“My engagement has ended.” He thought saying it quickly would cause them to hurt less, but he’d been wrong.
His heart ached so terribly he was surprised when he didn’t keel over.
His mother put down her writing pen and looked at him. “That’s not an option.”
“It has to be, since I’m not marrying her. I thought perhaps you’d like to choose another or perhaps give me a list. It doesn’t matter. I simply cannot marry her.”
“Her,” his mother said. “You mean, you can’t marry Lady Philomena.”
He tightened his fist as the way he’d nearly come undone at the sound of her name. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes.”
She placed her hands on the desk and stood. “Why not?”
“We’re ill-matched.” Though she makes my heart race and her smile is a balm to all ailments. “Choose another. In fact, I don’t care who you choose. Just have her meet me at the church.” He turned to leave.
“That’s not an option.”
He turned back to her and held her eyes. “It has to be.”
“Lady Philomena is my choice. I do not have another.”
He frowned and asked, “Why her?”
“The hotel,” she said plainly. “I want it.”
“For what? For your little society meetings?” he told her. “We don’t need it. It’s not as though I don’t already own a company that makes more than half the ton.” Atlantic Imports made them one of the wealthiest families in London. They didn’t need the hotel.
“You must marry Lady Philomena,” she said as though he’d not spoken.
“Why?”
“I already told you,” she said with finality.
Morgan narrowed his eyes and realized he should have asked his mother this question days ago. She was hiding something. He started toward her and watched as she stiffened her back at his approach.
He stopped less than a foot away and held her eyes. “Why?”
She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “You will marry her.”
“Or what?” he asked. “You’ll kill me?”
Her eyes widened and her face blanked again. She smiled softly. The look made his skin crawl more than any other enemy he’d ever faced.
There was no remorse in her eyes, only the glee of a sick woman. “Hiram,” she whispered. “He told you, didn’t he? The idiot scullery maid must have seen it and told him. I should have gotten rid of her earlier, but no matter. You’ve no evidence. No one does.” She tilted her head, holding his eyes. “When did he tell you this? While you were in France? I know you were not there. You used your own ships to confuse me, but it doesn’t matter. He’s dead to me now. You’re my heir, and you’ll marry Philomena.”
“You don’t even care that you killed your own child?”
“He was crippled,” she told him. “The midwife said he’d walk with a limp when he grew older. I wouldn’t allow such a son to take the title.”
Morgan took a step back as his stomach rolled. His mother had killed her firstborn son, and Morgan hadn’t even known he’d had another brother beside Hiram. She hadn’t even given the boy a name, Hiram had told him. The child’s foot had come out wrong and with her own bare hands, his mother had seen to his end. “I could leave,” he told her finally. “I could leave and then you’d have no heir at all and no one to take the Durham name. You’d be at the mercy of whatever cousin is next in line.” Saying it aloud made Morgan like the plan more and more, but leaving would mean giving up everything and everyone.
And if the government allowed it, perhaps he would retire early and take Philomena with him, take her someplace where Creed could never touch them. He could start over just as Hiram had. Or even better, simply go work for his brother.
He could give up everything and be sure that it was worth it if he could have Philomena.
She was all he wanted.
His mother shot her hand out and cupped his lower jaw before he was aware of it, and he lifted his hand to counterattack but instead stilled. His mother would not kill him. He could see it in her eyes. She was desperate. His words had gotten to her. He was all she had.
“I want that hotel,” she told him, her grip firm.
“Why?” he asked.
She pressed her lips together and said, “Because I don’t want Lord Housley to have it.”
Morgan frowned. “You mean James Carey? The previous Lord Housley’s heir?”
She nodded slowly. “I want the hotel. I want to take it from him, and I want him to know it was me who did it.” She was smiling again.
She was pure venom, and just so he could wipe that smile off her face, he said, “But Carey is not its owner and neither does it belong to Lady Philomena.”
His mother did not give him the reaction he wanted. Instead, she kept smiling and said, “Oh, but Carey is the rightful owner. I spoke to the former Lord Housley’s solicitor myself.”
Morgan frowned. “You mean, you spoke to Mr. Deacon?” The solicitor’s files had said nothing about the hotel passing onto the new Lord Housley. If it did, Morgan and the rest of the O.S.S. would know. Searching the lawyer’s files had led them to the truth of Creed being the hotel’s owner.
His mother shook her head and tapped his cheek as though he were an ignorant child before extracting her hand. “Mr. Deacon was never Lord Housley’s solicitor.”
Morgan thought her taps might as well had been a slap in the face. “What do you mean, Mr. Deacon is not the solicitor? He said he was.”
“Creed ran the real one off,” she told him before taking her seat. “Housley’s true solicitor, Mr. Fenner, currently resides in the dowager house. After meeting the delightful Lady Philomena at one of her dinners, I decided to look into the matter. I found him hiding in the West End over a year ago. It took me weeks to find him. He told me all about how he escaped Creed, how the man had put another lawyer in his place. I didn’t care about that. What I did care about was that the true will gave the property to Lord Housley until Philomena gave birth to a son. I want to ruin Carey, so I had Fenner’s death faked and moved him to a place I knew Creed would never think to look. This way, Creed keeps the hotel running in top shape and Lord Housley isn’t able to drain it for all it’s worth until you and Philomena have a son.”
Morgan had always wondered what his mother did in her own office. Now he knew, and it was frightening to know his skills of manipulation and spying had most likely come from her. “Fenner is at the dowager house?”
She nodded. “And he holds papers that say Lady Philomena’s son is the true heir to the hotel.”
Incredible.
“You know, there are also good people who could have used the knowledge of Mr. Fenner’s existence.”
“Why do you think I just told you?” And her stare seemed to communicate that she knew much more than she was saying. As though perhaps she knew he was a spy for the government. Did she?
A silence spread between them, neither saying a word.
Then Morgan said, “Who’s to say that Creed wouldn’t have come after you?”