One Night in London by Shelly Greene K.S. Murphy K.L. Noone

Author:Shelly Greene, K.S. Murphy, K.L. Noone [Noone, Shelly Greene K.S. Murphy K.L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4

He wasn’t interrupted on the way there. Only a servant or two asking if they could get him something. All Edward needed at this moment was some time away from the crowds and the gossip and the glitter. Some peace away from too many people. His father would think him a coward for wanting to escape. Not that anything Edward ever did produced a compliment from the man.

Edward often wondered what Louis Whitman would have been like had his wife, Mary, not died just ten days after she gave birth to Edward. Edward’s nurse talked about the kind, lovely woman Mary Whitman had been. A woman who picked fresh flowers for the table whenever they were in the country. A woman who hummed when she read. A woman who tried so hard to carry a child to term before she finally did, only to have her strength and life stolen from the son she bore, as his father so often reminded him during his youth.

Sighing, Edward turned toward the large bookshelves. Tadbury House had quite the collection, but his eyes first dropped to the sofa near the fireplace. In the soft glow of the fire, he noticed a book already on it and snickered under his breath when he saw what it was. One of those Gothic novels. Quite lurid. Written under the name of John Fellowes, which was clearly a pseudonym for someone who enjoyed doing such work but knew well enough that they might be—and no doubt would be—chastised for it no matter how much people secretly enjoyed reading it.

This happened to be a copy of The Secrets of Blackheath Manor, which Edward had already had the pleasure of reading. Must’ve belonged to Robert. Edward couldn’t imagine James leaving it out where anyone could see if it was his. Edward set it back where he found it and started up the narrow spiral stairs to the upper level of the room.

His fingers brushed along the spines of well-worn books and he was just about to select one when he heard a soft gasp over the sounds of the fire. Edward turned. Saw, much to his surprise, that Dalton Irving had entered the library.

Well, so much for having some time to himself.

Edward would have said something, if only to let Dalton know he wasn’t alone, when he realized that the boy had settled onto the sofa with that lurid novel in his lap. A crooked smirk tugged at one side of Edward’s mouth. The last thing he expected was for Dalton Irving to have such exotic tastes, for the look on the boy’s face told him he knew exactly what type of novel he was about to read.

“It would seem,” he said, as he started back down the steps, and must’ve startled Dalton since the book fell from his lap, “that young Dalton Irving isn’t quite I innocent as everyone presumes.” Everyone knew that the boy had lived a sheltered life. That he was a shy, bookish young man.

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