Page 30 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

“T here’s a gentleman to see you, Miss King.”

Mimi glanced up from her ledger to see her manservant in the doorway, cap in hand.

“A gentleman, Mr. Wade? From the village?”

“He’s come from London. Shall I take him to the parlor?”

“Where is he now?”

“At the front door.”

“You’ve not kept him waiting at the door , Mr. Wade?”

The burly man blushed and curled his fingers around his cap. He resembled a boy awaiting admonishment from his nursemaid, and Mimi suppressed a smile.

“Mr. Wade?”

“I-I thought it best,” he said, shuffling from one foot to another, “on account of Lily. She’s a little unwell today, and I don’t want her upset.”

Mimi nodded. She’d heard Lily’s cries last night—pleas for mercy as her nightmares visited her again.

“I suggested she remain indoors,” Mr. Wade continued, “while Sammy helped me in the garden. But I didn’t want to bring a stranger inside while she…” He made a random gesture in the air.

Mimi nodded. “I’m glad she has you to take care of her, Mr. Wade.”

He gave a shy smile. “I-I was wonderin’…about Lily and Sam…”

“My visitor, Mr. Wade?” Mimi said. “We mustn’t keep him waiting.”

His blush deepened. “Sorry, ma’am.”

Mimi placed a hand on his arm. “You’re a good man,” she said. “Is Lily in her chamber?”

He nodded.

“Then she must remain there. Bring my visitor to the parlor, then perhaps you could ask Betsy to make tea?”

He nodded and exited the study. Mimi closed her ledger and made her way to the parlor. Almost as soon as she sat, the door opened and a red-faced Mr. Wade appeared.

“Mr. George Stockton to see you, ma’am,” he said, stepping aside to reveal Mimi’s solicitor.

“Mr. Stockton,” she said, rising. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Evidently,” the solicitor said, glancing toward Mr. Wade.

“Forgive my manservant, Mr. Stockton—he’s a little cautious.”

Stockton nodded. “A sentiment that does him credit. It’s a sensible man who proceeds with caution, and I always advise caution over the alternative. Besides”—he turned toward Mr. Wade and smiled—“a man is to be admired when he wishes to protect the woman he serves.” He stepped inside, his cane tap-tapping on the floor, then took Mimi’s outstretched hand and bowed over it. “Or is it old-fashioned of me to say such a thing to an enterprising young woman like yourself?”

“Not at all,” Mimi said. “Would you like tea, Mr. Stockton? Or something a little more…warming? I have no brandy, but there’s a very passable port—a gift from Lady Radham.”

“My days of indulging in port are over, I’m afraid, my dear,” Stockton said. “My doctor advises against anything I might find pleasurable. But I wouldn’t refuse tea.”

“I’ll send Betsy along, ma’am,” Mr. Wade said, then he bowed and closed the door.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Stockton?” Mimi asked.

“I have some news for you.”

“Couldn’t you have written? I hate to think of your enduring the journey here.”

“It’s barely ten miles, my dear. Besides, my doctor advocates country air and exercise. And I particularly wanted to convey this news in person. It’s somewhat…extraordinary.”

Mimi’s stomach fluttered in apprehension. “Is there something wrong with the finances for the school?”

“Quite the contrary. You see, you’ve been gifted a property.”

“A property?”

“A townhouse, to be exact. In Brighton.”

“ Brighton? ”

“The contract was signed last week.” He drew out a sheaf of papers from his pocket and handed it over.

Her hand trembling, Mimi took it, but her vision blurred as she tried to read the first page.

“It’s the deed to number 10 Royal Crescent,” Mr. Stockton said.

Mimi caught her breath.

My former home. Where I lived with…

She blinked, and a tear spilled onto the parchment.

“I’m holding the original deed for safekeeping,” the solicitor said, “but I wanted to bring you this copy in person, so that you might accept it as the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s rightfully yours and has been for some years.”

“But you said the contract was signed last week,” Mimi said.

“It’s legally been yours only for a few days, but it was yours by right when the original benefactor bequeathed it to you.”

“The original…”

“Earl Mayhew,” he said. “The seventh earl, that is, not the present one.”

Mimi’s cheeks warmed with shame. She glanced up to see him staring at her, kindness and compassion in his eyes.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Justice being served, at last,” came the reply. “My partner Mr. Allardice, who drew up the contract, informed me that he was asked to draft a similar contract several years ago, but it was never signed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It seems, my dear, as if the son has finally chosen to honor his late father’s wishes.” He gave a wry smile. “I’ll wager there was a little persuasion involved, but the outcome remains the same. Number 10 Royal Crescent is now yours. And, if you’ll forgive me an act of self-indulgence, I’d like to confirm the matter by giving you this.”

He fished something out of his pocket and handed it to her.

It was a large iron key. She took it and ran her fingertips along its form, then she held it in her palm, feeling the weight of it, before she curled her fingers around it.

“Walter…”

She drew in a shuddering breath and a tear splashed onto her hand. A warm hand covered hers.

“My dear, the late earl wouldn’t have wanted you to be sad.”

“But I don’t deserve it,” she said. “I only loved him as a friend. I was his—”

“Do not underestimate the value of a true friendship,” the solicitor said. “What matters is that he loved you, and his wishes have now been honored—perhaps at the direction of one who loves you as much, if not more.”

Before she could ask his meaning, he continued.

“Do tell me how your school is faring.”

“We’re making progress,” she said. “We hope to admit at least a dozen young women. But with this …” She held up the key.

“Royal Crescent’s an excellent part of town,” he said. “I’ve spent some time in Brighton myself. There’s a direct view of the sea from the street.”

“I couldn’t live there,” she said. “The memories…”

He nodded. “I understand. I can make inquiries if you wish to sell—discreetly, of course.”

“I wouldn’t wish to dishonor Walter’s memory,” she said. “I owe him that.”

She glanced about the parlor, and her gaze landed on the pile of sewing on the table by the window—a gown that Lily was finishing for Lady Radham.

Of course!

“Mr. Stockton, is Brighton as fashionable as it was seven years ago?” she asked.

“Even more so. Ask my wife and daughters—they’re constantly begging me to take a house there so they can attend the assembly rooms.”

“Then perhaps I can put the house to good use. The young woman living with me is a talented dressmaker. All she needs is an establishment in a fashionable area, and I’m convinced she’d be a success as a modiste.”

“You are a most extraordinary young woman,” he said. “Most women in your position would have either taken the house for themselves, or sold it to fund a dowry to find a husband. But then, most women would have kept a fortune of two thousand guineas for themselves rather than spend half of it to benefit others.”

“I am not most women, Mr. Stockton.”

“That you’re not, my dear, and I’m heartily glad of it. If I can assist you in any way with your endeavors—you only need ask.”

“Naturally,” she said. “You’re my solicitor.”

“I meant as a friend , my dear. And if your young woman is as talented as you claim, then I shan’t hesitate in ensuring that my wife recommends her to all her friends when they visit Brighton.”

“That is most kind,” Mimi said.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I only ask you to do one thing in return.”

“Which is?”

“You must take time to look after yourself. You spend your days thinking of others—who is there to take care of you ?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Betsy entered with the tea tray. After she’d set the tray down and exited the parlor, Mimi rose and poured the tea. She half filled one cup, then topped it up with milk and handed it to her guest.

“Just how I like it,” he said after taking a sip. “It’s extraordinary how you always remember, Miss King. You should be proud of the woman you’ve become.”

She blushed and resumed her seat. “You’re most kind, Mr. Stockton, and I thank you for not judging me for having been a who—”

“My dear,” he interrupted, “your past matters not. And I’m not alone in my sentiment. There are others who admire you for yourself. One in particular.”

Whom did he mean? Perhaps, if she asked, he might speak of him . But could she bear to hear that he was indulging in the pleasures of London Society without her?

No—I must stay strong and look to the future, not dwell on what could never have been.

“Now,” Stockton said, interrupting her thoughts, “tell me about your school. I happened to see it from the carriage window and saw a young man perched rather precariously on the roof.”

The danger averted, Mimi described her plans for the school, and tea passed without any mention of that which she would rather forget.

After the solicitor took his leave, Mimi cleared the tea things and took them to the kitchen, then she returned to the parlor to read the contract.

There it was—written in stark black letters against the white parchment.

Number 10 Royal Crescent, Brighton, belonged to her.

Her gaze wandered to the foot of the page, and she swallowed the knot of nausea as she saw the name of the signatory.

Ralph Derek John Mayhew, eighth Earl Mayhew.

Then her gaze fell upon the signatories of the two witnesses—the first, Earl Thorpe, and the second…

She traced the name with her fingertips, to reassure herself that the words were not the fruits of her imagination. But they were written in a clear, cursive hand.

Alexander James Ffortescue, fifth Duke of Sawbridge.