Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Sixteen

O liver ran his hands through his hair in frustration. The solicitor was returning that afternoon to collect all the documents pertaining to his own inheritance and Madeline’s, as well. The man had, at least, brought good news the day prior. Between the influx of funds from both sources, the death taxes could be paid and there would be sufficient funds left over for them to retain solvency.

While he was relieved at the good news, the process of reading through countless legal documents pertaining to it had left him frustrated, bored and incredibly tired.

With the last document completed, he set them all aside, signed and ready for the solicitor. Leaning back in his chair, he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the looming headache. He had no more than closed his eyes when there was a knock on the door followed by the entry of Saunders, the butler.

“Mr. Brightwell is here to see you, my lord.”

“Show him in. He is expected,” Oliver replied. There was something not quite right about Saunders of late. The man had always been a bit of a stickler, but it seemed to have grown much worse. His disapproval of everyone was palpable.

The solicitor entered, his brow furrowed and clearly troubled about something. “Lord Foxmore,” he offered in a rather abrupt greeting.

“Brightwell,” Oliver replied. “Clearly there is something on your mind other than simply retrieving these documents.”

Brightwell nodded. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, recrossed them, paced a bit and then finally returned to the chair across from Oliver’s desk. “It’s a bit of a sensitive topic, my lord, but the fact is, someone vouched for Wortham and now he’s a pending member at White’s. And he’s on the books with a bet.”

“What sort of bet?” Oliver demanded.

“That your marriage will be annulled before year’s end. He alleges that he has verifiable information that you have not yet consummated your union with Miss Keyes—forgive me, with Lady Foxmore.”

Oliver said nothing. He simply took it in for a moment. There were far too many people in his marriage bed for his liking, especially as none of them were him. “I see. Did he have a guess as to who might be initiating these proceedings?”

“Your wife’s parents. Why he might believe that I simply cannot say. But if you have not consummated the marriage, I would advise you to do so quickly.”

“I will take advice from you in many regards, Brightwell, but this particular topic I do not require your guidance in,” Oliver snapped. “There will be no annulment. Lady Foxmore and I are quite content as is.”

“That is all well and good, my lord. But this gossip does you no credit. Nor the lady, all things considered. There are those who might postulate that you have been reluctant to consummate your marriage with her because you suspect she is already with child—and want no confusion as to the identity of the father.”

“I would wager that these rumors of annulment and about the nature of my relationship with my wife can be laid solely at the door of Mrs. Coraline Wortham. No doubt, she is retaliating against us for not sharing Madeline’s inheritance with her.”

“What does she deem an appropriate portion for herself?”

“Half,” Oliver stated.

The solicitor shook his head. “I do not know the circumstances nor do I particularly need to. It is not an arrangement you could afford at this point.”

“Nor is it something she is entitled to. Even if I were of a mind to have been generous with her family, Mrs. Wortham’s behavior has certainly rendered her exempt from any such generosity.”

“I should tread very carefully, my lord. Even a small setback could be catastrophic financially,” Brightwell warned.

“It shall never be far from my mind until I am on more secure footing.”

Brightwell collected all of the documents and then made his exit.

Alone, Oliver struggled with his bitter resentment. He wanted Madeline. He had desired her from his very first sight of her. It wasn’t something he felt the need to be secretive about, but then privacy and secrecy were very different things for him. And high society placed little value on either. That didn’t change the fact that they had reached a tipping point, unfortunately, where action would be required. Given the kiss they’d shared the day before, he knew that Madeline was not immune to him. She desired him as well, even if she did not fully comprehend what desire meant. But that didn’t mean she was ready. Based on what Mrs. Dove-Lyon had told him, he had thought it might be weeks or months before his young bride was willing to fully embraced all that married life entailed.

In short, he would need to seduce his wife against the advice of their marriage broker and possibly his wife’s best interests. And it didn’t sit well with him.

Madeline had arrived home while Oliver was closeted with his solicitor. After ordering a bath, she and Lucy set about the arduous task of getting her hair dried and free of snarls.

“Should I leave it down or put it in braids? A cap?”

Lucy gaped at her. “A cap? No. No caps. Good heavens. And you’ll leave it down. Your hair is the envy of many a woman. There’s no reason to hide it and every reason to let him see it in all its glory,” the maid stated. “Now, which of your purchases from today shall you wear?”

“The white, I think. It’s the most modest of them all. I think I should not have the nerve to wear the others. They were a foolish indulgence,” Madeline stated.

“Write the missive and then we shall get you dressed. The last thing we need is to get ink all over it!”

Madeline nodded. “That is a very good point.”

Still wrapped in a heavy bathing sheet, Madeline moved to her small writing desk where she penned two brief notes. The first was to Mrs. Wilson, asking to have a light supper served in the sitting room that faced their adjoining chambers. The second note was much more difficult to write. How did one summon one’s husband to one’s bedchamber?

“What should I say?”

“Ask him to join you in your chambers for a more informal dinner,” Lucy answered as she gathered up discarded clothing. “That is all you need to say. When he sees what you will be wearing, no more will need be said.”

With the notes done, ink dried and each sealed with wax, Lucy plucked them from Madeline’s hands. “I’ll see them delivered at the appropriate times. The peignoir is laid out on your bed. Put it on and do not look in the mirror. You’ll only talk yourself out of it!”

Madeline didn’t question Lucy’s sage advice. She knew the girl was likely correct. When the maid had gone, Madeline rose and walked to the bed where the garment had been laid out. It was white silk, two panels not sewn together but tied with ribbon at the sides, laced much like stays would have been. There was a bit of lace trim at the neckline and two lace straps that would go over her shoulders. The matching wrapper was similar in style, white silk and lace, but it was clearly not a garment intended for modesty as it did not close in the front fully. The front panels, rather than crossing, abutted one another and fastened together with a single silk tie.

“Don’t look,” she reminded herself. And with that, she sat down on the edge of her bed and waited.