Adoration Read online

  Adoration

  by

  REBECCA KING

  © 2020 by Rebecca King

  The moral right of R L King to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. Legal action will be taken against organisations or individuals breaching international copyright laws.

  This book is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MISS FLORENTINE’S SCHOOL FOR INVESTIGATORS

  THE LOCAL HEROES SERIES (STAR ELITE)

  TUPPENCE

  OTHER BOOKS BY REBECCA KING

  CHAPTER ONE

  The loud throb of conversation within the tightly packed ballroom was deafening. Amidst the din of glasses chinking and high-pitched laughter people did their best to mingle. But Lord Campton’s ball was a crush. It was impossible for people to circulate, but they didn’t care. They had received one of the coveted invitations to attend the ball and were delighted to be among the honoured masses. It didn’t matter that so many people were present the ballroom floor wasn’t even visible through the kaleidoscope of shifting colours of the women’s ballgowns. Of every colour they clashed and blended, interspersed by men in dark evening dress. Somewhere in the back of the room, the discordant noise of the orchestra tuning their instruments warned that the musicians were ready to begin their temporary distraction and restore order.

  Somewhere in the melee, Morgan Rothersham was trying to pick a path to the large bank of French doors lining the far side of his ballroom. They remained closed because he didn’t want the guests to spill out onto the balcony but he could use them to get out of the place for a while. With one eye on freedom, Morgan nodded and smiled at the people he passed. He smiled so much that his face felt as if it was going to break and his neck hurt from all the nodding acknowledgements that he gave to people. Several wanted to stop and talk, but he carefully kept away from them. Nothing was going to delay his escape.

  To his grim delight he collided with his sister, Mariette. She turned to smile at him. ‘Oh, it is you,’ she muttered, her smile dying.

  ‘Yes, it is me,’ Morgan growled. Grabbing her by the elbow before she could disappear into the crowd, Morgan leaned down. ‘Just what in the Devil’s name do you think you are playing at? How many people did you invite?’

  Mariette refrained from answering for a few moments by nodding at the people around them she knew. Morgan tightened his hold on her, drawing her somewhat worried gaze to his hand.

  Good. I hope you are worried because I am going to give you a warning you will not forget when this is all over.

  With that promise firmly tucked in the back of his mind, Morgan squinted malevolently at his younger sibling. ‘I told you no more than a hundred. This is dangerous, Mariette,’ Morgan hissed.

  Mariette flicked an uncomfortable look at the people closest to them. When she spoke, she pasted a smile on her face and raised her voice. ‘It’s a wonderful turnout, isn’t it?’ Her smile dimmed when she saw the angry glare on her brother’s face.

  ‘I don’t know half of these people,’ he grumbled. ‘Just what in the Hell do you think you are doing?’

  Mariette blinked at him. ‘How can this be dangerous?’ Her smile returned as a thought popped into her head that she appeared to find highly amusing. ‘Starting to feel a little hunted, are we? Is it dangerous to your bachelorhood? Are you worried that you might get caught in a compromising position with one of these delightful young women?’

  ‘No, that is not it,’ Morgan snapped with an angry glare. ‘We have so many people in this house that the staff cannot get around with the trays. Sir Snor-a-lot Smedley has already knocked a candelabra over twice and about set fire to the curtains. God only knows what is going on upstairs. I have positioned Denton by the base of the main staircase to try to keep everyone down here but I think I will have to give him grandfather’s sword to fight off the hoards. Boris is now refusing to even answer the bloody door and looks about to weep. God knows where half of the footmen have gone. Just what in the Hell were you thinking? You do know this is my home, don’t you?’

  When he became aware of several people listening to what he was saying, Morgan glared warningly at them and unceremoniously yanked Mariette with him as he forced a path through the crowd to the adjoining door. Shoving it open, he slammed to a stop when he saw that the room was also was packed full of strangers, all availing themselves of his finest brandy.

  ‘This is my study, damn it,’ Morgan growled. Cursing fluidly, Morgan dragged Mariette back out of the room and around the perimeter of the ballroom.

  ‘Morgan, we have guests,’ Mariette protested when it was evident Morgan was going to drag her out of the ballroom.

  ‘Yes, we do. That is the bloody point,’ Morgan snapped without bothering to stop.

  He tugged her across the hallway and into the library and cursed again when he discovered that it had been turned into a makeshift gambling den. Various tables around the library had been converted into card tables upon which were large piles of money. The hushed silence of the library, in stark contrast to the rest of his house, was interrupted by several warnings to ‘shush’ and angry glares when they stumbled inside.

  ‘Can I remind you all that this is my house? There is no gambling allowed,’ Morgan protested. He was prevented from ordering everyone to leave by Mariette, who yanked him back out of the room and closed the door.

  ‘That’s my library,’ Morgan growled as if Mariette didn’t already know.

  ‘They aren’t doing any harm,’ Mariette sniffed. ‘God, you really must relax a little. Why don’t you have some brandy?’

  ‘Because half of the scoundrels in my study have already drunk it,’ Morgan snarled.

  With a muttered curse, Morgan dragged Mariette down the hallway to the servant’s quarters. Staff were running this way and that as trays were prepared to take to the guests. Even so, there was a little more breathing room and a dark, relatively secluded corner that Morgan made good use of. Shoving Mariette into it he rounded on her.

  ‘This is the very last time you are going to turn this house into chaos like this, do you hear me? I don’t care who half of those people are but you are not going to invite them here again.’ He checked off the fingers of one hand. ‘You are not going to have any more balls, routs, or musicals in my house. No more dinner parties for acquaintances, house parties, hunting parties, or gatherings of any kind. Do you understand me?’

  Mariette placed her hands on her hips and glared at him only to realise that she was wrinkling her dress. Brushing it back out she huffed a sigh. ‘Well, I am not going to stay out here and live in isolation,’ she snapped. ‘You need to socialise. You won’t find a wife if you don’t
get out there and make it clear to them that you are available.’

  ‘But I am not available,’ Morgan snarled. ‘If I choose to take a wife I shall damned well go out and find one without interference from you. This is my home, and while I did agree for you to have the ball, I told you that there should be no more than a hundred guests, Mariette. That is one hundred, not two or three or four, but one. My house is so full someone could die in the middle of the ballroom and nobody would notice.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,’ Mariette scoffed.

  ‘I am not,’ Morgan growled. ‘Nobody can make the space needed to dance even if they can hear the orchestral music. Where is everyone supposed to go, eh?’

  ‘We can open the French doors and let people spill out onto the balcony,’ Mariette offered. ‘It will be fine. You worry too much.’

  Morgan muttered a curse and knew that no matter what he said Mariette would always have an argument for it or ignore him. It annoyed the Hell out of him that she just wasn’t listening.

  But there is nothing I can do. Without causing a ruckus and sending everyone home without warning, and in doing so cause a scandal, everyone has to stay.

  ‘Well, enjoy your ball, Mariette, because I can promise you here and now that it is going to be the last you will have in my house.’ He lifted a hand to stop her when she opened her mouth to object. ‘If you want to entertain guests you are to dine with them in the Dowager House. You are no longer at liberty to use my house for any reason, or invite anybody to it, do you understand? If you wish to see people you can go and visit them until you marry and have a house of your own. Then, you can return invitations and entertain people morning, noon, and night, every day of your married life if you want to, with the poor sod who will be your husband beside you throughout it all. I, however, shall not be involved in any of it. This is unacceptable, Mariette. It is poorly managed, makes us look disorganised, and is embarrassing. It isn’t a pleasant evening we should be giving people. It’s foolish.’

  Mariette’s mouth fell open but Morgan didn’t give her the opportunity to say anything.

  ‘I know that as soon as I said you could have a ball here you decided to make the most of it and went about showing off and boasting to all and sundry. However, in doing so you have made it clear to everyone how poor you are at organising such an event. I warn you now that I am not going to tolerate another evening like this. If any of my personal belongings, ornaments, artwork, gets damaged in any way, you will pay for them out of your allowance. If there are any arguments or fights between the guests, you will sort them out. We won’t even discuss how much this lot has cost me but I warn you now that your allowance is going to be reduced to help pay for some of it. I don’t care how isolated you feel, or how many balls or dinner parties your friends have. You are not going to turn my house into bedlam like this again. I don’t care what you do, make sure that lot in there get out of this house before two o’clock. They are not to be here at dawn. I want those guests slowly eased out of the door from midnight and I don’t care if you have to shove their arms up their backs and physically kick them out of the front door to do it.’

  It was evident to Morgan that Mariette was furious. Her eyes flashed. Her high cheekbones, so very much like his own, were tinged with florid colour. Her delicate chin was now tilted at a pugnacious angle, so much so he knew she wasn’t going to do anything he had just told her. It incensed him. Shoving a finger under her nose he growled: ‘If you don’t, at two o’clock precisely, I shall make an announcement that the ball has ended and everybody has to go home. That you were remiss not to tell them that it had a definite closure but they are all to leave,’ Morgan added.

  ‘You won’t do that.’ Mariette’s statement was bold but there was doubt in her eyes.

  Morgan heaved a sigh of relief that he might, finally, be getting through to her. ‘Watch me,’ he hissed before slamming out of the kitchen leaving her staring after him with wide, horrified eyes.

  The staff in the kitchen all stopped and turned to stare at the master of the house as he marched furiously across the kitchen and straight out of the back door. The loud bang of the door closing behind him retained the silence for several moments until, warily, they returned to work. Mariette crept slowly out of the scullery, more than a little shaken by her brother’s fury.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Celeste, her best friend, asked nervously from the doorway.

  ‘Yes, dear. Morgan is just a little upset, that’s all,’ Mariette replied with a worried look at her brother’s rapidly retreating back through the kitchen window.

  ‘The orchestra are about to begin,’ Celeste murmured, eyeing Morgan longingly.

  Mariette rolled her eyes and nudged Celeste into motion before her. She knew that her friend was completely infatuated with her brother, but also that Morgan really didn’t like Celeste. He found her to be too immature, too simpering, too whiny and clingy. Linking arms with her friend, Mariette dragged Celeste back to the ballroom. Deep inside, she too was getting alarmed by just how many people were turning up to what was, unless she could persuade Morgan otherwise, the last ball the house was going to accommodate for a long time.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Morgan marched angrily across his garden. He didn’t stop until he reached the pale waters of the lake in the farthest corner of his landscaped lawn. It annoyed the Hell out of him that even so far away he could hear the hideous noise coming from the guests crammed inside his house. As he listened the orchestra signalled that they were about to play. He knew, even without looking, that the crowd would do their best to create a bit of space to allow dancers to gather in the centre of the room. The drinks would continue to flow, people would fall about this way and that, and the orchestra would play regardless of whether anybody was paying attention or not.

  ‘Some people will have to stumble back out of the front door, some will have to be shoved, others won’t even remember being here. Then this whole damned sorry mess will take place under some other poor sod’s roof at some point in the future,’ Morgan muttered.

  Raking a frustrated hand through his hair, he stopped suddenly and propped one broad shoulder against a thick oak tree but only so he could stare moodily across the lake.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  Morgan sighed, and looked over his shoulder at his good friend, Ralph. His lip quirked upward in one corner as he accepted the bottle of brandy off him. One long sip wasn’t anywhere near enough to reduce his temper, but it did warm him through and make him relax a little.

  ‘If you don’t like them, why do you let her have it?’ Ralph asked without preamble.

  ‘The ball or the guests?’ Morgan asked dryly.

  Ralph grinned. ‘Both.’ He walked past Morgan and slumped down onto the grass with his boots pointing to the edge of the lake. Staring moodily down at the fine leather, he waited, but not for long. Morgan settled down beside him and, together, they stared out across the water in companionable silence. Each man was lost to their thoughts until Morgan broke the silence.

  ‘You know Mariette. She is far too used to getting her own way. She doesn’t understand the word or meaning of ‘no’.

  ‘I do fear that she has been frightfully indulged,’ Ralph sighed.

  ‘Mariette has learnt that she can get what she wants if she nags, pesters, whines, and becomes a pain in the backside. If she doesn’t get anywhere with me, she will moan at Alicia until one of us gives in. Then whoever stands their ground against her finds themselves facing two people not just Mariette. It is hopeless. But it gives her something to do and keeps her out of my hair.’

  Ralph looked back at the house. ‘But she is in your hair, and so are about two hundred and fifty strangers, Morgan.’

  Morgan bit back a curse and growled loudly in sheer frustration. ‘She needs to find a damned husband, and then she will leave me alone.’

  Indeed, he had done everything possible to invite as many single friends as he could just for that purpose in
the hopes that one of them might get drunk enough to offer for her. The problem was that he was the kind of man who liked his peace, and space, and at the grand age of one and thirty didn’t have all that many single friends left to invite.

  ‘Mariette can be incredibly foolish sometimes. She doesn’t seem to realise how much things like this cost, or how much work or distress it causes others. As long as she gets what she wants someone else can pay the price,’ Morgan muttered.

  ‘There is a good turnout. Plenty of people have travelled for miles to attend. I hear that it is the gossip of the Season. An invitation to your ball is the most coveted of prizes.’

  ‘God, you really must get better gossip,’ Morgan growled.

  ‘It is true. Because you don’t have social functions very often securing an invitation to your ball is a valuable prize indeed. That should say something about how well you are regarded in society at the very least,’ Ralph offered. ‘By way of commiseration that is. There has to be at least one benefit from something like this hasn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose, but at what cost? I will consider it a damned blessing if my house is still standing in the morning,’ Morgan grunted.

  Ralph grinned but his smile swiftly faded. He was still doubtful that it was a good idea to broach the subject but, after a moment or two of hesitation, he took a breath and broached the topic anyway. ‘Was she invited?’

  Although Morgan’s face didn’t betray one hint of emotion, he froze and slowly turned to glare at Ralph. He knew exactly who ‘she’ was. At first, he tried to block all thoughts of her out. He failed – miserably.

  ‘Yes. She was invited,’ Morgan replied darkly.

  ‘Did she accept? I didn’t see her in there,’ Ralph pressed. He didn’t tell his good friend that he had taken up position by the entrance hall and had watched everyone arrive. He knew she hadn’t arrived.