“I quite agree, dear,” Tristan said, putting an arm about her shoulders. “A handsome couple indeed.”
Mrs. Gillingham laughed along, taking her seat. But when they sat and she looked at Leonard, eyes sparkling, he forgot about the men’s teasing. For a moment, it was as if Mrs. Gillinghamwas a young lady, just like the rest, being polite, lovely, and charming. And he found her quite . . . pretty.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “That was just . . . wonderful. Thank you.”
“Well, it was either help or let you run off.”
“And you very well could have done the latter. But you didn’t.”
No. He didn’t. And that fact was more than slightly worrisome.
Chapter Twelve
There was another world that existed between dreams and reality, and that was where Leonard currently resided. Bits of the night clung to him, dreams of Samuel and his father, disappointment swirling in his mind. And yet, a light tugged at him, calling him out of those memories and feelings.
Mr. Stanton.
He buried his face in his pillows, his father’s face still scowling at him, with Samuel smiling just behind. The paradox of their expressions only caused Leonard to thrash his head. He could feel the soft case of his pillow, but sleep hadn’t completely lost its grip.
Mr. Stanton!
Why would his father or Samuel refer to him so formally? Little by little, Leonard became more aware of his surroundings. Light filled his room, and a hand touched his shoulder.
He pushed up from his bed with a start, ending up on all fours with his blanket draped across his back.
“Mr. Stanton.” Fitzroy was standing beside his bed, looking for all intents and purposes quite upset.
Throwing the blankets off and leaning back so he was upright on his knees, Leonard rubbed his face. “What is the matter, Fitzroy?” It was very unlike him to come in and wake him like this.
“That woman,” he bit out. “She is here.”
“What?” Leonard’s hands dropped from his face. “What time is it?”
“It is eight o’clock.”
“And someone is here?” He hopped out of his bed, then walked to the window and glanced down at the street.
Fitzroy stayed near the bed. “Yes. That Mrs. Gillingham. I told her it was not yet visiting hours, but she refused to leave.”
“Wonderful,” Leonard all but moaned, running a hand through his wild hair. He must have been thrashing quite a bit to cause such tangles. “Did she saywhyshe was here?”
“No. I made her wait in the morning room.”
Scuffing sleep-warmed hands over his face again, he addressed his employee once more. “I need a warm basin, please. And I shall need help dressing before I go downstairs.”
Fitzroy bobbed a quick bow. “Of course, sir.” Quick as ever, he left the room.
Leonard walked back to his bed and sat on the edge, trying to wake himself enough to grasp the reality of what was happening. But his dream warred with his thoughts. His father’s expectations, Samuel’s sweet disposition and failing body. Both reminders of what Leonard was supposed to be doing in London in the first place. Instead, he was gallivanting about London with a criminal.
The door opened, and Fitzroy hurried in with the pitcher of water, which Leonard used to quickly wash his face and run his wet fingers through his hair.
“I asked Mrs. Ayles to bring up some tea as well.”
“Very good.” He splashed another dose of water onto his face. It would take all his wits to deal with Mrs. Gillingham this morning. Why on earth was the woman even here?
With a warm cup of tea now in hand, dressed in breeches, a shirt, a waistcoat, and a coat, he made his way downstairs.
There she was, sitting on his parents’ settee, looking for all the world as if it wasn’t strange at all for her to be in their townhouse at eight in the morning.
