The Rake's End

The Rake”s End

Copyright 2021 Becky Lunt
Published by Becky Lunt at Smashwords

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The main characters in this ebook are fictitious.
Any resemblance to any person either alive or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

         Matilda Morgan answered the unexpected summons with a growing sense of foreboding. Important men had been calling for the past four weeks to speak privately with her guardian and after each visit, the man that had been entrusted to care for her had appeared to change. And not for the better!
He still bellowed like a butcher, threw small projectiles found close to hand when in a mood and spent an inordinate amount of time frightening her for no reason but after her eighteenth birthday last month, he’d also added drinking to excess, gambling with the local squires and belting the poor house staff to his list of despicable qualities.
The parlour door was open and Tilly could hear the impatient pacing on the other side. The squeak of leather shoes punctuated each step her guardian took. Delay would not help either of them so she knocked briefly upon the wooden frame before entering.
“Mr Peterson?” She paused beside the high-backed armchair she preferred to sit upon when alone and looked squarely at the overweight man before her. One could never have confused Grenville Peterson as being a gentleman but since she’d been in his care, he had at least had the funds to dress as one. “You wished to speak with me?”
“I did Matilda, most urgently so I thank you for your prompt response.” He spoke politely, as though she’d really had a choice and the sense of foreboding increased. Her mother’s only living relative had never been this polite to her, even when his friends had come calling.
“How may I be of service sir?” Thankfully her voice did not wavier with the unease she was feeling as she despised the idea that this man knew she feared him.
“I do not need your assistance my dear, I have been reminded … and rightly so … of a condition within your father’s will.” Peterson made a show of acknowledging the other occupant of the comfortably furnished room. Tilly had not realised her guardian’s latest visitor was still there. The second man, smartly dressed in a dark grey coat that determined him a professional man, snapped the folds of a leather-bound folder together. The noise echoed about the parlour. She was very familiar with this man as the lawyer was her father’s friend for many years and his smile was a welcome one.
“I am sorry Mr Deakin, I was not aware of the particulars to my father’s will. What condition?” Her eyes went from one to the other waiting for an answer.
“Upon your eighteenth birthday, funds were released from the trust to begin husband-hunting.” Peterson responded, still polite but his tone had changed, as though the need to be polite was grating upon his nerves and he was struggling to hide his discontent. “I’ve tasked Deakin here, to rent us a suitable residence in London for your come-out season. The extra funds will be available at that time.”
The prospect of escaping this life did nothing to appease the foreboding for she knew her qualities well and none of them was likely to lead to a wanted match, but she had a part to play while company was present.
“You wish us to go to London?” Tilly’s palm lifted subconsciously to her hair.
“Yes, we will leave as soon as a place can be contracted.”
“But … London is so far away sir.”
“Indeed it is,” Peterson responded, “but as you’ve not attracted a suitor hereabouts, London society is your only chance now.”
She needed no reminders of how the local men found her looks and personality sadly lacking in a wife. Her hair colour was often compared to the fiery pits of hell with the strands a vibrant red flame and many were convinced her temperament was from Satin himself because of the ‘Devils Hair’ but nothing could be further from the truth … if one could be convinced to find out.
“What would happen if I am not lucky enough to find a husband?”
“If you do not find one, I have been instructed to do so on your behalf,” Peterson stated. That was most likely the cause of her trepidation as her guardian had never acted well on her behalf.
“Were there any other conditions of my father’s will?”
“Not that you need to know of Matilda, now run along and see to the beginning of your packing. It would be best to take all your personal belongings with us for it is unlikely you will return here. Let us men take care of everything else.”
Recognising that nothing of import would be discussed in her presence, Tilly dipped a quick curtsey before quitting the room. She’d developed a certain sense of peace and tranquillity here in Cornwall, after arriving from the Caribbean some three years ago. Her parents’ death had been a great blow but being forced into the guardianship of a stranger that hated her had been a greater one. Peterson had been nominated as he was the last of her mother’s kin but she could never recall a moment her mother or father mentioned him. From the time of her safe delivery into Peterson’s custody, Matilda Morgan had known her chances of a happy life had disappeared. The local squires had sent their sons to assess her as potential suitors but when they viewed her flame hair, freckled face and larger body shape, she was left with little doubt anyone would take her to wife. At some point, she’d accepted that she’d never have what her parents had had and was in some measure grateful for it. In her limited experience, those that loved never lived long enough to relish in it.
Both her parents had died before reaching forty with only fifteen or sixteen years together, in Tilly’s mind that was not nearly long enough to see and do all this world had to offer. She had accepted that spinsterhood was her fate and was quietly biding her time until reaching her majority where she would have gained complete control over the trust left to her. Sadly now, that may not be an option if she or Peterson would find a husband so quickly.
She made her way to her bedroom where Tilly made a quick assessment of which of her belongings she would take. There was very little left of her parents’ items except for the few titbits of jewellery. The furniture had been left in the West Indies villa for her father’s business partner and his pretty wife but the jewellery and her father’s collection of books had travelled across the ocean with her. For this journey though, only the jewellery would accompany her. She may not return to Welby Hall but the books could be forwarded to wherever her new home would be. Upon searching the gowns hanging within her wardrobe, there was little that would be suitable for London society but if funds were being released then the cost of a new wardrobe would hardly be reflected upon. In the end, the instructions given to the maid were very quick and Tilly left her to them.


“Oh, what a vision!” The unexpected voice had James turning instantly, his cheeks reddened with embarrassment. The little babe in his arms gurgled happily despite the interruption. “The dissolute rakehell James Creighton showing signs of cluckiness.” Lizbeth Morrison, Countess of Thornton, laughed. His sister’s untimely arrival ended the moment of pure bliss he’d spend with his little niece. His nephew Percy was still sound asleep but little Charlotte had been fretting as he’d walked past the nursery and he simply could not resist the call to cuddle the bundle.
“No one would believe you, LizzyB.”
“Perhaps not, but it would still make an interesting story for all those hopeful mammas out there.”
“You would never be so cruel would you?”
Again, his sister laughed. “No, you know me too well. Though it makes me happy to see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“All doe-eyed James.” She danced in, her blue silk evening gown swishing about her legs. After her own adventures recently, it was good to have her safely installed under the family roof again. The new Countess could have chosen to stay with her husband’s family in Mayfair but for this week at least, she’d returned home. “Oh my little princess, what has upset you tonight?”
“She was not upset Lizzy, just fretting a little and I did not want her to wake Percy since he is not well.”
“Thank you for that,” the little bundle passed from one set of arms to the other. “Papa wished to let you know it is time to go.”
“I would like to know how he got suckered into accepting this engagement,” James grumbled. “The Gibson’s are not a part of our social circle.”
“What is the matter, James?” Lizzy asked, laying Charlotte back into her crib. “You are not normally such a snob; not so discriminating.”
“Oh, I do not know, I guess I am just bored.” The pair walked into the plush carpeted hallway. “Pay me no mind, a good card game will have me set to rights.” James flashed his famous smile hoping he could hide his deep melancholy from Lizbeth. As the new countess under perhaps scandalous circumstances, she had her own problems to worry about.
“I have no doubt you will find what you are looking for James.” She responded, the gentle squeeze of her hand upon his arm told him she’d not been fooled.
At the bottom of the stairway, they joined the rest of their family, already waiting with hats and gloves in place. All were immaculately dressed though his elder brother Gavin still showed signs of his heartache in the worry lines that now graced his face. No one would have the tastelessness to say anything openly though, as Alice had been murdered just over a year ago. Technically, Gavin could have cried off with still being in mourning but whatever the Gibson’s held over their father had been enough for Gavin to comply too.
“I know you all think me addled,” William spoke before the front doors opened, “but there is much I owe Brian Gibson and this show of support is all he has asked in return.”
“You have asked so little of us yourself papa, we are happy to do this with you.” Lizbeth answered gently, the maid helped her into her expensive fur coat, “I am just sorry Andrew and Charlie could not be here also.”
“Yes, it is a shame they had to attend the regimental awards,” William laughed, “being awarded the Prince’s medal of bravery is an everyday occurrence, why would one willingly sit through such guff when the alternative is a game of cards at the Gibsons.”
The small close-knit family chuckled at the irony. “Now in all seriousness, I do thank you for this.”
William’s eyes darkened with the heavy sigh he expelled. Perhaps, James reflected, he’d have to dig into this unusual relationship a little further. The family must be protected at all costs.
James accepted his hat and gloves and the party of four quit the prestigious townhouse to enter the waiting carriage. The horses were given the command to move as they’d settled back against the comfortable, well-padded squabs.
“Is it likely we will know others in attendance papa?” He asked casually, his gloved fingers scratched the skin behind his ear. The length of hair had become a nuisance of late with the warming weather.
“I am not privy to the list of invitees but it would be natural that Gibson has others of our acquaintance indebted to him.”
“That sounds rather ominous,” Lizbeth said, any other woman of her breeding would very likely be in hysterics by now whereas Lizbeth was nothing like it. He admired his little sister so much.
The carriage ride was short and full of merry conversation despite the misgivings of their invitation. They arrived at the small but stylish home of Brian Gibson and his charming new wife Elsie. The few hired footmen made entrance easy, lighting the carpeted path from the road to the door. Though the Gibson’s were not of the first class, from one glance James could tell they’d spared no expense in hosting this evening. The host and hostess greeted them all as though long-time friends.
“William, I am happy to see you and your young brood.”
“As I am happy we are here Brian.” The pair shook hands, “you remember my eldest Gavin of course, and then James.”
Hands shook again.
“And this is my daughter Lizbeth lately married to the Earl of Thornton, Charles Morrison.” William completed the introductions.
“Yes, and recently a happy mother I hear. I offer my congratulations my lady.” The older man returned, “this is my wife Elise and we hope to be blessed with the same good fortune in the near future.”
“Very happy to make your acquaintance Mrs Gibson,” Lizbeth offered her slender hand to the cheerful blonde standing beside Gibson. Her ringlets danced around her nicely shaped shoulders. James recognised the pretty face from last season’s diamonds. This marriage was certainly not as advantageous as the chit’s family had hoped for.
He’d attempted a light flirtation himself … until the “M” word had been bandied about.
Then, James had run the other way and found another girl to whisper sweet romantic words to. He followed the others into a room set out with green-clothed tables. He quickly snatched a glass of wine from a passing waiter and then settled in for a rather dull evening.


Tilly followed Peterson into the brightly lit house. It was her first official engagement for the season after her new wardrobe had been assembled. The fashionable Madame had defied her guardian’s repeated demands for something showy; noticeable; unsuited for a young debutante to produce this exquisitely designed plain gown and many others like it. Her hands nervously straightened the hanging folds of material at her waistline.
“Welcome Peterson, may I introduce my wife Elsie.” Peterson was greeted heartily by an elderly stranger though clearly, the men knew each other as Peterson bowed forward and his hand thumped his chest theatrically above his heart.
“Madam, my ward and I are extremely grateful for your invitation.” The hand left his chest and waved briefly in Tilly’s direction. She did note that he’d not actually given her name and felt the insult keenly in such company. Their hostess offered a tentative smile.
“It was our pleasure to include you both in our humble little party sir, it is our very first as a married couple.” Mrs Gibson stated, her soft words carried the depth of her nerves for the success of this one night.
Tilly studied the unlikely couple as casually as she dared, the man was old enough to be the girl’s father … if not grandfather. Mr Gibson was heavy set while his wife was petite and fragile … the very image of what she imagined as the perfect woman. Was this match what the girl had always dreamed of or something less … romantic?
She was propelled into the main room set for various card games by her guardian’s hand in the small of her back, the touch sent shivers down her spine as it was too familiar … too intimate.
“It’s my intention you remain by my side Matilda, I’ll not have you making a nuisance of yourself or embarrassing me.”
Tilly glanced about the room, it was medium in size, not nearly as large as the drawing-room of their rented townhouse but with all the tables spaced about it seemed even smaller. There was not much room to freely move about even if one had a mind too. Another point of notice was currently the room contained mostly elder occupants of which she’d have nothing in common with should she have wished to mingle.
It was an easy demand to accept. “As you wish sir.”
It was a strange event for her to be making her come out but Tilly followed Peterson to one of the tables that had expected a final participant and then she turned her mind off. Peterson had held many card nights at home since more of her trust had been released and all she needed on these nights was to keep the decanters full so it had been easy for her to begin to imagine herself elsewhere. That was easy to do for Tilly’s imagination was the only quality of herself she valued.


James was struggling to hold the boredom at bay. Hand after hand, table after table, the night dragged on amongst the middling class company. The pots were small, typical of polite but not particularly flushed society but his father had asked this one commitment of him so James plastered the polite smile on his face and studied the new hand. He owed his father another hour of this tedium and then he’d take his leave. There would be more fun to have at one of his clubs. But then again, he thought, a little smile lifting his cheeks beyond the one he offered his opponents, he may stay a little longer. The room suddenly got more interesting as the little dove flittered in behind a stranger. The gent sat heavily on a chair and proceeded to ignore her and she stood silently at his shoulder, her eyes drawn to a place far, far away. If they were married or engaged, there was no sign of it upon finger so James guessed she was his daughter. Anything else was abhorrent to him for some reason.
Though, little dove did not seem to describe her overly well.
She was not a diamond of the highest class but his gaze would not be turned. The soft rose gown hugged her curves closely and his arms suddenly ached to do so themselves. And oh, those curves, larger than the normal debutant, were so inviting. James lowered his eyes momentarily to his cards, not an overly strong hand so he added a few coins to the small pile in the middle before searching again for his distraction.
There she was, right where she’d been before, her face relaxed as she gazed into nothingness.
What was she thinking?
What caused that lovely little smile and glow in her hazel eyes?
It certainly wasn’t enjoyment at watching the goings-on around her.
“Hah!” The sudden bark returned his wandering mind to the game. The cards had not helped him this time and the gentleman across the table won the pot.
“Well played Gardner, far too skilled for me this evening.” James threw his cards down and excused himself. He needed a stiff drink so he made his way to where an array of crystal decanters sat on a buffet. Helping himself to a generous measure, he noticed his dove and her companion were missing.
Why was he disappointed?
James had no idea why this feeling of loss was so strong, but the three fingers of scotch wasn’t enough to quell it. His brother joined him, Gavin’s hair mused from the repeated running of fingers through it.
“The company’s as low as my game this eve,” Gavin greeted,” how’s your luck holding up?”
“Not so bad until the last.”
“I saw, you seemed distracted.”
“I was,” James admitted with a casual shrug of his broad shoulders. “Do you know the fellow that had his companion standing at his shoulder?”
“The plump one?”
“Yes,” James glanced about again but they were still missing from the room.
“His name is Peterson or some such. Gibson gave the introduction but I’d not paid that much attention since we are hardly likely to cross paths in our normal circle. The chit is his ward on her come out season but I do not recall he said her name.”
James listened to the brief description, the pair were clearly not of his class for the gent was a stranger and his jacket of good but not quality cloth. “Trade?”
“I do not think so but these days one can never be certain,” Gavin replied before walking away.
His curiosity had not been appeased so James began to wander aimlessly between rooms in the hope of finding an introduction. Several minutes later, he happened upon them in the hallway leading from the withdrawing rooms. Their exchange of words was not a pleasant conversation.

Chapter Two

         “You’ve already taken the coins I had Mr Peterson.” Tilly argued, “I didn’t have that many to begin with.”
“You must have something in that damn bag of yours!” Peterson snatched the small reticule from her grasp and began to riffle through the few contents. His disappointment was tangible as the purse was discarded to the ground. “Then give me your baubles.”
“My pearls?” Her hand raised protectively to the strand circling her neck. “My mother’s pearls … No!”
“Don’t be sentimental Matilda, I must have an ante in the next game. It’s all about getting you entrance to the right society.”
“No matter what you do Mr Peterson or what I must sacrifice, no one will want to marry me so I would prefer to keep my jewellery.”
“Nonsense!” He snapped, his hand reached out and ripped the dangling peal drop from her ear. “You may not find a husband but I certainly will even if I have to marry you myself now hand them over or I’ll rip the rest off you too.”
Tilly was left with little choice but to comply, mentally saying goodbye to her mother’s trinkets. He’d lost his purse and her few coins already; his game was not good enough to win the pearls back.
“If you’re going to sook about it at least have the manners to do so in private.” He growled, “I can only do so much while the choice is yours and you do yourself no favours by acting so childishly.”
His insult had Tilly dashing for the privacy of the ladies withdrawing room before the threatening flood of tears was unleashed.
It was childish, Tilly reflected, dabbing a cold wet washcloth to her cheeks, the tantrum was not going to stop him from losing her jewellery. Would her mother find her lacking just as her relative did?
Did her legal guardian really think losing so much would open doors for her?
Tilly herself was not so naive, her fortune was modest, her family name nothing, her looks passable if one was to only look at her face but sadly her hair and figure were far more noticeable and tended to deter one from glancing at her face. No amount of coin would make her a prospective match.
How was Grenville Peterson so oblivious to that fact?
She spent a long time hiding in the room set aside for dealing with ladies’ comforts, the one maid flittering about tidying, repairing fallen stitches or responding to the various other demands the Gibson guests presented. Thankfully, no one spoke to her; no one even noticed her in the shadows. It was no different to being at home really but she couldn’t find manners enough to offer pointless, polite conversation should they have asked. They must all think her and Mr Peterson stepping above their class as she herself did.
Why had her father made such unreasonable demands?
Did he not know her at all before he died?
Tilly had never wanted more than what she already possessed, a home, her memories … her solitude. They were still all she wanted so her father’s demand for more did not sit well.
As the night surely turned into the small hours of the next day, Tilly emerged from her hiding place to return to the crowd below. It had thinned with the late hour and Mr Peterson was nowhere to be seen.
“I believe these belong to you.” A deep voice had her turning quickly. The gentleman held her pearls out in one large palm.
“You have them sir; won them fairly so I cannot have a claim to them anymore.”
“I think I’d look rather ridiculous in wearing them myself.” The gentleman joked, holding an earring up to his lobe. Tilly couldn’t help the little giggle from escaping. “Please take them, your guardian had no right to the pearls.”
“I thank you for offering sir, but Mr Peterson would only take them again if the need was there.”
“If one cannot afford to lose one should not play.”
“I agree but he would call me a child and ignorant of how men get on.”
“Men may belittle others Miss, but I assure you gentlemen do not.” His lips thinned with his anger but Tilly had no idea she’d insulted him in her words.
“I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped sir,” she quickly apologised. His brown eyes darkened to almost black.
“It is I that must apologise,” his auburn wavy hair fluttered with the quick shaking movements of his head. “Your guardian has not been much in polite … decent … society, it is not my place to judge.”
The pearls were still displayed between them and although Tilly’s heart screamed to grasp them, she calmly used her fingers to close his open palm.
“I am not so naive that I do not understand the importance of paying one’s gaming debts sir, but please … if you find yourself in a … precarious position financially … you give me the chance to buy them back.”
“You can have them now; I have no need of them.” This handsome gentleman would never understand.
“Whilst I have no control over anything sir, I cannot take them.” She implored him with her eyes to remove them from display.
“What would give you that control?”
She offered a sad smile, “my majority, for even a husband has the right to take what belongs to his wife and gamble what he chose.”
The gentleman lowered his hand and placed the precious bundle into his pocket. “May I know your name?” He asked quietly.
“Tilly sir, Matilda Morgan.”
“A lovely name,” he murmured, “I would be happy to have you call me James.”
“I do not think that wise sir, nor is this conversation. I would not have you forced into something to protect your reputation.”
“Should you not be concerned with your reputation Tilly?”
She knew he was teasing but surely the banter between them was harmless. They were in plain view of the remaining guests and there was enough distance between them to reject any untoward gossip and for some unexplainable reason, she liked this gentleman immediately. “Oh, I think it would be very easy for me to be married to you si … James, I also think you’d be very disappointed to end up married to me.”
Her attention was caught by another gentleman approaching, “if you would excuse me sir, I must find Mr Peterson.” She dipped her knees slightly and then rushed away before he could reply.
After several more turns between each open room, Tilly was certain she’d been left behind. There was no sign of her guardian and of the few people she made enquires with, they’d not seen him for some hours. He’d not stayed long after losing her pearls. She offered her hostess an embarrassed farewell and then took her leave. The night outside was cold, the thick make of her coat did little to stop the shivering as she studied her surroundings and set off in the direction she hoped fervently was Curzon Street.


“You seem unusually serious locked in such a conversation Brother,” Gavin greeted, “don’t tell me the chit’s caught your attention.”
“Don’t sound so surprised, I couldn’t run from fate forever.”
Gavin’s voice lowered as he cast a hurried glance about, “you surely cannot be serious!”
“Why not?” James demanded, “I like her.”
“Then set her up as your mistress. You cannot hope for anything else and she cannot hope for anything better.”
“I never realised you were such a prick, Gavin.” The rush of fury was overwhelming and completely out of character. It was as he walked away biting back further insults, that he noticed the object of his disagreement was making a hasty exit … alone.
James followed quickly, not even bothering to wait for his hat, coat and gloves. “Tilly … wait.” He called. The street was deserted but for the two of them and his call was enough to halt her hurried steps.
“Sir?”
“What are you about?” He asked reaching her side. “It is not safe for a young girl to wander the streets alone and at such a late hour.”
“I’m not daft sir, but as Mr Peterson has already departed, I’ve little choice.”
“Wait, I’ll summon our carriage and escort you home. What is your direction?” As he asked, James waved to a waiting driver and the horses trotted into place alongside the pavement. His disgust for her guardian was growing. A well-trained groom jumped from the post at the rear of the carriage to open the door and lower the iron steps.
“You really don’t have to bother sir, I can …”
“Your address Miss Morgan!” Perhaps it was the use of a formal name that convinced her arguing would be of no help, that or his tone of voice in which James prayed he’d not frightened her.
“Curzon Street sir, number three.”
He helped her into the spacious carriage and advised the driver of the destination before joining her in the semi-darkness, the inside lit only by a single candle in the glass encasing.
“I did not mean to scare you, Tilly,” he said as the horses moved, jarring the carriage into motion.
“You didn’t James, I assure you I’m made of sterner stuff than that.”
“Then why so silent?”
“I’m simply tired. I’m not used to being about at such hours yet.”
“You attended assemblies at home surely?”
“I did once … just after arriving in England but I found I did not enjoy it.”
“What did you dislike so?” He asked curiously, “the dancing … music … noise?”
“I was ignored all night and if I’d wanted to sit by myself, I would have stayed home.”
James heard the deep hurt in her soft voice and reached across to grasp her hands. “I am sorry your experience was that horrid Tilly, but the fact that the local lads are morons helps me now.”
“Perhaps you are the daft one then.” Her comment was highlighted by a heavy sigh, “my only friend is …”
“Handsome?”
“No.”
“Distinguished?”
“No.”
“Irresistible?”
“No, more stupid.”
He accepted the critique with humour as the sadness had left her voice. The carriage stopped; the journey to Curzon Street much quicker than he’d wished. The door opened and their little escape from the world was over.
“Would it be too forward of me to call in the next day or so to take you driving?”
“I would like that, but it isn’t wise of you James. If Mr Peterson were to think you’re paying too much attention to me you may find him demanding you make an offer.”
“And I am gentleman enough to do exactly that without the demand.”
“Don’t be absurd, we both know you can only make me one particular kind of offer in which should the need arise I would happily accept until I reach my majority.”
James was speechless. Something that had never happened before. And while he contemplated that, she slipped from the carriage and dashed into the house. The footman waited only a minute before securing the door again. Matilda Morgan had not only stunned him into silence, but she’d also left him twice now without the chance to respond to her belief of her not being good enough. This Mr Peterson had much to answer for!


Tilly spent the next day watching through the front windows, hoping against all reason, James would indeed take her driving. They’d been in town for close to a month now with her only excursions to the various reputable dressmakers and haberdasheries with Peterson hovering at her elbow ensuring his opinion was the only one heard by the various traders. Last evening had been their first engagement and the prospect of an escape had been thrilling and kept her awake for some time. It was how her parents had begun their courtship, so many years before … with a simple drive through Hyde Park in an open carriage. Peterson joined her only long enough to demand she sign her name to a note before leaving her in solitude again. He’d made no mention of the previous night, no excuse for leaving her at a stranger’s home. He showed no remorse at all regarding his harsh behaviour. He’d not even given her a reason he needed her to sign the note to Mr Deakin asking for five thousand pounds. He didn’t breathe a word but Tilly was not stupid. He’d extended himself at the tables and lost just as he had at the Gibson’s. Could her trust survive many more nights like that?
Tilly was not aware of the particulars of her inheritance including the balance but she did know her father’s investments and business interests in the Caribbean paid out by-annually. The first month and then the seventh month each year providing the ships survived the perilous journey across the ocean. It was still four months before the next income would be received. Would Mr Deakin comply with the request without hesitation?
There had to be a reason Peterson had used her signature rather than his own but as night fell and James had made no attempt to call, she went to bed early to consider the mysteries.
The first was easy to solve, James had taken the time to realise how unsuitable their friendship was. Tilly knew it was right he stay away but somewhere deep within she felt the pain of it. The pain of loss was familiar, though dormant for three years. Why had her heart hoped for anything different when her head knew the reality?
Before disappointment could settle over her, she moved to the next mystery and spent some time pondering that one. She was a logical person, her mind working with facts rather than feelings, and logic had answered the first issue effectively, so Tilly trusted it would work again this time.
Logic told her that her name meant something. If only she’d had the foresight to read the whole letter, but her eyes had been drawn to the exorbitant amount. And Peterson had gone before she could question him. The facts began to accumulate and before exhaustion overwhelmed her, Tilly had surmised that her guardian had asked for money before and most likely been refused. Her father’s man of business would not be legally able to refuse her with a similar request.
The following morning found her tired after a restless night. Paranoia was present as she moved aimlessly about the house. The staff were quiet and all but ignored her while Peterson paced the library in a mood until the mail was delivered. The butler handed the bundle through the small gap in the door and then Peterson locked himself away with strict orders to not disturb him.
The heat inside gradually built until Tilly found comfort in the small enclosed garden at the back of the house. The few rose bushes had been well cared for and the soft grass freshly cut. Her quiet reflection was interrupted mid-afternoon when the prim butler intoned a visitor.
“The Honourable James Creighton to see you, Miss Morgan.”
“Thank you, Lovell, you may show him out here.”
“That is not wise Miss, I shall inform Mr Peterson and have the gentleman shown into the library until you are properly attended.”
Tilly was spared the need to respond when James burst past the stunned butler. “All you need to inform Mr Peterson of is that Miss Morgan and I are going to drive around the parks.”
The little spark of hope returned and then died … he was the son of a lord!
“Come, Miss Morgan, surely you did not forget.”
“No sir, I’d not forgotten, I just thought you’d be too busy.”
“Not at all, I can assure you but come along, the horses do not like to be kept standing too long.”
Although it was unwise, the excitement had Tilly rushing inside for a bonnet and parasol. Less than five minutes later, they were sitting in a high curricle. The young tiger gripping tightly behind as the two perfectly matched bay horses were given the office to move.


James could feel the tension radiating from the girl seated beside him but waited until they were away from the house to broach the subject.
“What’s wrong Tilly?”
“Nothing,” she sighed, “and everything.”
“Talk to me.” He softened his voice to help influence her confidence.
“I shouldn’t like our time together and shouldn’t encourage you but you’re my only friend.”
James bit back the words that spoke of him wanting both more time with her and more than her friendship. Tilly was struggling with something and his declaration would not help her now. “What in particular is bothering you?”
“Mr Peterson … it is always Mr Peterson.”
“How so?”
“I think he’s addicted to gambling but he has no money, it is all mine that he loses.”
“That is why I never called upon you yesterday as I’d intended. Grenville Peterson played deeply the previous night at several establishments and from all accounts lost a great deal.”
“I’d assumed it was so as he had me ask my lawyer for five thousand just yesterday.”
James merely nodded his head but the sum asked for was nothing compared to the rumoured amount. How was he to tell her it was closer to twenty thousand than five?
“You do realise everyone is looking at us?” She asked, drawing his attention back.
“Let them look their fill,” he responded, “we are not doing anything that a number of others are not doing.”
And that was true, James noted several carriages similar to his own with a pair of young couples engaged in soft conversations. “Unless you were to lace your arm through mine,” he prompted.
“You wish to fuel the gossip?”
“If I wished to do that, I’d hand you the reigns and slip my hands up your skirt.”
“You are shocking!” She gasped.
“Perhaps, but is your hand upon mine not a better option than my hand up …” his gaze looked pointedly down, “there?” He lifted his elbow waiting. James smiled warmly as she did as he’d wanted. The soft touch of the glove through his jacket sleeve was a torment to his body’s desire. He’d spent the past two nights lost in erotic dreams where Matilda Morgan lay naked beneath him. They’d been strong enough that he’d immediately ended the arrangement with his latest piece of arse. He had only to find the right moment to make her the offer she believed she was not good enough to receive.
He didn’t give a fig what the world thought, He’d been out himself for close to ten years and never once had a girl interested him half as much as Matilda Morgan. Spending the rest of his life learning all her qualities was a reasonable request. Starting right now with getting to know her past.
“The other evening you mentioned arriving in England?”
“Yes, my parents were from England but shortly after their marriage, they moved to the West Indies. I was sent to my mother’s relative when they both died.”