Once again, the brooding gentleman appeared preoccupied. While those vibrant green eyes were fixed upon them, his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
“Did you happen to discover who left the flowers, Mr Trent?” She did not wish to reveal the full extent of their conversation lest the man preferred privacy.
Mr Trent shuffled uncomfortably. “No. But let’s just say the person is persistent in their efforts to ensure my brother enters the gates of heaven.”
Scarlett hadn’t realised the grave belonged to his brother. Had she known, she might have given him an opportunity to discuss the matter further. Grief lurked behind many masks.
“Are we speaking of your mysterious graveyard visitor?” Damian asked.
Mr Trent’s mouth formed a grim line, and he nodded.
“Well, we know the person is a woman,” Scarlett said. Who else wrote poetic verse and tied it with a pink ribbon? “A young woman, I suspect.” There was something of the whimsical, something romantic about the gesture that seemed too fanciful for a mature lady.
“We have no aunts or sisters. And our mothers are dead.”
Mothers? They were half-brothers, then? It was a morbid conversation to have on one’s wedding day, but Mr Trent looked as though he’d not slept in weeks, as though this problem plagued every waking hour.
“Have you asked the vicar?” Damian said.
“Of course I’ve asked the vicar. The villain comes and goes like a ghost in the night.”
“She is hardly a villain if she is paying her respects,” Scarlett countered.
“Then you must go there tonight.” Damian patted his friend on the upper arm. “You must go every night. Wait in the darkness and discover the identity of this mysterious stranger. What I cannot understand is why you’ve not done so before now.”
“Sometimes one fears what they might discover,” Mr Cavanagh interjected.
Sadness lingered in Mr Trent’s eyes. Anger simmered beneath the surface, too. She wasn’t sure what had happened in his past but knew tackling the problem was the only way one might sleep soundly at night.
“Go tonight, Mr Trent,” Scarlett said. The longer one spent worrying about problems, the worse they became. “Call on us in Bruton Street if you require our help.”
Mr Trent inclined his head. Clearly aware that this was not a topic one wanted to discuss on their wedding day, he made his apologies and agreed to inform them of his discovery.
“Now mind neither of you suffers an injury,” Mr Cavanagh joked before leaving them to join Mr Trent.
Damian and Scarlett took the carriage to Howland Street, where she was to learn of this mysterious surprise. During the fifteen-minute journey, her husband’s ravenous mouth made her forget all about deceased brothers and graveyard meetings in the moonlight. Indeed, it took every effort to straighten her clothing and alight from the vehicle.
“Well, what do you think?” Damian draped his arm around her shoulder and stared at the three-storey townhouse in dire need of renovation.
“It would help if I knew why you’re showing me this house when we intend to move to the country.”
“I did what you suggested and collected my winnings from White’s.”
“As the only man who will ever grace my bed, you earned every penny.” Had he not claimed his prize, the club would have returned the money to the pompous prigs who’d made the group wager. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re interested in this house.”
“I thought we could use the money to open a home for destitute women. A safe place where they might live comfortably while training for a profession.” He turned to face her, pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “A place you might have come. A place that might have protected you from the likes of Lord Steele.”
Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. “You wish to spend fifty thousand pounds helping downtrodden women?”
“Men do exaggerate. It was closer to thirty thousand. What better way to recognise the strength and courage of the Scarlet Widow?”
Scarlett stared at him, resisted the urge to claim his mouth in the wild, reckless way that heated her blood. Love for this man infused her body with a hot, vibrant glow. Every fibre of her being ached to join with him, join with him now.
“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Thoughts of hiring staff and a matron to oversee the women’s progress entered her mind, but she pushed them aside. “And you have my support no matter what you choose to do.”
He kissed her then, a slow, sensual kiss—a prelude to what she might expect once back inside the carriage.
“Have I told you I love you?” he said in the tender voice of the man who no longer hid behind a facade. Not with her.