Chapter Three
Simon
A groan slipped between his teeth as Simon rolled over in the bed.
It took considerable effort, but eventually his eyes slit open, and for a long moment, he studied the unfamiliar room.
It lay shrouded in light-gray shadows, the heavy velvet drapes pulled tight.
There was no way of telling if it was twilight or dawn.
A faint, roaring sound filled the room. It was apparently pouring rain outside, the heavy downfall and distant rumble of thunder echoing inside the walls.
“Christ,” he muttered. His head pounded in sync with the rain outside. Where the fuck am I?
He stared at the coffered ceiling above him, the clean, hard lines of the dark woodwork unfamiliar to him. Racking his brain for explanations soon yielded a few answers. In piercing flashes of awareness, his activities from the previous evening became clearer.
He was at the Curzon Street townhouse. He’d instructed his driver to take him here upon leaving the Grinning Cockrel.
Damnation, he’d been completely inebriated while at that establishment.
In fact, when he thought harder upon the subject, there was the distinct possibility he’d been asked to vacate the premises.
He groaned again, raking a hand through his hair and wincing when the motion set his temples to throbbing.
He’d not been so thoroughly foxed in a long time.
His preference was to maintain strict control over his emotions and actions.
Calm and dangerously calculating, Simon watched those around him with almost clinical interest, using his observations to create advantageous situations for himself.
The previous evening was out of character, and he wasn’t even sure why it had occurred.
There was no logical explanation for his outrageous behavior.
The vague recollection of arriving at the townhouse and pushing his way past the startled butler danced around the edges of his memory.
Glancing at the bedside table, Simon saw an empty decanter and a lamp still burning low.
He must have finished off whatever liquor was contained within the decanter and subsequently passed out.
Frowning, he assessed his body. He was bare as a newborn babe beneath the coverlet, but there was no recollection of removing his clothing or his boots.
Simon flopped back against the pillows, groaning when his head pounded even more fiercely.
A faint memory niggled at the edges of his consciousness.
A sense of someone leaning over him, gently pulling the coverlet up so his nakedness was concealed.
A woman….one with soft hands and a sweet smile.
Sitting up straighter, Simon breathed deep.
The lingering aroma of soap and…what was that scent?
Something floral and seductive. Lavender, maybe with earthier notes of vanilla to balance the flower’s sweetness.
He was far from an expert on perfumes in general, but he was well acquainted with women who wore similar scents.
One lady in particular…Miss Penelope True…
wore a lovely blend of fragrance if memory served him correctly.
He had found it quite entrancing the last few times he’d been in her company.
Although the same could not be said for Miss True herself.
She was a vexing creature. Too shy and reserved to even meet his gaze.
A skittish little mouse frightened of her own shadow, notwithstanding the recent incident when she’d snapped at him in Thorne Park’s drawing room.
His gaze darted around the corners of the room. He half-expected to see a woman clad in a glowing white gown come gliding out of the shadows, her smile teasing as she drifted toward him.
It was almost disappointing to realize he was alone. He could not shake the feeling that someone had been there. Or was he conjuring up a memory with no basis in reality? Perhaps he’d been visited by a ghost.
With a sigh, Simon shook his head. Either he was going crazy, or the alcohol had sent his dreams careening into a fantastical realm. No one had been in his room. Not a woman. Not a mouse. And most certainly, not a ghostly apparition.
But still, even as he dismissed his own thoughts, the faint fragrance teased his nose as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
There was much to be done today. The first task would be sending a note to Blackthorne Manor.
His parents needed to know his whereabouts, and a half-formed plan swirled about in his aching head.
The work commissioned for the townhouse had been deemed complete the week before.
The different furnishings and design elements would be delivered over the next few days, but there was no reason he couldn’t make it his permanent residence now.
As he stumbled toward the dressing room and water closet, he considered the steps necessary to make it a reality.
It was easy enough to bring his valet, groom, and personal driver along, and the townhouse’s staff were already in place.
Yes, it was time to take full possession of his property, and despite the lingering effects of alcohol, Simon felt a wave of excitement come over him. This leap toward complete freedom was long overdue.
*
“Will there be anything else, Your Lordship?” Williams inquired.
“That will be all, Mister Williams.” Simon took The Times from the elderly butler and set it beside his plate. “I am expecting some important correspondence to arrive this afternoon. If you will bring it to me immediately, I would appreciate it.”
“Most certainly, milord.” Williams motioned for the footman to refill Simon’s teacup. “If I may be so bold as to inquire of Your Lordship, will you be staying the night as well?”
Simon sat back in his chair, eyeing the man over the rim of the cup. “For many nights to come, Mister Williams. I intend to make this my permanent residence starting today. As such, there will be a need for further servants. I trust you can take care of the matter?”
Williams nodded, his lips pinched tight. “I will begin putting out notices at once, milord.”
“Excellent.” For a moment, Simon wondered about the strange expression of panic that passed over Williams’s features.
Then, he shook off the sense of curiosity.
It was reasonable to assume that the elderly man was concerned about upsetting the household and its fragile balance.
There was also the ensuing adjustment period that came with having a resident suddenly in full-time occupancy.
“You’ve done a fine job of keeping the house running efficiently, even with the inconvenience of construction matters these last few weeks.
I find it most impressive that the kitchen is fully operational and the cook is prepared to provide more than adequate meals.
In fact, breakfast this morning was simply exquisite. ”
“Yes, milord. It is our pleasure to be ready at a moment’s notice for Your Lordship and any guests, even with the lack of servants.”
“That is very welcome news. Although I do not anticipate having overnight guests, I should know what servants we are lacking?”
“We shall require at the very least ten additional employees, milord. Now, we have two upstairs maids, two downstairs maids, and one footman. Obviously, we must hire a few more in those positions as well as those to serve in the kitchen.”
“Hire as many as you deem necessary, Mister Williams.”
“Very good, milord.” Williams bowed at the waist. “I shall convey your compliments on your meal to Mr. Bonney. He is in the process of stocking the kitchen with a variety of items to meet the expectations of milord when it comes to mealtimes.”
“Thank you again, Mister Williams. I’m sure I will be quite pleased.” Simon glanced toward the single footman standing by the double doors leading out to the corridor. “You are both dismissed for the moment. I shall ring for you if I should require your services.”
Once alone in the newly refurbished dining room, Simon shook out the paper. Despite missing the glasses he usually wore for reading, he squinted and skimmed over the scandal sheets before focusing on the financial news.
Wylder St. Clair may have married his sister, but there were still multiple investments Simon had committed himself to overseeing on his friend’s behalf.
Once those were taken care of, he did not doubt that Emily would take over on her husband’s behalf.
She had a cunning mind in such matters, and finding lucrative investments came naturally to her.
The dining room was quiet, the only sounds the faint muffled noise coming from the street.
It was still drizzling outside, and the air was chilly with the stirring of fall.
Taking a sip of his tea, Simon studied the paper, his mind drifting to all the things necessary in facilitating the move to his new residence.
After about thirty minutes of perusing the paper, Simon pushed the teacup and his breakfast plate away and rose from the table. His head was still pounding after his evening of excess, but having something in his stomach had him feeling much better.
Pushing through the doors that led into the corridor, he began folding the paper he still held when there was a fluttering movement in the corner of his eye.
He turned toward the end of the corridor, half expecting to see one of the downstairs maids or perhaps even the footman arriving to clear away the breakfast plates.
But there was no one there. Nothing at all.
Only the faint scent of perfume. The same which drifted around inside his suite of rooms that very morning.
Simon strode down the corridor, aware that eventually he would reach the passageway down to the kitchens occupying the lowest level of the house.
It was one of the spaces exempt from renovation.
Reaching the partially opened door, he paused, then slowly pushed through the entrance, taking the small flight of stairs down into the space.
His booted feet barely made a sound on the steps, and when he reached the landing at the bottom, he stood for a long moment and just observed.
The cook wasn’t there, but the footman who had attended the dining room earlier and a scullery maid were engaged in conversation.
The girl was busy scrubbing the pots and pans used to make his breakfast. They did not notice him at first, but then the maid glanced in his direction.
She squealed in alarm and immediately dropped a heavy, sudsy pan onto the brick-lined floor.
The clatter was ear-shattering, and the footman jumped to attention, his face dull red.
“Milord? Do you require my services?” the young man inquired, the words coming out in a stammer. “My apologies for not hearing the bell.”
“I did not ring for you,” Simon admitted, stepping down into the kitchen and gazing about the open space.
A fire burned in the large fireplace, and the remnants of breakfast preparation were scattered over an enormous table dusted with flour and remnants of dough.
A bowl full of fresh eggs sat at one end of the table, while a small, gray tabby kitten weaved around the table’s sturdy legs.
It looked up at him and meowed before running to a saucer that still held a little cream.
The girl retrieved the pan, flashing an apologetic grin at Simon as she slipped it back into the bin of water and soap. “Begging your pardon, milord. You startled me, you did.”
“My apologies.” Simon’s gaze darted around the room. He did not know what the hell he was looking for, but the hair rose on the back of his neck with awareness. “Is there anyone here other than the two of you?”
The scullery maid visibly swallowed, her eyes cast down to the pans she began scrubbing again with vigor.
“I’m not sure what you mean, milord,” the footman said quickly. “It’s just Nora and me…” The kitten chose that moment to let out another plaintive meow, and the young man laughed nervously. “And Tabby here.” He bent over, patting the cat on the top of its head.
Simon rubbed his jaw. “Are you sure there is no one else? No other maid?”
“No, milord,” the footman replied. “If you will excuse me, milord, I must clear away the table so that Beverly may finish cleaning.”
Simon nodded, studying the kitchen with another sweeping examination. “Yes, of course. Please, carry on with your duties.”
There was no sensible explanation for the odd unease prickling at the back of his neck.
He brushed it off with the only logical conclusion he could muster—it must have been the kitten he’d glimpsed darting at the end of the corridor earlier.
Small thing, low to the ground, quick as a shadow.
Or perhaps a mouse. The house had stood empty for far too long, and the recent renovations could easily have disturbed a nest or two. Yes. That was it.
Satisfied with his reasoning, Simon exhaled a slow sigh and stepped into the corridor, intent on settling into his new study.
The spare footman had already been dispatched to deliver word to his parents of his decision to remain in the townhouse, leaving him free to attend to a few letters of correspondence.
Friends and acquaintances would need to be informed of his new address.
He smiled faintly, imagining Wylder’s amused reaction—and Lucien’s dry one—when they heard the news.
Like many other titled gentlemen, he possessed more than a few country estates, with Willow Hill being the ancestral home for the Camden earldom.
However, he’d only visited the manor a handful of times over the years, and its location in Devonshire was hardly convenient when it came to his social engagements in Town.
But now, he had the townhouse to call home, and it was far more conducive to his carefree lifestyle. He had even selected a name for his new residence. Camden House. It wasn’t particularly inspired, but it was solid, masculine, and fit him well enough.
Still, as he moved deeper into the hall, that faint, elusive trace of perfume lingered in the air—warm, floral, unmistakably feminine. For a moment, Simon doubted his own sanity. If there was an explanation for the scent, he was unaware of it.
“Furniture oil. Or some sort of cleansing agent used to mop the floors…” he muttered as he entered the mostly empty study and shut the door behind him. “It’s either that, or a particularly persistent female ghost determined to follow me throughout this damned house.”