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  When she was dressed once more, she sat on the long bench in front of the dressing table and worked on piling her hair upon her head once more. With the disguising lace and her hair pinned in place, she was a model of decorum.

  Raymond was physically drained, but forced himself from the bed. The staff had unpacked his trunks and his dressing gown hung inside the wardrobe. He put it on, padded barefoot over to the velvet chair and picked up the frock coat and pulled his wallet out from the inner pocket.

  He sat on the other end of the long bench and placed a sheaf of the big notes on the dresser in front of her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for this. It was most unexpected and most appreciated.”

  She picked up the money and pushed it inside her jacket. “You’ve been my favourite customer for thirteen years, Raymond. Only the news that you have returned to Cornwall would draw me out of retirement.”

  He smiled. “It is of little wonder you were such a successful business woman. Your empathy must have drawn men from across England, Susanna. I mean Annie. I do apologize.” He grimaced.

  Annie cupped his jaw. “Susanna is fine, if you still want me to be her.” She shifted on the bench, so she was looking at him more directly. “I admit I wasn’t sure tonight that you’d want me. I thought, when you married, that your wife…” She hesitated.

  “That she was Susanna?” Raymond asked. He shook his head. “Rose was the woman the relatives of my father—my real father—insisted I marry in order to supply an heir for the title. She had suitable antecedents.”

  Annie considered him. “Then it was not a love match? I wondered…” She bit her bottom lip again. “Then who is Susanna?” she asked.

  Raymond’s chest tightened. “No one you know,” he lied.

  Annie got to her feet and looked down at him. She patted his cheek with her little hand. “For thirteen years the woman has driven you into my arms. Whoever she is, she is also a blind fool.”

  Raymond could feel the need to protest, to argue, rising up.

  Annie touched his lips. “Shh…” she said. “I retract that. It is not my place to pass judgement.” She dropped her hand. “I’m so glad I could help, Raymond. If you wish, I would be happy to help again. You know how to let me know.”

  Raymond stood, too. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, more roughly than he intended.

  Annie picked up a fold of her skirt and looped it over her arm and looked at him with a wise expression. “Whatever you say, my lord. I’ll see myself out.”

  * * * * *

  Raymond was late to the breakfast table the next morning. There was no sausage left and only a few strips of bacon. He piled them on a plate, beside a big mound of scrabbled eggs and a huge stack of toast and sat at the table, while Corcoran poured tea for him, before drawing back to the spot by the door where he oversaw every meal and gave orders to the footmen in a soft voice.

  There was no one else left at the long table. Raymond suspected he was the last to rise this morning. It suited him to be alone. He wolfed down his breakfast, his hunger ferocious.

  He had nearly finished the meal and had begun to think he would be able to get clear of the dining room, when Lilly walked in, pushing her pince-nez back into place with one hand while tucking a stray light brown lock of hair behind her ear with the other.

  She saw him and paused.

  Raymond’s heart sank. Lilly had not been satisfied with his evasions last night. She would most certainly pick up the threads of the conversation again this morning, now they had the room to themselves.

  She poured tea and brought the cup and saucer over to the chair next to Raymond and sat down. “You look tired,” she said softly.

  “I could say the same about you,” Raymond observed. “It’s not like you to rise so late.”

  Lilly rolled her eyes. “I have been up and broke my fast two hours ago. I have been organizing the children…” She shrugged. “The theatre is tonight. They needed a small amount of direction.”

  “Of course.” He had forgotten about the theatre. The children would entertain the adults for the evening, with all manner of little acts and songs. The adults had always seemed to enjoy it. The servants, who were allowed to sit at the back of the drawing room to watch, certainly did enjoy it, although Raymond had often wondered if they enjoyed it so much because they were sitting down.

  “Maze running this afternoon, then?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Lilly smiled and sipped her tea.

  Raymond pushed back on the chair. “Do you like being a governess, Lilly?”

  She looked startled. “Why would you ask that? It is a respectable occupation and perfectly sensible for someone like me.”

  “Someone like you? You used to stay up all night dancing at balls and giggling in corners with friends. I don’t think you’ve been to a ball in three years.” He touched the frame of the pince-nez. “You would have died of shame than be seen wearing these, back then.”

  Lilly frowned down at the cup. “I’ve put all that behind me,” she said firmly. Then she leaned back to look behind Raymond. “Corcoran, would you mind terribly much giving us the room for a moment?”

  “Of course not, Miss Williams.” Corcoran gathered up the two footmen and moved out of the dining room. He shut the doors discreetly behind him and Raymond suspected he was probably standing guard in front of them, too.

  Raymond sat back, abruptly losing interest in his buttered toast. “I am not at all in the mood for inappropriate conversations, Lilly,” he warned her. “I might have indulged you when you were younger, but they no longer strike me as charming.”

  “I might be younger than you, Raymond, yet I know you better than anyone in this house. You liked those conversations. You could speak your mind to me and know I would not judge you for it. I rather thought you were in need of such a conversation now. More than ever before, in fact.”

  She had always seemed older than God to him. For a moment he had forgotten that. Despite the differences in their ages, Lilly was closer to being his contemporary and his friend than any of the other siblings and cousins.

  Lilly tapped the edge of her saucer. “Who is it?” she asked. “I thought perhaps, it might be Sadie who you are waiting for. Waiting for her to grow up, despite how tall she is already. I even thought it might be me for a while.”

  Raymond’s heart gave a little flutter. “For heaven’s sake, Lilly,” he said roughly. “I just buried my wife.”

  Lilly nodded. “The wife you didn’t love, whom you married because that odious family of yours insisted you must. That’s what started me thinking, you see.”

  Raymond stared at her, his throat closing up. She was speaking things that no eighteen year old should know or speak of, or even understand.

  “You didn’t marry for such a long time,” Lilly went on. “Bachelors often don’t, I know, only you were the heir to your father’s title and that changes things for a man. The need to get an heir and all that. Yet you resisted for years and years. It made me wonder who it was you were waiting for.”

  Raymond pushed his plate aside. He couldn’t even bother to pretend he was still interested in the stack of cold toast. “Lilly…if you care at all, leave this alone.”

  Lilly turned on the chair, her sensible black mourning dress sweeping against his boots, to face him. “You can tell me,” she said urgently. “That’s what I wanted to say, only there was always someone listening until now. Whoever it is, for whatever reason you can’t have her…you can speak of it to me. I thought perhaps Rose would be able to move you past her, yet I could tell yesterday that she failed even at that. Now you need someone you can tell.” Her fine green eyes flared with sudden, hot emotion. “I know about keeping secrets,” she said softly. “They tear at you from the inside, if you keep them there.”

  Raymond kept his hand fisted where it lay on the table. Lilly had neatly skewered the truth, though she could never be allowed to know how right she was. He shook his head. “You have my thanks, Lilly
, but this…I cannot tell you. Especially you.”

  Lilly swallowed, her throat working. Two high spots of colour appeared on her cheeks. She nodded stiffly. “Very well then,” she said stiffly. “I must return to my duties.” She got to her feet.

  “Lilly…” She thought he was being condescending. Yet if he tried to correct that impression, he would be exposed. It reminded him of something. “Was it you who sent me the black roses?”

  She kept her back to him. “I have no idea what you are referring to. Good day, my lord.” She left the room by the small door that was closest to the back stairs, that the children used to reach their upper floor.

  Raymond stared after her helplessly.

  How right she was! It did eat away at him. It was tearing strips from his soul.

  * * * * *

  Raymond made sure no one was using the library. He borrowed Natasha’s stationery and desk and paused with the nib hovering over the blank page.

  Then, before he changed his mind, he wrote quickly.

  Dearest Susanna:

  It seems I am in need of your services at least one more time. Could you come tonight? There is something I must tell you.

  Marblethorpe.

  _______________________________________

  The next book in the Scandalous Scions series.

  Soul of Sin

  Book 1.0

  Two broken hearts.

  Lady Natasha Innesford, four years a widow, still cannot stir herself to live. Her life died with Seth.

  Lord Raymond Marblethorpe, oldest son of Lady Elisa Farleigh, has loved the mysterious Susanna forever, but she can never be his.

  Can they learn to let go of the past and love again?

  ___

  The main reason I ever began reading Cooper-Posey's work was her adventurous historical fiction - and she's back at it, in high style. – Reader Review

  Soul of Sin is now available!

  https://books2read.com/SoulOfSin

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  Soul of Sin

  Chapter One

  London, England, 1858.

  There was always a handful of people visiting West of London and Westminster Cemetery, every time Natasha returned there herself. If it were not for their black crepe and bombazine, it would be easy to lapse into thinking the visitors were strolling through a park, for the cemetery was garden-like in its appointments, with shady arbors, elaborate family crypts and well-clipped lawns.

  No one spoke to anyone. That was the other difference. They were all strangers, there for a common purpose, but still quite alone. Not even the civil nod of acknowledgement that strangers would exchange in Hyde Park was used here.

  Natasha missed the path to the Innesford family crypt, and lost her way. It had been so long since she had last visited, she could not remember how to find the crypt. Her discomfort rose.

  When she found the crypt, her cheeks were hot with mortification, and she was slightly breathless from hurrying. She used the big iron key to unlock the gate and stepped into the cool, dim stillness of the hexagonal crypt. Her boots crunched on the tiles, as grit shifted beneath her feet. It sounded loud in the small, marble-lined room, and she flinched. She was disturbing the dead.

  Seth was at the back, in the new wall. She slipped off her glove and pressed her hand against the carved plate.

  Richard Seth Williams

  18th Earl of Innesford.

  1804 A.D.—1854 A.D.

  “Oh, Seth,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with tears. “Three years since you were taken from me. It has been a year since I came to see you. I meant to come sooner. I miss you every day. I still forget sometimes that you are gone. I find myself starting to speak to you. Then I remember you are not there and it makes my chest ache.”

  There was no answer, of course. She wished for a moment she was spiritual enough to believe that Seth watched over her and if she prayed hard enough and listened with a pure heart, he would speak to her. Other widows often claimed they had entire conversations with their departed husbands. They would consult with them on all major decisions in their life. The shades of their loved ones would continue to direct their lives from beyond the grave. It would be wonderful to be able to visit Seth eagerly and return to her life filled with the contentment and peace that other widows derived from standing at the foot of their husbands’ graves.

  Instead, Natasha always stood here in the silence and felt confusion and a roil of emotions that all seemed wicked and inappropriate. Anger was one of the strongest. She sometimes wanted to beat her fist against the silent headstone and rage at the Fates for doing this to her and to Seth. Despair and grief and sadness were always there.

  But more and more often, lately, what she felt was a terrible, fear-inducing loneliness.

  Seth had been a pragmatic man. Seven years a convict had stripped from him any belief in divine justice and he would have laughed at those widows who talked to their dead husbands. Natasha, though, was beginning to understand why they might. It was comforting to think that Seth might be lingering in some other plane and watching over her. Although if that were true, then Seth would be caustically advising her to give up such nonsensical ideas and go put on that blue dress he liked so much….

  Her tears spilled. She hung her head.

  “I don’t know what to do…” she whispered. “I’m so busy, Seth. There are never enough hours in the day. The twins are turning into women right in front of me. Lisa Grace is nine…nine, Seth. She is going to be tall. She is already up to my shoulder. And Daniel’s voice has broken. He’s a baritone. I know you would laugh about that. You’d have given him brandy to celebrate and perhaps a cigar. Neil is in his last year at Eton. Lilly…” She sighed. “Lilly seems content. Oh, and Cian starts at Cambridge this year. I decided…I hope you don’t mind, but I thought he should finish his education, even though he’s already taking over the management of his titles and the estates…”

  She reached under the lace veil and wiped her cheeks. “Every time someone calls me the Dowager Countess, I look over my shoulder to see who it is they’re addressing. Then I realize that it is me they are talking to.” She laid her hand back on the stone, her damp fingers marking it. “I don’t feel like a dowager anything.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stone. “I just feel so alone.”

  The silence was her answer. No ghost whispered. Nor did the wind stir to shift leaves over the paths outside.

  Natasha listened. She heard her heart beat and that was all. It was a strong beat. Healthy. She had turned forty years old in March but she still felt as strong and alive as she had at twenty, when she had met Seth. She stayed silent when friends gently pointed out that as she was getting on in years, it was time to let go of the ribbons and frivolities of a younger woman and graciously linger in the darker corners of parlours. In the mirror, her face had not changed all that much. Her waist was only an inch wider after bearing seven children—thanks to daily walking and working in the garden, horse riding and energetic games of tennis with Annalies when no one was looking.

  She was not an old woman, but the world thought she should be. To dispute them would heap shame and scorn and notoriety upon her head. If Seth were still here, she might have had the courage to look everyone in the eye and do what she wanted. Only, Seth was no longer here to protect her.

  Natasha sighed. “I suppose I must sort it out for myself. I always looked to you to help me understand matters. You were so good at understanding how people worked. You were forced to it by circumstances. Now I will have to do that for myself. I suppose these are my circumstances, aren’t they?” She patted the inscription plate one more time. “I’ll try to visit sooner, next time,” she promised him.

  She stepped out into the warm June morning, glad of the veil to hide her tear-stained cheeks. She locked the gate on the crypt and dropped the key into her reticule and moved slowly along the path. It seemed wrong that the sun was shining and t
he air held not a breath of chill. She could smell musky lavender and tea roses and the pleasant green smell of freshly cut grass. A bee buzzed past her veil. Doves twittered and cooed in the long arbor. Even here among the dead, the world was vitally alive.

  On the path, ahead, a man was standing in front of large, new headstone. The carved lettering on the black marble had been painted with gold leaf. He stood very still in front of it, his hands at his sides, his soft brimmed hat held in one of them. He was not speaking to the interred, as so many people did here.

  The sun gleamed in his black hair as he turned his head at her approach.

  Natasha had been on the point of apologizing for her intrusion, for this was the only way back to the gate of the cemetery, where her carriage was waiting. Then she realized she knew the man.

  It was Raymond Devlin, Elisa’s son.

  Surprised skittered through her. “Lord Marblethorpe,” she said, and fell silent. All the usual polite social phrases seemed inappropriate in this place. All the family matters she might have asked about were just as wrong. She cast about for something to say.

  “Countess Innesford,” Raymond replied, with a small nod of acknowledgement. He glanced at the headstone he was standing in front of, and a tiny frown grew between his dark brows.

  “interrupted you,” Natasha said quickly. “I can find another--”

  “I was about to leave, anyway,” he said, just as quickly. “Let me see you back to your carriage.”

  Natasha pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to deal with company right now, but standing awkwardly in the middle of the path was even more uncomfortable, so she nodded and moved down the path again.

  Raymond fell in next to her. He didn’t offer his elbow, which would have felt just as wrong. He didn’t speak either, which was a relief to her. He settled his hat back in place and kept his gaze on his feet.