Chapter Ten
During the carriage ride to Danbury Hall, Letitia fidgeted with her gloves, repeatedly taking them off and putting them back on.
For some reason, she was most anxious to see Greyson again, even though she’d ridden with him in Hyde Park only hours earlier.
When she arrived, the butler escorted her into a lovely navy-and-cream drawing room, where she was pleasantly surprised to find Lord Warren, and Mr. Hunter in attendance as well.
Her anxiety from the ride over subsided immediately, and the pain in her stomach eased.
The thought of having dinner with Greyson excited her when he’d asked.
As she prepared for the evening, panic had settled in, but now she was elated to find she wasn’t the only non-family member at the table.
The conversation was easy, the food abundant, and the idea of Aurora and Warren entertaining them at the pianoforte was perfect.
She loved to play, but she would not share that knowledge tonight.
Being a spectator and enjoying the music was something she hadn’t had when married to Rutherford.
Whenever he was home for dinner, she played for him.
She found herself seated on a navy velvet settee beside Greyson. Warren and Anastasia sat on an identical settee, facing them, with a low round table between them, while Warren and Aurora played a lovely sonata by Ignaz Pleyel.
“Having Aurora play was a wonderful idea,” she whispered between songs.
“Thank you. And Warren asking to play was like a fireworks display.”
“Yes. He is quite good. They both are.” She sighed and let herself rest against the back of the settee. Her eyes closed, and she hummed along to another arrangement, which she knew well. It was one of her favorite arrangements by Handel.
The settee dipped as Greyson moved closer to her and murmured into her ear. “You seem to know this song well. Do you play an instrument?”
Her body tensed, but she forced it to relax. “I play the pianoforte, but don’t ask me to play tonight. It is Aurora’s and Warren’s night to shine. They are perfect for each other and sound lovely. I hope he proposes soon. If he does, you can have a double wedding for the twins.”
He chuckled softly. “Indeed. Wouldn’t that be the wedding of the Season?”
For the following arrangements by several different composers, they listened in silence, holding hands, much as Anastasia and Hunter were doing.
When Aurora expressed her exhaustion from playing, Hunter and Anastasia rose. Hunter said, “With your permission, Greyson, I would like to take a stroll in the gardens with Anastasia.”
“You may,” Greyson replied.
Once they left, Warren and Aurora sat on the settee they had just vacated.
“You both play beautifully,” Letitia said, smiling and at ease.
“Thank you,” Aurora said. “I can’t believe Warren plays. And can play as well as I can—even better, actually. I’ve never had so much enjoyment playing in front of people before.”
“It was my pleasure to play with you, Lady Aurora,” Warren said with a lovesick smile and puppy-dog eyes meant for Aurora and Aurora only.
“I second what you said. It’s good to play with an equally talented musician,” Aurora said, smiling.
Greyson cleared his throat and said, “Do you mind if Letitia and I walk through the gardens? I will call your maid down to chaperone if you deem it necessary.”
“Brother,” Aurora scoffed, “Warren and I will stay right here and do nothing but hold hands. You can trust us.”
“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat again and looked directly at Warren. “Do I have your word, Warren, that you will do nothing but hold my sister’s hand while I’m gone?”
It was so sweet to see Warren blush. “Yes, Greyson. Hold hands. Nothing else. You have my word.”
“Good,” he said as he stood and held out his hand to her. Letitia placed her hand in his and stood. She pulled her wrap more snugly around her shoulders, knowing it would be crisp outside since darkness had settled.
As they exited the double doors onto the veranda and descended the stairs to the gardens, she said, “Poor Warren. You embarrassed him.”
“I did no such thing,” Greyson said.
She removed her hand from his and slipped her arm around his elbow, so they were very close, their bodies bumping against each other as they walked. “You did. He blushed. It was so sweet. He cares a great deal for Aurora.”
“Yes, I noticed that. Not the blush, but the caring for her. Honestly, a double wedding would be perfect.”
“I hear an exception coming.”
“Except Warren is a patient man who does things on his own time. Which, I might add, is at a snail’s pace.”
“Perhaps, when it comes to marrying Aurora, he will surprise even you. Mayhap when he learns that Hunter is proposing this very night, he will realize it is time for him to propose to Aurora. I predict he will come knocking tomorrow to discuss the marriage contract.”
“You are a romantic at heart, Letitia. And I . . . like that about you.”
If her hearing didn’t deceive her, she believed Greyson had almost said love.
If her heart could soar, it would soar into the sky and circle all the stars and planets with utter joy.
She had fallen completely in love with him during their time in Newmarket, and that love had intensified since then.
Perhaps he felt something close to love?
She could hope. “Thank you. You know, my parents married for love. So it was all I’d known growing up.
It wasn’t until I married Rutherford that I found out very few couples in the ton marry for love. Some do, and they are the lucky few.”
“I know you said you came to love Rutherford after you married, but did you love him when you married him?”
Hearing the trepidation in Greyson’s voice shocked her. After all, Rutherford was dead and posed no threat to him. “Not when I married him. I hardly knew anything about him, but, as you know, over time I came to love him.
“I see.”
She hadn’t noticed, but he led her to a private alcove with a bench, surrounded by evergreens and shrubs. “Does it bother you?”
“Please sit.” Letita sat on the cool wrought iron bench, and Greyson joined her.
“Yes and no.” He combed his fingers through his hair several times, then sighed.
“He was your husband. I have no right to be jealous of what you two shared. And the fact that he is dead makes me feel like a terrible person.”
“Nonsense,” she said, patting his thigh. “Perhaps I’d feel the same if the positions were reversed. What I will say is that Rutherford is gone. You are here with me. I choose to be with you.”
She turned on the bench so their knees brushed, and she cupped his cheeks with her bare hands, having left her gloves in the dining room. “Let’s not waste this precious time alone tonight, talking and thinking about my deceased husband. We are together. We are alive. Will you kiss me already?”
His deep laughter filled her heart. “When you say it like that, I’d better comply.”
And so he did. He took her wrists and put them around his neck.
His arms encompassed her waist, and his warm, wonderful lips landed on hers, and she was entirely lost. She twirled her fingers through his thick, soft brown hair, which brushed the top of his jacket collar.
It only took a moment for her to realize their tongues were twirling around and around at the same pace as her fingers in his hair, which had him groaning into her mouth.
He took the kiss to new heights. His tongue no longer twirled and danced with hers.
It devoured every crevice of her mouth. His lips pressed against hers, almost painfully, but she knew it was because he was lost in her, out of control with his need to kiss and taste her essence.
When she thought she might die without air, she tore her mouth away, buried her head beneath his chin, and breathed deeply, her chest heaving to take in much-needed air.
His heart thumped against her, and his chest rose and fell with his deep intakes of air.
“Letitia,” he said in a shaky voice, so unlike him. “Forgive me if I caused any undue pain to your lips.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” She brushed her fingers across her swollen lips. “They are tender, but it’s a good feeling. Caused by something we shared and enjoyed together.”
“Thank you for saying that, but I should’ve been more gentle.”
“No.” She lifted her head and met his dark-gray eyes. “I want you to be yourself with me. Don’t try to be someone you’re not. There is time for gentleness and time for what we just experienced. Never apologize for being true to your instincts and affections.”
He gently squeezed his arms that were wrapped around her waist. “How’d I get so lucky to find you?”
“I don’t know,” she flirted. “You were at the Westport ball, a beautiful lady on each arm, and I felt bad for you.”
He chuckled. “You took pity on me?” he teased. “I believe it was the other way around. I saw this beautiful woman and felt empathy for her as all her married friends surrounded her.”
“Funny, but a total lie.”
“I have something I need to tell you.” The moment he began to speak, his body language changed.
Gone was the relaxed, carefree Greyson, replaced by the tense version she’d met a time or two.
“On Wednesday, I leave for Danbury Estate. There are things I need to take care of. I must meet with the estate manager. Correspondence can only convey the information he wants to share with me. I feel I owe it to my father to visit at least once a year to check on the tenants, the servants, and the manager, to ensure he is doing his job adequately. I refuse to let the estate be run to the ground by the manager, as has happened many times when the title holder prefers London and neglects his other properties. People suffer, buildings fall into disrepair, and animals suffer, to name a few.”