From London With Love. Sarah Mallory

Two

      Eloise sipped at her morning chocolate. Last night had not gone quite as planned. Lord Berrow had resolutely refused to discuss selling the land at Ainsley Wood. Despite all her efforts to charm the Earl the best she had achieved was his promise that he would talk to her when he was not quite so busy. She had had to be content with that, and when she left the Earl she had fallen into the clutches of Sir Ronald Deforge. She felt a certain sympathy for Sir Ronald. She knew him to be a widower and she thought perhaps he was lonely, but Sir Ronald with his pomaded hair and oily manner was all smug complacency, and less than twenty minutes in his company had her yawning behind her fan. Thankfully Alex rescued her and carried her off to supper before she had grown too desperate. And she had suffered another disappointment: Major Clifton had left early. Not that that mattered, she told herself, for he was calling upon her at ten o’clock.

      It was her habit to breakfast early, no matter how late she had been out. While she nibbled at her freshly baked bread she looked through the morning’s post, putting aside the numerous invitations and letters to be answered and reading carefully the daily report from her steward at Allyngham. This morning there was one note at the bottom of the pile that caught her attention. She did not recognise the writing, and there was no hint of the sender. She put down her coffee cup and broke the seal.

      The single sheet crackled as it unfolded, and as her eyes scanned the untidy black writing her cheeks grew pale. She summoned her butler.

      ‘Noyes, send a runner to Mr Mortimer. Ask him to join me, immediately, if you please!’

      Alone again, she pushed her plate away, her appetite gone.

      She hoped Alex would appear soon. He had taken a house only a few doors away but for all she knew he might still be sleeping. Thankfully it was only a matter of minutes before she heard the bell jangling in the hall. Carefully folding the letter and putting it in her pocket, she made her way to the morning room.

      Alex was waiting for her. His brows snapped together when she entered.

      ‘What is it, Elle? You are very pale—what has happened?’

      Silently she pulled the letter from her pocket and held it out to him. He scanned it quickly and looked up.

      ‘Is this all there is?’

      She nodded. He looked again at the letter.

      ‘I know your secret,’ he read. ‘Very cryptic.’

      ‘What should I do?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Do you…do you think someone knows, about us?’

      Alex smiled.

      ‘No names, no clues—someone is trying to frighten you, Elle. Some jealous wife or mistress, perhaps. Your return to town has put many noses out of joint.’

      She spread her hands.

      ‘Why should anyone be jealous of me? I have not stolen any of their lovers.’

      ‘Not intentionally, but the gentlemen are singing your praises and laying their hearts at your feet.’

      Her lip curled.

      ‘I do not give the snap of my fingers for any of them. Idle coxcombs!’

      Alex laughed.

      ‘That is part of your attraction.’

      She indicated the letter.

      ‘So what do you think it means?’

      ‘I have no idea.’ He turned the letter over. ‘There was nothing to say who sent it?’

      ‘No. Noyes told me one of the footmen found it on the floor of the hall this morning and put it with the post. Who would do this?’

      ‘Some idle prankster.’ Alex screwed the letter into a ball and threw it into the fire. ‘You should forget about it. I am sure it is nothing to worry about.’

      She eyed him doubtfully and he took her hands, smiling down at her.

      ‘Truly, it is nothing.’

      ‘Major Clifton, my lady.’

      Jack followed the footman into the morning room. Lady Allyngham turned to greet him, but not before he had seen Mortimer holding her hands. Damnation, what was the fellow doing here so early in the morning, did he live here?’

      Setting his jaw, Jack made a stiff bow. Unperturbed, Alex Mortimer nodded to him before addressing Lady Allyngham.

      ‘I must go. I am going out of town this afternoon: I have business with my land agent in Hertfordshire which will take me a few days, I think.’ He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Send a note if you need me, Elle. I can be here in a few hours.’

      Jack watched the little scene, his countenance, he hoped, impassive, and waited silently until Alex Mortimer had left the room. There was no doubt that Mortimer and the lady were on the very best of terms. He had to remind himself it was none of his business.

      ‘What is it you wished to say to me, Major Clifton?’

      Lady Allyngham’s softly musical voice recalled his wandering attention. She disposed herself gracefully into a chair and invited him to sit down.

      ‘Thank you, no,’ he said curtly. ‘This will only take a moment.’

      ‘Oh. I had hoped you might be able to tell me something of my husband.’

      She sounded genuinely disappointed. He reached into his pocket.

      ‘Before he died, Lord Allyngham gave me these, and asked me to see that they were returned to you.’ He dropped the ring and locket into her hands. ‘I apologise that it has taken so long but I was in Paris until the summer, with the Army of Occupation, and I had given Lord Allyngham my word that I would bring them in person.’

      She looked down at them silently.

      Jack cleared his throat.

      ‘He asked me to tell you…to be happy.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

      She placed the ring on her right hand. Jack remembered it had been a tight fit for Lord Allyngham: it had been a struggle to remove it, but now the signet ring looked big and cumbersome on the lady’s dainty finger. He watched her open the locket and stare for a long time at the tiny portraits. At last she said, ‘I had this painted for Tony when we first married. He would not let me accompany him when he went off to war, so I thought he might like it…’ Her voice tailed off and she hunted for her handkerchief.

      Jack sat down.

      ‘He was a very courageous soldier,’ he said quietly. ‘We fought together in the Peninsula: he saved my life at Talavera.’

      She looked up and he saw that her eyes were shining with unshed tears.

      ‘You knew him well, Major Clifton?’

      He shrugged.

      ‘As well as anyone, I think. We drank together, fought together—he spoke very fondly of you, madam, and of Allyngham. I think he missed his home.’

      ‘His letters to me were very brief; he mentioned few of his fellow officers by name.’

      ‘He kept very much to himself,’ replied Jack.

      She nodded, twisting her hands together in her lap.

      ‘He was a very private man.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘Forgive me, Major Clifton. I know it is more than a year since Waterloo, but still…’ She drew a steadying breath. ‘How…how did he die?’

      Jack hesitated. There was no easy way to explain.

      ‘Artillery fire,’ he said shortly. ‘A cannon ball hit him in the chest. It was very quick.’

      Her blue eyes rebuked him.

      ‘How