“Thank you for a delicious meal. My compliments to the Cook.”
“You’re too kind, Matthew.”
The sun is going to set soon, and he was hoping that spending time with the family would ease his stress. It hasn’t. How many times does he have to say that he has no plan to take on business partners?
“Don’t answer tonight,” George says to Declan, “you never know when you will find yourself in need of more partners.”
“Perhaps you would like Reagan to play the piano for us,” Declan suggests, interrupting Lord Hubbard.
Reagan frowns and avoids looking at him. “Not tonight.”
“Reagan!” Lady Sheridan hisses, but Declan just laughs.
“That’s alright, another time.”
“Do you plan an instrument, Lord Sheridan?” Reagan asks, glancing at him.
“No, though I sometimes think that my tools have a musical quality.”
“In what way?” Lady Sheridan asks.
“The way they cut through the wood. It speaks to me in almost a musical way.”
“That’s absurd,” Reagan starts to say but Tessa glares at her. No one speaks for a minute as they try to understand what he’s saying.
“Perhaps Reagan would like to take a stroll around the garden,” his grandfather interrupts.
“It’s a little cold to walk in the gar…” Reagan snaps.
“Perfect!” Lady Sheridan laughs and practically drags Reagan to her feet.
Declan stands slowly and watches as Lady Sheridan drags her from the room, whispering in her ear and into the garden. He sighs and looks to the men.
“Forgive my daughter, she’s young,” George laughs awkwardly.
“Not a problem. Declan grab our coats. We’ll be on our way after our stroll,” his Grandfather suggests.
“Of course. I'll join you outside.” Declan watches him leave, and his heart sinks. Everything about this engagement feels wrong, but he is certain his grandfather won't care. He steps into the hallway to grab his coat and watches as a maid lifts it from the hook.
“Your coat, Sir,” she whispers and avoids looking at him. “Make sure Reagan wears her coat, please.” London grabs a brown coat and offers it to Declan after he buttons his. “It matches her eyes,” London snaps, unable to resist the prod. His hand touches hers, and she jumps back.
“Of course,” he watches her run up the stairs. “Brown?” he frowns when he realizes he doesn't even know what color his bride's eyes are.
London runs up the stairs and into her room and catches her breath. She sits down and changes from her clothes into her sleeping gown with her housecoat over top. London braids her hair and moves to her mattress with a sigh of relief. “Done.” Hopefully, he will take the note seriously, and her conscious will be appeased. She thinks about the rough quality of his hand when he took his coat from her.
Declan Sheridan is a man. Reagan prefers Edmund probably because she can push him around. Sheridan seems like the type of man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. It does beg the question as to why he’s marrying her? There is no doubt Reagan is lovely, but she doesn’t seem to be his type. London yawns and falls asleep thinking about him.
London awakes with a start when a noise sounds from the adjacent room. “Reagan?” she murmurs and leaps from her bed, running into check on her charge.
“Are you well?”
“London? I told you to take the day off?” she hisses.
“Your mother had different ideas,” London lights a lantern and turns to look at Reagan Her mouth falls open when she sees her. Reagan's hair is a mess, tussled by the wind. Her cheeks are flushed, and her clothes are wrinkled.
“What?” Reagan demands and rushes to the mirror. She giggles and nervously runs a hand over her hair. “I was just getting to know my fiancé better,” she suggests, and London stiffens, setting the lantern down.
“I see. Do you need my help?”
“No, Mouse. Scurry back to your hole,” she snaps.
London stomps to her room and shuts the door with a definitive click. Her heart aches at the thought of them together. Why? She knows better than to dream for herself.
Chapter 5
Reagan throws herself into the plans for the wedding. Particularly shopping for the dress. Lady Hubbard has a designer come to the house and custom make her gown. It’s a soft golden gown with a sheer lace overlay and long train.
The past two weeks have been exhausting. Trying to keep up with Reagan as she orders a trousseau for the honeymoon and packs. Not to mention, all of the late-night dates getting to know Declan. They've been on multiple nights out, and she's visited his home with one of the valet's as a chaperone. Apparently, love is fickle. Now, Reagan glows when she talks about getting married.
London listened and watched the stock market. Nothing else was said about Sheridan Furniture. It could be that Lord Hubbard decided not to go ahead with his plan, but something doesn't sit right with her. One afternoon after visiting her friend Dillon to drop off her personal items, she sent a telegram warning him, anonymously, of course.
The week before the wedding, London is once again in the office to air it out. She opens the windows, despite the cold and begins dusting when she hears Lord Sheridan outside the window.
“Do it tonight!” he hisses. “Sheridan will be busy. He’s out with Reagan every night. We have tickets to the opera. He’ll never know what hit him.”
“I take my pay upfront,” the deep voice says.
“Of course.” Paper rustles as the man counts his cash. “It’s all there. You must make it look like an accident.”
“I know how to do my job. The fire may take out the entire shop and adjoining warehouse. Are you okay with that?”
“No, Ryan! We discussed this. Just damage the
