Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,138
same answer as he had at that time, “Every day is the first day of the rest of our lives.”
But this time, he would not forget it.
This time, he would do better.
* * *
Christmas morning brought with it the lovely surprise of Livia at Charlotte’s door.
According to Livia, their mother, having taken a few extra drops of laudanum, was still abed. So she had taken advantage of that and left their lodging house as soon as the place unlocked its doors.
Her arrival was greeted with riotous approval by Mrs. Watson and Miss Redmayne. The four women chatted with vigor and plowed through a large breakfast. Or rather, three of the women chatted with vigor and Charlotte plowed through a large breakfast.
The doorbell rang again. This time, it was Lord Ingram, his children in tow, Miss Lucinda happily informing Mr. Mears that they came to drop off presents on their way to the railway station.
Mrs. Watson’s respectability might be questionable, but Miss Redmayne was officially a half sibling to Lord Ingram. Some would still frown upon his visit, but most would laud him as tenderhearted: A rich and striking man enjoyed a great deal of latitude in how he conducted himself.
But even he would come under fire if it became known that he’d exposed his children, especially his daughter, to a fallen woman such as Charlotte Holmes. The children knew her by sight and were too young to be trusted to keep secrets, so Charlotte slipped out of the afternoon parlor before the children came up the stairs.
As did Livia, who also didn’t want it to be known that she was at Mrs. Watson’s.
They sat for a while with Bernadine, their elder sister who could not take care of herself and whom Charlotte now supported. Then they decamped to the formal morning parlor.
There Charlotte waited for Livia to tell her what she now knew.
Which Livia did, with a long sigh. “Moriarty has Mr. Marbleton, doesn’t he?”
It was always only a matter of time before Mr. Marbleton’s kindly meant deception failed—and Livia perceived the truth for herself. “I’m afraid so.”
Livia buried her hands in the fold of her skirts—it was cold in the morning parlor, where no fire had been laid. “What can we do to free him?”
“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll come up with something.”
Livia rocked back and forth in her chair. “Will it take years and years?”
Charlotte moved closer and took Livia’s hands in her own. “Possibly.”
Livia’s hands shook. But she said, after a while, with her hands still shaking, “I’m ready for it.”
* * *
Lord Ingram came and found them a few minutes later. They exchanged greetings. Livia presented him with monogramed handkerchiefs; he gave her a bottle of blue-black ink, the bottle engraved with her initials.
Livia, taking her present, diplomatically absented herself by saying that she would go try it at once.
Lord Ingram wasted no time in kissing Charlotte and Charlotte wasted no time in enjoying it very much.
She then proceeded to give him not one but two hot water bottle cozies. “See, I made one for you that looks almost exactly like my Christmas tree dress—I know how much you adore that. But since you bought an extra hot water bottle, I’m obliged to also give you the one I made for myself. Does it not look like the prettiest Christmas pudding you have ever seen?”
He laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. “I see now I have no choice but to think of you when I hold my hot water bottles close.”
She preened. “Precisely. Now what did you get for me?”
He went outside to the passage and returned with a sizable box, which she recognized immediately as a dress box.
A gentleman not related or married to her should not give her clothes.
Excellent.
Inside the box was a . . . a . . .
She shook the garment open and inspected it from all sides. No doubt about it. An open redingote in a shade of pink that did not exist before the invention of aniline dyes, and an airy white underdress? This was a tea gown, the laciest, ruffliest, most tucked and ruched tea gown she’d ever seen.
“How did you know I wanted one?”
“I didn’t. But do you remember propositioning me at Stern Hollow?”
She had laid out the underdress along the back of a padded chair. He ran his hand down its front. Heat streaked down her front. “At Stern Hollow I did a lot more than propositioning you.”
“Well, before we knew you’d be doing more than that, you invited me to come and visit you at your cottage while Mrs. Watson took her afternoon nap. I have been thinking about that invitation ever since. And even a stick-in-the-mud like me knows that ladies wear tea gowns for such occasions.”
Was he turning up the hem of the underdress and putting his hand inside? Heat rushed up to her—
She cleared her throat. “So you intend there to be such occasions in our future?”
“Of course. When I come back to London for the Season, a free man, I hope to see you in a tea gown very, very frequently.”
She had to put her hand over his to prevent him from doing anything else perfectly decent and respectable to the tea gown. Their eyes met; mischief gleamed in his.
But as seconds passed, his gaze turned serious. “Be careful, Holmes. We might not have ripped off the last veil of civility, but Moriarty must consider you an enemy now. Or at the very least, a highly inconvenient adversary.”
She leaned in for another kiss. “Of course I’ll be very, very careful. I have a tea gown I still need to wear in front of you, when you come back in spring.”
Photo by Jennifer Sparks Harriman
USA Today bestselling author Sherry Thomas is one of the most acclaimed historical fiction authors writing today, winning the RITA Award two years running and appearing on innumerable “Best of the Year” lists, including those of Publishers Weekly, Kirkus Reviews, Library Journal, Dear Author, and All About Romance. Her novels include A Study in Scarlet Women, A Conspiracy in Belgravia, The Hollow of Fear, and The Art of Theft, the first four books in the Lady Sherlock series; My Beautiful Enemy; and The Luckiest Lady in London. She lives in Austin, Texas, with her husband and sons.
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