Page 31 of Loving Mister Stratford
When her frozen feet did not move, Simon strode back over to the butler and accepted the letter, returning to her side. The wax seal was crimson red and unmarked. Simon used the thin letter knife the butler had so conveniently provided, slit the paper open, and, together, they found a thin, unfamiliar script bearing an utterly unbelievable message.
“A house?” Odette squeaked after having read through it twice. She still had to wait for confirmation from her husband to believe her eyes.
“It would appear that way,” Simon’s forehead furrowed, the lines between his brows deepening significantly.“And it’s unsigned.” He pressed his fingers to the bare space which should have held a mark and then turned it over, but it bore no additional marks.
Odette plucked the letter from Simon’s hands to read it again. And again.
Three lines were scrawled there on the fine parchment.
Three lines set their future off on an unbelievable trajectory.
Three lines meant they no longer had to spend a large portion setting up their own household and paying toward rent.
A townhouse on St. James’s Square had been purchased for them and placed in their names. Paid for in full. The address was one they couldn’t have dreamed of affording on their own.
And they had no idea who’d gifted this to them.
“Is this some sort of farce?”
“Who delivered this, Manley?” Simon asked the butler, disbelief evident in the lilt of his voice.
“A hired courier, Mr. Stratford. He wore no livery and no card was left.”
Odette handed the letter back to Simon, who did as she had and skimmed it twice more.“This is implausible,” she whispered.
“Incredible. Mind-boggling. Inconceivable,” Simon, seeming to be experiencing a similar confusion, murmured more incredulous adjectives before his voice trailed off.
She looked up into Simon’s bewildered face.“Your parents—”
“They would have said something in person, or at least used my father’s seal. Your mother?”
“Could never have afforded such a thing,” Odette replied with a shake of her head. They stared at one another for several heartbeats, clearly both wondering the same thing but unsure how to voice it:Could this be a cruel joke?
“I’ll send a note to my father’s solicitor in the morning. He can make some inquiries.”
Chapter Eleven
It was truly a benefit to the Aldborough Earldom to have such an expeditious and efficient solicitor.
It wasn’t much past noon the following day before Simon and Odette stood in the parlor of the townhouse at the address on St. James’s Square contained in the letter. As far as anyone had been able to discern, the note hadn’t been a hoax; there was even a deed placed in Simon’s name to prove it. According to the solicitor’s office who’d held it until the earl’s men of business tracked it down, the title was his, free and clear. They immediately handed over the deed, the key to the home, and various documentation related to the purchase. Despite extensive combing for clues, none of it provided information as to the identity of their benefactor. The home had been purchased through a tertiary solicitor whose records were kept tightly sealed.
There remained no leads, though his father’s solicitor had promised to continue to investigate. He was, however, careful to underscore the fact that there were no guarantees.“This is a remarkable gift—a good fortune for any second son,” the solicitor had said. Simon knew the last wasn’t intended to be a slight, more a comment of incredulity. It was a sentiment he was well used to.“My advice? Accept the property. It’s a boon for any newlywed couple.”
Simon glanced over at Odette, admiring the way she turned in a slow circle, her head tilted back as she appraised the soaring height of the ceilings with their thick crown molding.
Theirs.
This house was theirs.
Simon held the large cold key in his hand. It was just the two of them in the townhouse. It was unfurnished but comfortable, appeared well-built, and was in a highly desirable area. It was also better than anything he could have ever hoped to offer his wife. He may not have been the most conventional man, but he did still have some pride and it was dinged by the realization that he never could have provided Odette with what this anonymous giver had.
There wasn’t much wealth in scholarly endeavors.
As he silently followed Odette from room to room, appreciating her quiet gasps of surprise and delight, watching the way she admired the details of an ornate hearth mantle or the convenience of a window seat in one of the four bedchambers, drinking in the tilt of her head and the delicate curve of her cheek, the way her dress floated along her delectable curves.
It had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to refrain from seeking out her bed the previous night, their first in London. The situation—knowing she was just on the other side of a single wall—was a true test of his mental fortitude and Herculean physical restraint. He had repeatedly told himself that their stay at the inn had been astoundingly pleasurable, but now was the time to return to his work and scholarly applications.
The first step in his list had been accomplished; the next was to dedicate himself to his work. His deadline waited for no one and nothing—not even an unanticipated wedding. There had already been a small stack of letters waiting on his desk, brought over from his rooms to Aldborough House when his belongings had been transferred there. Sir Nigel had already been waiting for a reply for several days, so Simon had settled for staying up the prior night and rededicating himself to his project, doing his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts of Odette only feet away in another room.
