Page 121 of Oddity of the Ton
He climbed the main staircase, moving absent-mindedly forward until he reached his bedchamber. It was a room he rarely entered during the day—a functional room in which he slept and did little else. Each day he rose from the bed and entered his dressing room, where his valet stood waiting to tend to his every whim. And each night, he reversed the process, standing meekly while his valet peeled off his clothes, then slipped into his bed, falling asleep as soon as he lay down, with no thought for the men and women who strove to ensure that the room was kept tidy, the sheets clean, and the fire made.
But today the room served a different purpose. He crossed the floor, slipped his hand beneath the mattress, pulled out a piece of paper, and unfolded it.
There she was, in her naked glory, staring boldly out of the page, a smile of satisfaction on her lips—a smile forhim, and him only.
His body tightened at the memory of the pleasures they’d shared. He shifted his legs as his manhood swelled, then he traced the outline of her form with his fingertips, lingering on her breasts, before lowering his gaze to the juncture of her thighs, where paradise awaited…
“Your Grace—sir!”
Monty turned to see his valet standing in the doorway. He folded the drawing and hid it behind his back, his cheeks warming as if he were a schoolboy caught fisting himself.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“Nothing, sir—I was just unpacking your trunk.”
“Then get on with it.”
“Very good, sir.” The valet turned to go, but Monty held up his hand.
“No, wait. Have Mr. Gregory meet me in my study. As soon as possible.”
“Very good, sir.”
As soon as Wilkins was safely out of the way, Monty slipped the drawing back underneath the mattress. Then he set off for his study.
He might never see her again, but she would live on in Rosecombe. To honor her—and to honor what was right—significant changes needed to be made.
The first of those was to set up proper funding for the school—hire a schoolteacher to assist Olivia. And the second…
He would publicly recognize Olivia as his sister so that she’d never have cause to feel shame for her birth. Olivia was a Whitcombe. Anyone who objected to that could go to hell.
Perhaps it was a shame, after all, that Mother wouldn’t be joining him for dinner tonight. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to see the look on her face when he told her.
Nothing except the notion that Eleanor—his Eleanor—might be proud of him if she knew what he was doing in her honor.
But Eleanor—who might, even now, be enjoying Colonel Reid’s courtship—would never know.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sandcombe, Lincolnshire, September 1815
“There it is,Mrs. Riley. Shore Cottage.”
Eleanor continued to stare at the sea as the carriage rolled to a halt. It seemed to stretch to the end of the world, glistening in the afternoon light, the blue color intensifying toward the horizon. No wonder some people believed the world ended where the sea met the sky. Such a vast expanse must have seemed unsurmountable in the years before ships circumnavigated the earth.
To think—Papa had often crossed the horizon in one of his ships, traveling to another world, returning home with the silks and spices that had made his fortune. It was only befitting that she begin this next phase of her life on the threshold of the path to other worlds.
She brushed a stray tendril of hair from her eyes, then leaned out of the carriage, inhaling a lungful of sea air, with its salty, almost metallic aroma. The cries of gulls filled the air, and she lifted her gaze to see their slim shapes silhouetted against the sky.
“Mrs. Riley!”
A hand rapped on the window opposite, and she turned to see the coachman staring at her.
“Mrs. Riley, begging your pardon, we’ve arrived.”
Harriet’s face appeared next to the coachman’s. “We’re here, ma’am.”
Ma’am…
