Chapter 35
“Look at the way the leaves are changing color. Green and beautiful and also golden.” Callie stared out the carriage window, entranced by everything she saw. It had been fifteen years, after all. “I didn’t know that I liked having four seasons until I didn’t.”
“Washington had four seasons,” Richard pointed out.
“Yes, but they weren’t English seasons. They were too extreme, and Jamaica was mostly very hot.”
He chuckled and caught her hand to draw her back onto the seat beside him. “You’re leaving nose prints on the window. You might feel a little less fond of having four English seasons when icy gales are blasting down from the North Sea.”
She batted her lashes at him. “Why do you think I got married? It’s your job to keep me warm all winter.”
He laughed and tucked her against his side. “I’ll do my best.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “We can be very silly. You might have noticed.”
“Yes, and I like it.” He stroked her arm. “Why not try to get a bit of rest so you’ll have new exclamations available when we reach London? You must be tired since we were up half the night talking over the dinner table.”
“Yes, and it was lovely.” She covered a yawn. “You’re right about being tired though. Wake me when we reach London.”
She dozed off, and didn’t wake until Richard said, “We’re entering Mayfair and will be home soon.”
She shot up in the seat. “You let me miss most of London!” she said indignantly.
“It will still be there tomorrow, and you’ll be less tired.”
“I look forward to spending years exploring London.” She returned to pressing her nose on the carriage window. “I was brought here once or twice as a child, but I don’t remember much of anything.”
He looked out the opposite window. “We’re almost there. The house is on Mount Row, which is kind of a pocket Berkeley Square. The private garden in the center of the square is much smaller and has no Gunter’s for ices, but it’s pleasant to look out and see a bit of greenery.”
“It looks lovely!”
The carriage rumbled to a stop by a house on a corner. Richard climbed out, flipped down the step, and offered his hand. “Welcome to your new castle, my princess!”
She was almost bouncing with excitement. The square was surrounded by neat terraced houses, all of them well kept. She realized that the front doors were each painted a different color, subdued enough not to be distracting, but quietly enriching the square. Richard’s house—their house—was distinguished by a very dark red door. “I think you said the couple who take care of your house are named Bolton?”
“Yes. They’re both very capable, with the magical ability to appear when needed and remain invisible the rest of the time.” He led Callie up the half dozen steps to the front door and rapped briskly with the shining brass knocker. Callie smiled to see that it was a lion’s head.
Having given warning that they were there, Richard opened the door with a key and ushered her into a small vestibule. It was shiny clean and brightly lit by the afternoon sun, with a vase of autumn flowers set on a long table against the wall. Next to the vase were three baskets overflowing with letters and invitations.
“Go away for a few months and the post gets quite out of hand,” Richard remarked as he helped Callie with her cloak. By the time he had it off her shoulders, a man who must be Bolton had appeared. He was burly and had a ragged scar down the left side of his face.
“Lord George!” He bowed, seeming genuinely pleased. “How good to see you home again.”
“My wife and I have decided to dispense with being Lord and Lady George,” Richard said. “We’ll be Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Audley. I’m sorry if that diminishes the respect that your positions inspire with other servants.”
“We shall endure, sir.” Bolton’s expression was sober, but his eyes were amused. “Welcome to London, Mrs. Audley. And may I offer my congratulations to you both?”
“You may.” Callie smiled at him warmly. “I’m anxious for a tour of the house.”
“It will be my pleasure to show you around, Catkin, though it won’t take long.” As Richard offered her his arm, he said to Bolton, “Will you see to the luggage and driver, please? When we’re downstairs, I’ll ask Mrs. Bolton to have dinner ready in an hour and a half. Nothing elaborate, if that suits you, Callie?”
“That will be perfect.” Under her breath, she said, “I assume the last stop on this tour will be the master bedroom?”
He gave her a devilish smile that required no words.
Mrs. Bolton proved to be a sturdy woman with shrewd eyes and quiet confidence. Callie thought the two of them would get on very well.
They moved from the kitchen level to the public rooms a flight up. The house was attractive, with most rooms warmed by richly colored Persian carpets, though it could use some small decorating touches.
Richard said apologetically, “The place needs more work. I haven’t owned it long and I’ve been away a good bit of the time. Feel free to make what changes you wish.”
“I enjoy home decoration.” She suppressed a pang at the thought of her beautiful vanished home in Washington. “I love this house, Richard. It’s so much warmer and more welcoming than the houses we grew up in.”
“That was rather the point,” he said wryly.
As he led her up to the bedrooms, she trailed her fingers along the silken oak of the railing. “The Boltons must love this house, too. They take such good care of it even though you haven’t been here for months.”
“They do love the place,” he agreed. “Bolton was a sergeant in the army and this is the first lasting home they’ve had.” He guided her toward the back of the house. “There are two bedrooms overlooking the back garden, and they have a connecting door. I use the one on the right as a sitting room and study, but it can be turned into a bedroom for the lady of the house if you like.”
She chuckled. “I am nowhere near tired of our marital bed, my Lionheart!”
“I am very glad to hear that,” he said solemnly as he led her into the bedroom. She caught a pleasing glimpse of the back garden before their attention turned to the bed. It was almost as large as the one at the Indian Queen Hotel.
And even more comfortable.
* * *
Having tested the bed, which passed with flying colors, they had a relaxed evening meal, then adjourned to the sitting room next to the bedroom. October had arrived and the evening was cool, but a neat little fire kept the room cozy. Callie found it deliciously domestic and didn’t miss the tobacco barrels and Congreve rockets at all. Best of all, very little effort would be required to reach the bedroom.
She glanced up to admire Richard’s thoughtful profile as he systematically worked his way through the baskets of correspondence that had accumulated in his absence. Most of the letters went into a waste bin. A few he set aside for later attention.
He glanced up with a smile and took a sip of the claret he’d brought up from dinner. “Comfortable?”
“Very. I’m writing letters to Baltimore and Washington to let our friends know that we’ve arrived safely.” She arched her back and stretched. “I’ll need to develop some kind of routine here, which is complicated by the fact that you’re the only person I know in London.”
“You’ll remedy that soon. You attract people and make friends of them easily.”
She had never thought of that, but realized he was right. “I suppose if I’m feeling brave I can call at Stanfield House and see if any family members are in residence. If not, the servants will probably know where they are.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic about that.”
“You and I have been living in an enchanted cloud, not having to deal with the outside world. With both my parents gone, I’m now the eldest of my family. I’ve been gone so long, I’ll feel like a stranger among them.” She smiled ruefully. “I must look them up soon, but to be honest, I’d rather visit the famous Hatchards bookshop than go to Stanfield House.”
“Then let’s do some touring of London tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll rent a carriage from the local livery stable and take you to see some of the sights. Hatchards is always a pleasure, and it’s the post box for the Rogues Redeemed.”
“A post box?”
“We all send messages there and Mr. Hatchard holds them for whatever cellar rat might come by. There may be some new messages, and I need to write an update to leave there also.” He scribbled a note to himself. “Will it sound too boastful if I say that I’ve married the most beautiful woman in the world?”
“Yes, it will sound boastful, and they won’t believe you because they may have beautiful ladies of their own. I appreciate the sentiment, though.” A thought struck her. “I presume you must report to your employer that you found me. I’d like to learn more about the mysterious Sir Andrew Harding, who sponsored your mission.”
“Here’s an easy way to do that. Lord Kirkland is the one who sent me off, and he and his wife are both superb musicians. Before I left, Lady Kirkland mentioned that they sometimes have informal musical evenings for friends. I said I’d like to attend one if I was in London, and I’ve just found an invitation to a private musicale to be held tomorrow night. I will reveal you with a flourish to Kirkland to prove my mission was successful, and you will get a chance to meet people. I think you’ll like Lady Kirkland.”
Callie blinked. “Lord Kirkland—the fellow whose wife you rescued as well as the wife herself?”
“As I said, I just drove the boat. But yes, that’s him.”
“Then I most certainly want to attend!” She considered her wardrobe. “I’ll need more clothes. Wearing remade, used garments doesn’t seem right if I’m going to be on visiting terms with lords and ladies.”
“You grew up with lords and ladies just as I did, so you shouldn’t be overly impressed,” he said dryly. “Since you’re such a fine seamstress, one of your remade gowns will do very well for tomorrow evening. Lady Kirkland always looks well turned out, so you can ask her the name of her modiste for adding to your wardrobe.”
“That’s a good plan. I love sewing and designing new gowns, but I’m willing to let someone else do the routine bits.” She hesitated, then decided to ask the question hovering in the back of her mind. “Do you think you’ll tire of the quiet life and go back to adventuring?”
“No,” he said immediately. “As I’ve said, I’ve always been a reluctant adventurer. Now that I have you, there’s no reason to keep moving.”
She smiled, thinking he was much more romantic than he gave himself credit for. “Will we ever tire of making wild, passionate love?”
He shook his head. “In the nature of things, we’ll surely slow down, but I can’t imagine ever not wanting to lie with you. You’ll be eighty years old and deadheading roses in the garden and I’ll be sneaking up behind you and trying to coax you into making mischief in the garden shed.”
She laughed. “I like that thought! I can imagine it, too.” She returned once more to her letter writing. It was good to be back in safe, green England.
Yet she had a swift memory of the feeling she’d had in Maryland. Their way would not be as clear and safe as it appeared now.
She reminded herself that all lives had troubles. Surely together they could face anything.