Tall Dark and Wicked: The Wickeds Book 5 Read online

  “I would have thought you’d spend your time writing to Simon. You’ve not sent him one note.”

  He’s not written me either. “By the time I was well enough to do so, we were ready to leave, so I saw no reason. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “I sincerely hope so. I know after our long coach ride and illness, you probably needed the fresh air and a walk. But a young, unwed girl should not be wandering about unchaperoned. What if you’d been accosted?”

  “Who would accost me on the grounds of Somerton?” Petra gave a weak laugh. Except for Morwick. Had her mother always been so overbearing? She thought back to the way Mother had tried to force Rowan to rid himself of his wife and found the answer. She wondered why Father tolerated Mother’s behavior and knew it was because of James, her much adored older brother. Mother hadn’t ever recovered from his death. No wonder she’d formed a bond of sorts with Lady Cupps-Foster. Both women were well-versed in grief.

  Understanding Mother’s behavior did little to stop Petra’s irritation at being trotted about like a prize pig. Or a worm.

  And Simon is a large trout my mother wishes to catch.

  Brushbriar appeared over the rise of the hill surrounded by gardens, filling Petra with dread. Nerves. There was no spoiled stew now to blame for her stomach’s distress. She shrank back from the sight of Simon’s estate, trying to tamp down her rising alarm.

  “Oh, Petra, how lovely.” Mother clasped her hands in awe. “It’s almost a shame you shall spend most of your time in London. Thankfully, of course. I know some appreciate the isolation but I’m certain you would not. There’s barely any society to speak of. No one to pay calls upon. You are made to grace a table or dance at a ball.”

  Once again, Mother was incorrect. The moors and Mam Tor called to Petra in a way the ballrooms of London never had.

  And Morwick. Let’s not forget him.

  Simon’s home looked nothing like the heap of stone that was Somerton. The design of the manor house was elegant and modern. Two wings jutted out from either side of the gray brick structure, to curve around the main entrance. Graceful flowering vines, unlike the wild mass of greenery covering Somerton, had been coaxed up the stone columns at the front to spill color against the windows. The drive was wide and circular, the gravel perfectly raked and the grounds manicured to perfection. A bevy of liveried footmen stood at attention prepared to assist Petra and her mother. The occupants of Brushbriar stood just outside the massive, black door graced with a golden knocker.

  Simon stood tall, confident and impeccably dressed. Petra had been attracted to Simon’s strong sense of decency when they’d first met, his strong scruples and principled manner. She glanced out the window at his ramrod posture and perfectly tailored clothes. His manner now struck her as more rigid than anything.

  He was flanked by two women.

  The voluptuous brunette on his left was certainly his sister Katherine, the widowed Lady Whitfield. Petra had never met Katherine, only seen her from across ballrooms or at the opera. Simon’s courtship of Petra had begun shortly after the death of Lord Whitfield and his sister had already left for Brushbriar. Lady Whitfield was known in London for her beauty, her fashion, and her lovers, with whom she was not particularly discreet, something Petra knew did not sit well with Simon. Conscious of his sterling reputation in Parliament and with his own stiff sense of propriety, Katherine was probably lucky Simon hadn’t shipped her off to a convent.

  Whitfield’s heir had certainly wanted Katherine gone from London, as he’d forcibly removed her from the Whitfield townhouse. She’d not provided an heir nor had Whitfield provided for her, according to his nephew who had inherited. Dressed in a dark pewter dress, even though Whitfield had only been dead six months, Katherine looked nothing like a grieving widow.

  An older, less voluptuous version of Katherine stood on Simon’s left, her hand placed firmly on the arm of his coat. Dressed in a stylish day dress of evergreen, Lady Pendleton looked as fashionable as any grande dame of the ton. She could have been preparing to pay calls in London rather than welcoming guests to her country home. Slender to the point of emaciation, Simon’s mother surveyed Petra with the smile one usually reserves when served day old scones at tea. Her fingers absently plucked at the sleeve of Simon’s coat

  Simon had spoken of his mother fondly and with much affection. His description had been of a loving, generous woman who was quick to laugh and enjoyed a brandy before dinner. The woman regarding Petra and her mother with forced welcome didn’t seem to have much in common with Simon’s description. Brittle, was the first word that came to Petra’s mind.

  Mother noticed Lady Pendleton’s coldness, taking Petra’s hand firmly and squeezing her fingers. “Do not worry, dearest. You will dazzle her. You are the daughter of the Earl of Marsh and the perfect match for her son. She is only being territorial. Once she comes to know you better, she will adore you as Simon does.”

  Petra nodded and squeezed her mother’s hand back. She was beginning to detest the word perfect. Nothing about marrying Simon or Brushbriar was perfect. After the chaos of Somerton, Brushbriar, at first glance, appeared polished and mannered. It should have brought Petra comfort, but had quite the opposite effect.

  “I’ll be fine, Mother,” she said quietly.

  “We will handle Lady Pendleton together, dearest.” Mother straightened her plump shoulders as if preparing for battle.

  Mother was many things, Petra mused. But she would never allow any disparagement of her children for any reason. Only she was allotted such a privilege.

  The Marsh coach rolled to a stop, wheels crackling against the gravel of the drive. A brace of footmen sprang into action, hurrying forward to assist Jenkins and the Marsh grooms who had ridden with them.

  Simon released his mother’s hand with a pat and came forward to greet the Marsh coach with a smile on his face. A rush of relief filled Petra. She’d been concerned Simon may have had time to regret his decision to invite them all the way to Brushbriar.

  Simon was not unappealing. Indeed, Lord Pendleton, ambitious politician, was a very attractive man. His hair shone a rich chestnut in the morning sun, perfectly framing his refined, patrician features. The coat of nut brown was expensive and expertly tailored to fit his lean, energetic form. He didn’t have Morwick’s height, nor his build; instead Simon was lean and aristocratic, looking as if he’d just stepped out of his gentleman’s club.

  Lord Pendleton had been one of the Season’s most eligible bachelors and was highly sought after. He’d been in the sights of several young ladies before meeting Petra at the charity luncheon she’d attended. Simon was well-spoken and unfailingly polite. After avoiding Lord Dunning’s groping hands for much of the Season, Simon’s manner toward Petra had been a welcome relief. Mother hadn’t given Dunning a second thought once Simon began to direct his attention to her daughter. At the time, Petra enjoyed the envy of nearly every woman in London for snatching up such a catch as Viscount Pendleton.

  As she returned his smile of greeting, Petra considered Mother could be right. Maybe with a bit more effort on her part, she and Simon might find passion between them.

  Morwick flashed before her eyes. She could still feel his mouth on hers. The way the heat flew up her body at the merest touch.

  Petra’s smile faltered. Why didn’t she have that with Simon? The man everyone wished her to marry? Simon was a gentleman, a shining example of everything Morwick wasn’t.

  Yet he never wrote nor came from Brushbriar to check on you.

  She had a difficult time imagining Simon holding her if she’d made the mistake of puking on his boots. But Morwick had.

  “Lady Petra.” Simon helped her from the coach. “It is my great pleasure to finally welcome you to Brushbriar.” His lips brushed her knuckles.

  “My lord.” Petra curtsied in a fluid motion. “We are delighted to accept your hospitality.”

  “Lady Marsh.” Simon greeted her mother. “Welcome to Brushbriar.” He bo
wed.

  Mother inclined her head, looking expectantly toward Lady Pendleton and Katherine as she waited for Simon to lead them over.

  It was all perfectly polite. Well-mannered. Petra was certain she’d have no trouble at all finding the library as Brushbriar was bound to be as well-ordered as Simon.

  Stop it, Petra.

  “Lady Marsh, Lady Petra, may I present my mother, Lady Pendleton, and my sister, Lady Whitfield.”

  Again Petra dipped, this time a bit lower, her back ramrod straight, her eyes down. As she straightened, she looked Lady Pendleton in the eye, something Petra wouldn’t have done even a few months ago, but Petra wasn’t feeling demure at the moment. She’d spent enough of her life being intimidated. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Pendleton, Lady Whitfield.”

  Mother made a small sound of displeasure at Petra’s show of spirit, but mercifully restrained from offering comment. “Lady Pendleton, I am thrilled to finally make your acquaintance. Brushbriar is stunning. Lady Whitfield, a pleasure to see you again.”

  Petra lifted an eyebrow at her mother’s words. She’d no idea Mother was acquainted with the notorious Lady Whitfield.

  Lady Pendleton inclined her head, looking down the length of her aristocratic nose. “The pleasure is ours, Lady Marsh. I was distressed to learn of your difficulties. I fear you are not the first guest of ours whose coach was not up to the rigors of the journey. I understand the Earl of Morwick offered his assistance and hospitality.”

  A pretty speech, except for the evident distaste at the mention of Morwick.

  “Indeed, we were incredibly fortunate to have him come upon us,” Mother stated. “The axle of our coach snapped, and our driver took a wrong turn, sending us much too far out of our way. Had he not come upon us, we may have slept in the road until help came.”

  Lady Pendleton’s eyebrows fluttered at Mother’s rather dramatic recitation of their rescue. “And I understand you also experienced a stomach ailment?”

  “Lady Cupps-Foster was kind enough to offer us shelter until we were well enough to travel. Lord Morwick made sure to summon a physician and we continued our journey as soon as we were well again.”

  “How terribly kind of Lord Morwick. He has our thanks, doesn’t he, Simon?” Tiny teeth shone between her thin lips as she spoke. Her regal head tilted in her son’s direction as she addressed him.

  “Terribly kind,” Simon said, ice dripping from his words.

  Petra had been mistaken. The animosity between Simon and Morwick seemed more than a case of mere dislike, if Simon’s manner were any indication. She’d never seen such a look of utter contempt on his face before. He made no effort to comment further.

  Is that why he hadn’t sent word or visited her at Somerton?

  Lady Pendleton reached out to take Mother’s arm. “Why, you have experienced the trials of Job, have you not? You poor thing. I’m sure you are exhausted by your travails.”

  Mother’s cheeks pinked. “You’ve no idea, my lady.” She allowed herself to be led into the house by Lady Pendleton.

  Lady Pendleton clucked sympathetically. “You’ll never wish to venture so far from London again, I fear.”

  “Perish the thought,” Mother replied. “However, I shall not be recommending the Duck & Crow to anyone traveling in this direction. A terrible place, but the it was the only remotely reputable inn on the main road.”

  “Ah yes, spoiled stew.” Katherine’s voice was silky. “Lamb, was it?” She waved Petra through the massive oak door. “After you, Lady Petra.”

  “Yes,” Petra murmured, assuming Morwick must have said as much in his note to Brushbriar.

  Simon fell into step beside Petra as their mothers chattered away. “I’m so relieved you’re feeling better. Imagine, coming all this way only to have spoiled stew. I plan on speaking to the proprietor of the Duck and Crow on your behalf. I’ll see such a thing doesn’t happen again. At the very least he’ll mind his kitchen better.”

  “That’s not necessary, my lord,” Petra said, wondering at his willingness to confront the innkeeper on her behalf when his feelings evidently didn’t extend to at least sending her a note while at the home of a man he didn’t care for.

  Petra’s eyes widened at the entryway of Brushbriar, somewhat taken aback by the extravagant display. Simon hadn’t struck her in London as a gentleman who flaunted his wealth and influence but looking around, Petra thought perhaps she’d been mistaken about that facet of his personality as well.

  The floor beneath her feet was crafted of expensive marble of a type usually reserved for ballrooms, not a foyer. The stairs stretching up to the second floor were wide, curving up to an enormous landing graced with a small table laden with a profusion of colorful blooms. But it was the balustrade Petra could not look away from. The spindles had all been individually carved in an array of leaves and acorns. Blue John decorated the entire balustrade. The mineral took the form of leaves, flowers and clusters of berries. A circular table sat at the base of the stairs holding an immense, intricately sculpted horse made entirely of Blue John. The amount of the mineral needed to create such a thing must have cost a small fortune. If anyone had doubted the immense wealth of Viscount Pendleton, that wealth was showcased for all to see.

  What an incredibly vulgar display.

  Petra looked at her mother whose eyes had widened at the decoration of the foyer.

  “Your rooms are prepared and waiting for you. I know the ride from Somerton wasn’t terribly long, but given all you’ve been through, I thought you may like to refresh yourselves or have a lie down before tea.” Lady Pendleton bestowed her thin-lipped smile on them.

  “My servants—” Lady Marsh started, looking upward at the immense staircase.

  “I instructed our housekeeper, Mrs. Leonard, to show them to your chambers so they can begin unpacking. Luckily, only a small trunk was packed for your unexpected stay at Somerton, so most of your things have already been aired out and await your pleasure. Your rooms face the moors and I’m sure you’ll find them much more comfortable than those at Somerton.” Lady Pendleton gave a delicate shiver of her boney shoulders. “Renovation is quite costly.”

  Mother’s smile froze into place on her plump lips at her host’s insinuation that the stay at Somerton had been uncomfortable. “Lady Cupps-Foster was very kind and Somerton very pleasant. I found the estate to be lovely.”

  Petra wasn’t surprised at Mother’s defense. She could be surprisingly loyal to those who captured her affection, as Lady Cupps-Foster apparently had.

  Lady Pendleton’s eyes grew a bit dark and much less welcoming at being rebuked by her guest, no matter how politely. “Yes, Marissa is a lovely hostess,” she conceded.

  “How odd, Lady Petra, we’ve not been introduced before today,” Katherine interjected, clearly attempting to diffuse the sudden tension between her mother and Petra’s. “I’m sure we’ve seen each other across a ballroom dozens of times, not knowing one day we would become family.”

  Petra wanted to politely correct Katherine’s assumption that Petra and Simon would marry but didn’t, not with Mother standing next to her. “I’m sure you’re correct.”

  “You left London shortly after Lady Petra and I met at a charitable event.” Simon reminded her. “There wasn’t the opportunity.”

  Katherine’s eyes were deep, black pools. “Of course, with the death of my beloved husband I immediately retired from society.”

  “My condolences on your loss,” Petra murmured noting that the pewter dress Katherine wore was trimmed with the finest Brussels lace and clung to Katherine’s numerous curves. It was hardly the type of dress a grieving widow would typically choose to wear. The neckline in particular offered an expansive view of the tops of Katherine’s breasts.

  Petra looked down at her own small bosom. Barely a valley between them could be formed. Next to Katherine, Petra thought her figure to be rather childish.

  “I miss him dreadfully.” Katherine said, blinking as if she woul
d burst into tears.

  “How terrible for you.” Petra suppressed a snort of disbelief. Katherine and her affairs were often the talk of the Season; even young, virginal ladies of Petra’s ilk had heard the rumors. Nonetheless, Petra kept her features schooled into the serene mask she’d worn for so long.

  “I miss London. Castleton, though nearby, doesn’t offer much excitement. Thankfully, we are to have a diversion now that you and your mother have arrived.” The lips of her full mouth pulled back into an approximation of her mother’s condescending smile.

  A woman appeared silently from the depths of the shadowed hallway. As broad as she was tall, her form was clothed in a severe dress of indigo, so dark Petra mistook the color for black. Silver hair had been twisted back from her forehead and formed into a tight braid wound around the top of her head like a small crown. Her eyes, though not friendly, sparkled with intelligence. A large circle of keys jangled from the belt at her waist.

  “Ah, Mrs. Leonard.” Lady Pendleton waved the woman closer. “Lady Marsh, this is our housekeeper, Mrs. Leonard. She’ll see you up to your rooms and ensure you have everything you require.”

  “What type of diversion?” Petra was curious. She looked to Simon who had remained mostly silent since greeting them outside, and who appeared to be slowly drifting away from the group of women as if he couldn’t wait to make his escape. As she watched, he pulled out a pocket watch, consulted the time and frowned, declining to look up at her.

  Katherine clapped her hands, eyes glittering like bits of jet. “A house party.”

  “A house party?” Lady Marsh stammered in surprise, discomfort clear as her eyes shot to Simon and then his mother. “I didn’t realize—”

  “Nothing like what you are used to in London, of course.” Katherine’s excitement was evident. “A small gathering of what little society can be found around Castleton. We’ll have dancing and other diversions. I believe I’ve even found a fortune teller from Buxton to entertain us. It’s been great fun to plan and has helped take my mind off of poor Lord Whitfield.”