Morgan was... complex. She'd never experienced so many emotions in one day, from fear to anger and concern, she'd found her feelings tied to the man. When deciding she would marry a stranger, she'd held fast to the possibility that love could grow slowly if that was what they both wished.
But from those last few hours with Morgan and even the lovely evening they'd shared with his friends, Mena was sure that if she allowed it, she could love him long before they exchanged vows. It was in the way he looked at her and touched her. She'd not been the bride of his choice, but he'd made it clear that he was choosing her now.
She shivered as she recalled just how clearly he'd made that known. His eyes had never strayed far from hers during dinner, and she was sure that everyone was aware of it. While the men had been cordial, the women had been warm, open, and had invited her to more events that would fill the rest of her calendar for the Season. She'd discovered she liked them all and when she'd mentioned knowing Wardington, Marianne, whom she'd discovered was the duke's niece, warmed up even more.
"There are four of us. You've probably met my sister, Margaret," Marianne had said over her wine glass. "She's his favorite."
Mena had met Margaret many times, but said, "I'm sure your uncle loves you all the same."
Marianne laughed, her eyes shining. "Oh, he does, but Margaret is so much like him that when they get together, everyone leaves."
Mena had heard the rumors about Wardington's need for control but, like the rumors about Mena's uncle, she'd pushed them aside once she met him. "Your uncle is a wonderful and sweet man. Gentle even."
That caused everyone to laugh. Even Morgan had chuckled from his bed.
Sopherina had had tears in her eyes. "Oh, Wardington must truly like you if that's all you can say about him."
Mena had been confused.
"You're a very fortunate woman if Wardington holds you in such high esteem." Morgan’s eyes had been warm.
She was set to see him again today and looked forward to it, but her summons from Creed dampened that feeling. Morgan didn’t like Creed, which saddened her because Creed had been nothing but kind to her, and she truly wanted them to get along.
Perhaps she could arrange a dinner and allow them to see one another in the best light.
She smiled at the idea. Creed had been overjoyed when she’d been presented with Morgan’s proposal, as she supposed any man would be when their charge would be marrying a marquess.
A dinner sounded like a lovely idea. All she had to do was get them together in the same room, and she was sure that Morgan would love Creed.
Her thoughts remained on Morgan for the remainder of the long journey and even without seeing where she was going, she noticed once they arrived in a less-favored part of London. There was shouting that could be heard from the streets and a man shouted for someone to chase a pickpocket.
The carriage stopped, and Mena’s arm was grabbed before she was taken out, only to be placed in a different carriage altogether. She knew why this was. The quick switch was to lose anyone who might have followed the first carriage. She sighed as she was settled into the next one, which started before her bottom touched the seat. The switch was so seamless and quick that she was sure the goal was accomplished every time.
The next time the carriage stopped, her blindfold was removed. She stepped out of the carriage that had been parked in a filthy alley and cringed as she watched the tail of a rat disappear behind a pile of garbage. It not only reminded her of the horrors of her debut but also the lengths Creed had to take in order to hide from the public that was growing to hate him. If the gossip rags would just leave him alone, Creed would be free to walk the streets. Instead, in the last few months, he’d hidden, moving away from the illustrious townhouse with its fine rugs and golden fixtures where he’d once lived and into this unseemly residence. She allowed her guard to walk her to the back door, and it opened as they approached.
She was ushered farther into the house, passing a small kitchen and dining room, before arriving in the living room.
As was Creed’s style, everything inside the building was still beautiful, but the actual walls held none of the molding that the other had or the clear view of a park. Instead, the window faced a wall, which allowed barely any sun at all. Seeing her uncle living this way made her heart squeeze, but she put on a smile when he walked toward her.
Creed was neither short nor tall and one would not notice him if he were to walk through a crowd, but his eyes, when they captured a gaze, could freeze a man in his tracks. They were like cool steel, a gray so pure that Mena often found them unsettling.
“I’m so glad you’re here. I grow lonely when I don’t see you.” His voice was calm and soothing as he directed her to a chair.
Mena smiled and took the chair next to his own. She took his hand as she settled. “Uncle Creed, you know I enjoy spending time with you. I can come over whenever you wish.”
He patted her hand, his eyes warm. “If only that were true, but you know these times are not as they once were.” He averted his gaze, and she knew then that the time he’d spent in the dark was beginning to weigh on him.
She tightened her hold on his hand as tears sprung to her eyes. “I hate those people for making you seem like a horrible person when you’ve been nothing but kind.”
His gray eyes slowly returned to her and stared at her as though he were looking into her very soul. “You’re more than I deserve, Philomena.” His words came out just above a whisper, and she could hear the emotion laced within them.
She smiled and thought about the man she’d first come to meet a few years ago. He’d not held any such emotions upon their introduction, but in less than an evening, she’d pulled a genuine smile from his lips and even later a laugh. They’d shared many dinners before she’d been sent to Hanover, but their letters to one another had kept each other close and ever since her return to London, she’d sought him out for advice and words of encouragement. “You’re all I have in the world, Uncle Creed. We’re all one another has.”
“Yes,” he said quickly. Then a wide grin split his face. “And I’d do anything for you, my dear.”
“As would I.”
“Have you met your fiancé yet?” he asked, his eyes watchful.
“I have,” she said as plainly as she could. She wanted to tell Creed that the marquess didn’t approve of him but decided against it. Now was not the time. First, she’d plan a dinner and was certain that would set all to rights.
Creed did not give her the chance to keep that secret. “Does Lord Durham know of my connection to you?”
She took her hands from his and rested them on her lap. Nervousness made her talk quickly. “He does, but I didn’t tell him, I swear. He somehow knew and was angry with me. I’d never seen a man so furious before—”
“Did he hurt you?”