All the girls were of marriageable age. Soon they would leave home to form families of their own. Considering the family they came from, they would make a formidable generation. If they ever left home.
Unlike many families, their parents were not over-eager to push the three girls out of the door. They had money and influence enough. Time to find out who they were and what kind of husband they wanted, their mother told them, but not too loudly.
Claudia thought she would keep them all at home if she could. But by coming to London every year and keeping the house in the country full during the summer, her mama was providing every opportunity for them to find someone they would partner in life.
Her brother Val had recently become betrothed to Lady Charlotte Engles, the cherished only daughter of the Duke of Rochfort. Although everyone was pleased for him, nobody was quite sure how it had happened, even Val himself. He appeared content with his bargain, his mother expressing the forlorn hope that Lady Charlotte would settle him down somewhat.
Privately Claudia and her twin considered the ultimate outcome would be the other way about. When Val had announced his news, at breakfast of course, they’d run off to their bedroom as fast as they dared to discuss the development.
While Livia and Claudia were very different in temperament, their features were as similar as identical twins tended to be. For all their differences outside the confines of their bedroom, within it they frequently saw developments in a similar way. Indeed, Claudia had no idea how people without a twin managed to get through life. Even her own sister and brother, the singles in a family blessed by two sets of twins, seemed strangely isolated sometimes. She had no doubt that Darius had been the first to know of his twin’s betrothal.
Val had been uncharacteristically silent on the subject.
Today, though—the heat that swept through her, the shivers that tingled her skin when Lord St. Just had touched it—they were all hers. She refused to share that, even with her sister. What she’d done was forbidden and sinful. But the other sensations, the loosening and moistening of her most secret parts, had excited her and made her want more. Just by touching a man?
Now she knew it was possible, she wanted more and as soon as she could find it.
A footman carrying a salver full of correspondence followed a knock on the door. After moving the marchioness’s plate, he placed the post reverentially in front of her.
Lady Strenshall glanced through the pile, dividing it up. When her oldest son had the temerity to protest that he wasn’t a child anymore and didn’t need his post sorted for him, his mother had fixed him with one of her stony glares and said, mildly, “This is my house, my dear. My rules.”
As usual, her husband had grunted his assent. The marquess was never very communicative at breakfast. Although the public often repeated that his wife henpecked him, that was far from the case. He had a formidable presence in the Lords, was a stalwart member of the most exclusive clubs, and never missed an opening night of Garrick’s. When Lord Strenshall wanted to have his way, he usually got it.
Claudia’s mother put the letters into piles, and when she handed them out, commented on each. “Malton, you should let a little enjoyment into your life. Every one of your letters is on white linen-laid papers, the addresses are perfect copperplate, and most are hand delivered. From the City, I presume. For goodness’s sake, boy, I will exchange your letters for Valentinian’s one day.” She handed over the thick stack of business correspondence. Unless Marcus’s mistress cleverly disguised her presence by using perfect copperplate.
“Val, you should be ashamed of yourself.” His mama handed him three notes.
Claudia caught the pungent scent of violets from one mingled with the other’s attar of roses. The third was a bill. “Perhaps you will pay your tailor from your winnings. I caught one lurking by the doorstep the other day. It is most disconcerting to discover a man of that nature at one’s entrance.”
Lady Strenshall glanced up sharply, catching Claudia in the act of sniggering as silently as she could manage. She handed Claudia a letter that looked remarkably like one of Marcus’s. “If I didn’t know better I’d say this was something official. If it is, you should tell your father without delay.”
Lady Strenshall was of the opinion that the man of the house should handle official business. This was because, her daughters readily believed, that mortgages, court cases, and contracts of any kind bored her. She told the lawyer what she wanted and left him to take care of it, she said, and her husband served the same purpose. She got on with the important things in life, such as who their children should marry and where they should live.
Claudia had never shared that opinion, but she was woefully inexperienced in legal matters. She read through the letter, scripted in a hand she didn’t recognize, three times before she looked up from the paper in total shock. “It appears I’ve inherited a house.”
Chapter 3
Even Val opened his bloodshot eyes wider when Claudia came out with her news. “How daring,” he murmured and subsided back into his pained silence as he continued to drink his way through a pot of coffee.
“You must have it wrong, dear,” her mother said. “Give the letter to your father. Let him deal with the matter.”
Stubbornly, Claudia shook her head. “I want to deal with it. It’s only a small establishment. It must be, because it’s in London.” She would keep the address to herself for now. “It’s from Great-Aunt Dorelia, the one who died at Christmas.”
“Why has it taken so long for the news to reach you?” her mother demanded. “Does the letter say?”
“Yes, it’s because she appointed a new lawyer to deal with her will. He did not hear of her death, because the old one took charge. She has an heir, her husband’s cousin, and he has taken control of the estate. That is unchanged. The lawyer informs me that the heir doesn’t object to the legacy. There’s a letter from Great-Aunt Dorelia, which he encloses.”
“Read it, then, girl!” her father snapped impatiently.
She glanced at him. The marquess id not usually become agitated, especially at the breakfast table. The hubbub of breakfast with the Strenshalls eased to a murmur. She broke the seal on the letter the lawyer had enclosed.
She pored over the spidery script for a full minute before she could interpret it. “It says that every woman should have at least one house of her own as a retreat from a demanding family.”
Her mother gave an exaggerated sigh. “If only that were possible!”
“When you marry, it will go to your husband,” Livia said.
“No it won’t, because if there’s any danger of that happening, it will revert to the estate,” Claudia said. “It’s in trust for me, with the solicitor, so that my husband can’t touch it.”
“Where is this house?” her father demanded. “Out with it, girl! You’ve been havering around that point for the last ten minutes. Every time you come to mention it, you talk about something else. Where?”
She sighed. She’d enjoyed the dream while it lasted. “Hart Street.” After folding the letters, she placed them on the table but kept her hand over them. She might still make something of this. Over the noise that had erupted over the address, she shouted, “It’s mine and I’m keeping it!”
Silence fell again, stony and complete, until her father broke it.
“You can’t, Claudia. You know that. A house in that neighborhood is not eligible.”
Before she could censor her words, she burst out, “They’re not all brothels!”
Dru’s shocked laughter echoed around the silent walls. Nobody else spoke.
Ah, well, in for a penny. “It could be a coffee house or a shop selling something quite innocuous.”
Her