Page 62 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

Chapter Twenty-Five

For the third time, Anthony, Lord Wetherby, tried to tie his cravat in an American knot, but the damned cloth kept creasing, making it look like a mathematical knot, which was too common. Every other gentleman in London seemed to use that particular knot. He would rather be unique. People took notice of the one-of-a-kind. Especially the ladies. Of course, he wasn’t in London at present, but it would still behoove him to attract what attention he could here in the country.

But he had to tie the damned knot first. In frustration, he jerked the length of cloth from around his neck and it slithered to the floor. “Phipps!”

His valet came at a run from the dressing room, another white cravat in his hands. “May I assist you, my lord?”

“Yes. Get on with it.” He stood perfectly still while his man tied the knot with ease.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“Make sure my Hessians are polished to a shine and ready for the ride this afternoon. And I’ll wear the claret coat and the green-and-red-striped waistcoat. Add a bit of holiday to the ensemble.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“The navy blue for now.” Anthony held his arms back and Phipps slipped the coat neatly over them, then snugged it down over the shoulders, creating an excellent fit. A final look in the mirror, a slight adjustment of the shirt sleeves, and he deemed himself fit to be seen this morning.

Hurrying down the stairs to the breakfast room, he passed the table where the post was kept.

A footman was tarrying there. Odd. “You, footman. What’s your name?”

“John, my lord.” The man turned to him, shoulders back, suddenly straight and tall.

“What are you doing with the mail, John?” Anthony peered closely at the servant, but the man stared straight ahead. At least he was well trained.

“I was told to check the incoming post for letters addressed to Mr. Granger. They are to be forwarded on to him in Lavenham, my lord.”

The hairs on the back of Anthony’s neck rose up. Certainly his father had given no such order after Granger’s insolence. “Who told you to do that?”

“Charles, my lord, the first footman.”

“Charles. I see.” He’d find that footman as soon as he dispensed with this one. “And have there been any letters for Mr. Granger?”

“No, my lord.”

“Hmm.” Nothing there then. “Very well. You may go, but you are relieved of this duty as of now, do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.” The footman turned to go, sliding something into his pocket as he did.

“Wait.” Anthony grabbed the lad by the arm. “What did you put in your pocket?”

Without a word, John brought out a letter and handed it to Anthony.

He snatched it from the servant’s hand, peering at the handwriting. Addressed to Mr. H. Granger, Wingate, care of Kersey Hall. And in a feminine hand. He looked at the footman. “You’re dismissed, John. Go to Mr. Chambers and tell him to give you your wages, but no reference.” A smile broke over Anthony’s face. “Tell him to ready Charles’s as well. He’ll be down as soon as I can find him.”

“Yes, my lord.” John turned on his heel and strode toward the kitchen.

Turning the letter over, Anthony wafted it toward his nose. No scent. Unfortunate, but the woman quite likely couldn’t afford perfume. The letter was sealed in black, unusual except for use by those in mourning. Perhaps the woman was obsessed with Princess Charlotte and in mourning for her. A glance around the corridor showed no one in sight, but then you could never be too careful. He stepped into the small blue receiving room and shut the door.

Anthony went to the desk by the window and pulled the seal from the folded foolscap. Unfolding the letter revealed a single sheet, written only straight across. Hardly a love letter then. Those could run on for pages, as he’d had the bad luck to know. He raised the letter to read the few lines.

My dearest Hugh,

A love letter after all? He read on, his jaw slackening with every word until his mouth stood wide open at the signature.

Your beloved Maria

Dropping down onto the conveniently placed desk chair, he stared at the missive, his head whirling. Granger had been trysting with the little widow all along, right under their damned noses. But obviously hadn’t married her. Which, given her newfound wealth, was undeniably strange.