Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress (Transformation of the Shelley Sisters 1)

ere. There is the Tower of London, the Guildhall, St Paul’s Cathedral, the Bank of England—where shall we begin?’

‘The Tower, if you please, my lord,’ Meg said, aware of the footman up behind the open barouche. ‘It sounds most romantical. I feel a complete country bumpkin—wide-eyed and dependent on the guidebook.’

‘Which is all of fifteen years out of date,’ Ross admitted with a grin. ‘The Tower, Jenkins,’ he told the driver then settled back in the seat beside Meg.

She caught her breath at the sight of the White Tower when it came into view and stared with awe at the moat and the towering bastions. ‘It is so old. Think of all the historical events that have taken place within those walls.’

‘What would you like to see, Mrs Halgate?’ Ross handed her down at the West Gate.

‘The Menagerie and the Jewel House,’ Meg decided. ‘And you, my lord?’

‘The Menagerie by all means and the Armoury. Jenkins, you may have a while to wait. Walk the horses, if you please.’

Ross waited until they were through the gates and he had paid their shillings, before tucking Meg’s hand through his arm. ‘There, you may now stop calling me my lord, at every sentence.’

‘We must be discreet.’ She tried not to think about the warmth of his body through her glove and against her arm. It seemed so long since they had last kissed, since she had lain in his arms. ‘Look,’ she said with a bright smile, ‘Here is the Menagerie.’

The Keeper, on payment of another shilling each, walked them along the row of cages. Meg had been prepared to see cramped conditions and to regret her desire to visit, but they were spacious and clean so she was able to enjoy admiring Young Hector, Miss Jenny and Miss Fanny Howe, the lions, and the sinister elegance of Miss Peggy, a black leopardess. The laughing hyena made her recoil, but they both admired the antics of the racoons.

The armour and weapons took rather longer. Meg found a bench to perch on in the end and smiled while she watched Ross inspect every item with close professional attention, hands clasped behind his back, face severe. The keeper hovered at his side, apparently expecting a reprimand for a speck of rust or an improperly polished barrel at any moment.

‘I do beg your pardon for keeping you waiting, this must be intolerably boring for you.’ Ross came back to her side with an expression of contrition. Meg knew perfectly well he had entirely forgotten her.

‘Not at all. She put her hand on his arm as they went to find the Jewel House. ‘I was just thinking how much William would enjoy this.’

‘He would, indeed. Meg, you do not mind about William?’

‘That you acknowledge him and are sponsoring his career? No, of course not. I think it admirable and he is a charming and deserving young man.’

‘I mean that there will always be people who think he may be my son, not my brother.’

‘I know they are wrong, and so does anyone who knows you. There will always be unpleasant gossip from some people.’

‘I am Brandon,’ Ross said, his voice suddenly hard, ‘And I will not have my honour smirched or my future wife distressed by rumour and scandal.’

‘You do all you can.’ Meg’s stomach sank in a most unpleasant manner. I will not have my honour smirched. ‘Your very openness will kill rumour.’ But the scandal around her name was real and could not be denied. She must confess it all to him. But not yet, not until today was over.

More shillings were needed for the Jewel House and the glitter of crowns and orb, sceptre and Sword of State took Meg’s mind off her problems for a while.

‘Shockingly vulgar, was it not?’ Ross remarked as they strolled along the gun platform looking at the crush of river traffic.

‘So close up, it is a trifle overwhelming,’ Meg agreed. ‘But at a distance, as part of the pomp of royalty, it would look spectacular.’

‘When will you give me the right to buy you jewels, Meg?’ Ross stopped, catching both her hands in his. ‘I want to buy you pearls and diamonds and sapphires.’ He lifted her knuckles to his lips and held her eyes with his own as she blushed and stammered.

‘Oh, no.’ Meg snatched back her hands. ‘I do not want you to buy me anything.’

‘You will not give me that pleasure?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, not looking at him, imagining the warmth of his fingers on the nape of her neck as he fastened a necklace, the cool slide of metal and gems over her breast. Ross placing a ring on her finger. ‘Please, can we go on? The breeze from the river is chilly.’

‘As you wish.’

His face was shuttered and the smile gone from his lips and his eyes as they walked back to the carriage. She might think she had hurt him if she believed that his feelings were very deeply engaged. If he loved her. But he did not, so it was his pride that was hurt. He was Brandon, and he wanted to mark her as his with gemstones when all she wanted was to be branded by his kisses.

When they found the barouche again Ross gave Jenkins a list of locations to form a route. He did not intend to walk around any of them, so they must maintain their formal distance in front of the footman. It would be safer, she told herself. Then their fingertips brushed as they lay on the leather upholstery. Ross shifted slightly and the edge of his coat fell over their hands so she left hers just touching his, while they made polite and distant conversation about the sights that unfolded on either side of the barouche.

They drove past the Bank of England and the Guildhall, exclaimed over the herds of cattle and sheep being driven through the crowded streets on their way to market at Smithfield. They stared up at St Paul’s, passed the Inns of Court so they could tell William that they had seen his future place of study and the British Museum because Meg thought they ought to at least see it.