother and father, was married with several children. He represented stability in Simon’s life—Simon enjoyed imagining how, one day, his own son would enjoy the companionship of Hughes’s eldest son as the butler of Reading Estate.
“You think I am a fool to worry so?” Simon sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.
