Page 18 of Suddenly a (The St. Clairs 5)

He turned and realized Lady Hortense addressed him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I was delivering a letter to Mr. Sloane. Since you weren’t home, your butler has it.”

By now, the couple had come to stand in front of him. Lady Hortense’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“A letter. How amusing. A St. Clair has become a messenger boy.” She released her husband’s arm and slipped her hand around his elbow. “Come inside. I’m eager to see this letter.”

She pulled him toward the door. There was no gentlemanly way to refuse her request. Hudson was constantly aware of the situation surrounding his birth and had determined never to do anything to embarrass or upset his legitimate St. Clair siblings. They had willingly—and lovingly—accepted both him and Laurel and remained steadfast to the twins. Jeremy had paid for his university education, even though Hudson had qualified for a scholarship. His older brother had said he was happy to do so because it left a scholarship available for another student with true need. Jeremy had also taught Hudson so much about business. Rachel had, too, and she knew a way to handle clients with a deft touch, making things seem like their idea when, in fact, they were hers. Luke had taught him how to ride, fish, and hunt.

Of course, Cor had spent the most time with him, talking about society and life and impressing upon him the lessons that made him the man he was today. The St. Clair spouses and extended family and friends had also befriended him and made him feel at ease. Because of this, he promised himself to always be the gentleman they wanted him to be.

Still, he felt as if Lady Hortense sank her claws into him. He smiled and escorted her inside the house and up to a drawing room, her husband on their heels. Hudson could only imagine what Sloane thought and idly wondered if Lady Hortense had kept to her ways after their marriage.

“Have a seat, Mr. St. Clair,” she purred. “Horatio, darling, ring for tea.”

“But we just came from tea,” her husband pointed out.

“Mr. St. Clair might be thirsty.”

“I’m not, my lady. Ah, here is your butler now.”

The servant entered the drawing room, a silver tray in hand. Hudson saw the letter he’d brought had been placed upon it.

“Since Mr. Sloane has his letter, you won’t need me anymore,” he pointed out.

Instead of bringing it to Sloane, the butler brought it to his mistress. She didn’t bother thanking him as she removed it from the tray and broke the seal. He supposed Lady Hortense ran the household in every way, thanks to the money she’d brought into the marriage. She didn’t read it, though. She opened it and smoothed it in her lap.

“Who is it from? You?” she inquired, batting her long eyelashes at him.

“It is from Mr. Sloane’s cousin, Lady Mia.”

She sniffed. “I’ve heard of her. Horatio has told me... things.” She eyed him warily. “Why would you deliver this from her to us?”

“I had an appointment with Lord Morrison regarding one of his machines,” he replied cautiously, refraining from mentioning he’d bought that machine and planned to remove all the rest of the projects from Morris Park. He also kept the news of the viscount’s death to himself, wanting the letter to reveal that news. “Since I mentioned to Lady Mia that I was headed to London, I offered to take her letters and deliver them.”

“I see.”

She lowered her eyes to the page and began reading. Hudson watched her as Sloane said, “The place was in shambles the last time I was there and that was years ago. My uncle’s so-called inventions were everywhere, taking over the house.”

He saw a satisfied smile cross her face and Lady Hortense looked up. “He’s dead, Horatio. You’re Viscount Morrison now.”

“Finally,” Sloane said. “It’s about time the old codger keeled over.”

Anger flared in Hudson but he quickly tamped it down.

The new viscountess’ gaze met his. “You did not mention Lord Morrison could not keep your appointment because he was dead.”

“It wasn’t my place, my lady. I left that to Lady Mia’s letter to break the news to you.” He rose. “I will leave you to your grief.”

“Grief? You think I’m saddened by the death of my uncle? You’d be sadly mistaken, St. Clair. My father should have been the viscount. He had intelligence and knew how to handle people, from his peers to the lowliest servant. Uncle lived with his head in the clouds, always tinkering with his silly contraptions.” Morrison cursed. “I suppose we’ll have to take on Mia now. She’ll have nowhere else to go.”

“Do we?” his wife asked pointedly. “How old is she?”

He thought a moment. “A couple of years younger than I am.”

“Then she’s of legal age. You don’t have to do anything at all for her, Morrison. She can find somewhere else to go. Surely, she has some relative that will take her in. If not, she can do what other spinsters have done and become a companion or governess. She’s no concern of ours.”

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