Free Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] by The Scandalous Ward

exhaustion, she fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of storms, gazebos and Pax. When she woke to the bright sunlight, she felt a desolation for all she had lost.
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    The morning sunlight poured through the outside doors, framing the plump motherly figure standing in the foyer. "Why, Aunt Nell! How splendid to see you." Hurrying forward in greeting, Pax's face broke into a genuine welcoming grin.
    Winters, his face stoically in place, assisted in the removal of a violent-pink mantle with a wide collar of floppy white egret feathers, which bobbed and weaved in a macabre attempt at flight. In awe, Pax watched Winters, two footmen and Lady Titwiliver's own abigail Druscilla divest the little woman of pink gloves, a matching muff of white feathers, a box of chocolates, a painted fan and a hat reminiscent of Prinny's menagerie at feeding time. Finally, with a throaty chuckle of thanks, the white haired lady shrugged free of her perspiring assistants and toddled on tiny pink satin slippers into Pax's warm embrace.
    "Well, Aunt Nell, I can see you've descended on my household fully prepared for a lengthy visit," he said dryly, eyeing the mountain of luggage cluttering the marble hallway.
    "What an atrocious boy you are, nevvie. Nell, indeed! You know how I loathe that name. Ain't proper for a woman of my years and consequence," she argued as Pax shepherded her into the salon. Looking around in obvious disapproval, she plumped herself down in a cushiony satin chair. "Told you years ago you should have done this room over. It's just plain fusty, my boy. You've got to move along with the times."
    Recalling that Lady Titwiliver's own salon was done in an excruciating collection of artifacts from the Orient, Pax shuddered in relief as his eyes took in the graceful antiques, glowing with warm wood tones and soft restful colors. Not for his salon, zebra skins and Chinese porcelains. Quickly, he turned the subject.
    "You should have told me you were coming. Not that I'm not delighted, but we're very dull here. I would have thought London would have feted your return from abroad."
    "Well, that's as it should be. But there were matters to take care of here."
    Nell spoke briskly, not meeting Pax's eye. She fidgeted with the lay of gaily-printed muslin on her lap as her nephew raised an eyebrow in surprise. It was unlike the older woman to cavil at plainspoken language, but apparently the subject was difficult to broach. As Winters ushered in a footman bearing tea, Pax walked to the sideboard for a brandy. Peering over the rim of the snifter, his black eyes were warm with affection for the fussy little woman pouring tea.
    Lady Helen Titwiliver, or Aunt Nell as he much preferred, had stood as his mother on many occasions when he was growing up. His own mother had not been much interested in child raising, preferring instead the glamour of London and the seasonal influx of the ton . At sixty-eight, Nell was five feet of bustling energy with a penchant for foreign travel, the latest and usually most bizarre fashions and a string of male admirers who trooped after her with the devotion of geese for the goose herder. During his lifetime, the Earl Titwiliver, older than Nell by twenty years, had kept her penned up in a lovely old Tudor estate not far from Windhaven. Gratefully widowed at fifty, she had immediately moved to London and a never-ending round of entertainment. Glutting herself on the wonders of high society, she then packed up her entourage of hangers-on and traveled abroad, impervious to Napoleon's armies which she considered only a temporary inconvenience.
    "Well, nephew, I see that despite my prognostications, you have neither been hung for a highwayman nor come to an early death due to drink." Nell stared through her lorgnette at the young man leaning casually against the mantel. However, his relaxed pose not withstanding, there was a weary droop to his shoulders. "Look a bit worn, Pax. Too much late