Free An Honest Deception by Alicia Quigley Page A

soothe
the man as well, for the hard expression left his face and he looked oddly
young and vulnerable.
    “She was very
beautiful and charming, wasn’t she?” he asked the dog, who whined in reply and
settled his chin on the marquess’ feet. Eynsford refilled his glass with brandy
and sat back, turning the glass in the candlelight, watching the flames glow in
the amber fluid. He sipped thoughtfully and the dog lay silently, looking up at
him. Suddenly the man put the glass down with a snap, startling Foxer, who sat
up and nosed under his elbow.
    “You are right, I
am a fool, and, unbelievably, a sentimental fool. The lovely Lady Morgan fills
my thoughts, and yet, how am I to pursue a lady who not only is not dazzled by
my title and fortune, but will not even meet me because of them?”
    The dog wagged its
tail and yipped encouragingly.
    “You encourage me
in my infatuation, Foxer?” said the marquess. “Perhaps you are right. Exencour
thinks highly of her, and any woman who would turn down an introduction to the
Marquess of Eynsford must have a remarkable character. I shall see what I can do.”
    Foxer eyed him
thoughtfully, and then, judging the excitement to be over, settled on the
hearthrug with a hearty sigh. The marquess gazed into the flames, a thoughtful
look on his face.

Chapter 11
    In less time than
might have been imagined, Letitia was settled in her house in Kensington. Isobel,
once she had given way, was determined that Letitia should be as comfortable as
possible, and a small army of tradesmen and servants descended upon the house,
measuring, cleaning, and sewing until all was in readiness. A few pieces of
Letitia’s own furniture had been brought from Morgan Park, some small pieces
had been purchased, and Isobel pressed other items on Letitia as loans.
    “When I sold my
house in Clarges Street after I married Francis, we had no need for so many
furnishings, and yet I could not bear to part with some of them,” she observed.
“You would be doing me as great a favor as I am doing you, for I am sure they
will come to harm stored away.”
    The end result was
gratifying. The house, while small by the standards of the haut ton , was
well-suited to a widow and her children. There was plenty of space for a
nursery and play room, while still allowing Lady Morgan a drawing room and a
morning room. There was a small dining room, should she wish to entertain once
she came out of mourning, and well-situated bedrooms. The house was gracious
and airy, the rooms well proportioned, the furnishings elegant, the street
quiet. Letitia felt that she finally had a home of her own.
    She had been fond
of Bainstall Court, but it was her parents’ house, and Morgan Park was an
ancestral estate, belonging to her husband, inherited by her son. For the first
time she felt able to decorate as she pleased, and though she could afford no
extravagances, the results were delightful. She soon settled into a quiet
routine, walking each day with Jamie and Emily in Kensington Gardens,
supervising her small staff, visiting the lending library, and entertaining the
few friends who came by to visit.
    Her life would
surely have seemed dull to Isobel, who was accustomed to managing her own
estates, conducting archaeological research, and attending parties each
evening, but Letitia found it perfect. Her disposition was naturally retiring,
and the years of her marriage had been full of strain; the simple routine of
running a small house to her own satisfaction appealed to her immensely and
restored her spirits.
    Isobel was her most
frequent visitor, and she found Letitia one day in the morning room, perusing a
letter with a perplexed look on her face.
    “Isobel,” she said,
“you will scarcely credit it, but I have received a letter from Bainstall.”
    “From your cousin?”
said Isobel. “I thought he washed his hands of you when you were so foolish as
to come to stay with me. Whatever does he want?”
    “I am not
completely sure, as he