by Brianna York
"Dobbs!" he cried on an exhale of tense breath as he recognized his valet. He allowed his hand to fall away from his side, then flexed the fingers to loosen their deathly tension and tried to still the adrenaline pounding through him. "What are you doing hiding in that alcove? Trying to scare the very death out of me and succeeding handily?"
"I was not hiding," Dobbs said blandly. He returned the statue he had been dusting to its proper pedestal and stepped back out of the small space. "As to the unhealthy condition of your nerves, Your Grace," he continued as he surveyed his work critically, "I am quite sure that I cannot be held responsible for that.”
Remembering his horsey condition, Matthew began to retreat with studied nonchalance. “I cannot argue with that logic.”
“What are you planning on wearing to the ball tonight, Your Grace?” Dobbs asked. To Matthew's annoyance, the valet turned around to address him, effectively halting his employer’s retreat. The man's aquiline nose crinkled suddenly, and Matthew knew he was lost. "Is that?" Dobbs glided toward Matthew, his nose wrinkling more the closer he got. "You didn't, Your Grace. Not the stables again! Do you intend to ruin every good outfit you own? That's why you have riding clothes, for goodness sake! Does it really take so long to change into an outfit suited for such filth? I swear that you toss away a fortune in new clothing every year simply because you are so impatient and so hopelessly besotted with those silly four-legged creatures crowding up the mews. Is it not bad enough that we must share the house with your dogs?” He swept a hand accusingly in the direction of the dogs. Sampson whimpered, tucked his tail between his legs and leaned against Matthew’s leg in search of reassurance.
Matthew was smiling now at his disgusted valet as he leaned down a bit and stroked Sampson’s large black and white head. "Horses are necessary in order to get around, Dobbs. Carriages are indispensable but I'm very much afraid that they are quite useless without a team of horses to pull them."
"I know that, Your Grace," Dobbs replied, still crinkling his nose inelegantly. "But must you have so many of the bloody beasts? They can't all be for the carriages!"
Matthew's smile only deepened in response as he allowed the flustered valet to shoo him up the stairs. "Horses are a fact that you simply cannot change about me, Dobbs. After so many years of faithful service to my unfortunately horse-infatuated person you should really be acceptant of that by now," he called over his shoulder as he preceded his valet into the dark green, gold and startling alabaster of his master bedroom.
"I am the one who cares for your clothes, Matthew," Dobbs said in the hallowed tones of both upper servant and personal friend. "So I do not have to accept anything I do not overly like."
Still smiling ruefully and wondering who else in all of England was so lenient with his servants, Matthew crossed the white and green carpet on the floor to stare contemplatively out the window. Late April sunlight silhouetted the townhouse next-door, but Matthew hardly noticed. His mind was already wandering to the various possibilities the coming season would offer him yet again. Perhaps, he thought in passing, it was time to utilize the season in the way that was intended. Perhaps it was time to select a wife from the faceless mass of young girls whose sole goal in life was to marry well. The thought was so distasteful that he felt a touch ill. He shuddered internally and leaned against the window sill to steady himself.
"I assume that you are due at Duke Norwood’s house in a hair over the coming hour, Your Grace?" Dobbs said from the other side of the chamber.
Matthew consulted his pocket watch before nodding agreement. He turned around and paced to the four poster in the center of the room. He flopped onto it with a heavy plumpf. Barking, the dogs joined him on the bed. He wriggled down blissfully into the feather mattress, cupping his hands behind his head and staring up at the rich green brocade canopy overhead.
"The blue coat?" Dobbs queried, his head in the depths of the cherry wood armoire.
"Yes, that will do nicely. It is my favorite. The gold-tasseled Hessians too."
"Yes sir," Dobbs replied, beginning to arrange things. "I do believe that you should be getting dressed, Matthew."
Sighing, Matthew only stirred a little on the mattress. "Do you think Rosy and her family would be too terribly insulted if I did not show?”
Dobbs shot a slightly amused glance at his employer. "I am afraid that you know the answer to that question rather as well as I do, Matthew. Now do get up.”
Matthew groaned elaborately and sat up. He stretched luxuriantly, muscles gained from the combination of horses, Gentleman Jackson's, and fencing at Angelo’s bunching and releasing beneath his tight-fitting green coat. Watching his employer, who was so like a son to him, Dobbs wished the good Lord had seen fit to provide him with a physique like Matthew's. There was really something to be said for pure, noble, and very blue blood.
Matthew dressed hurriedly, Dobbs handing him articles of clothing with practiced ease. He brushed his unruly hair into place, then checked himself from all angles. Satisfied, he snatched his white gloves off the dresser beside him and took his walking stick from Dobbs. The valet followed his employer down the stairs and into the front hall.
“Where is Alex?” Matthew asked of no one in particular. “Alex?!” he shouted, making Dobbs wince.
“I’m coming!” Matthew’s older sister called back, hurrying from her rooms, trailed by her abigail. Picking up her blue skirts, she made her way down the stairs. “I did not have as much time to change as you did,” she informed him, taking the handkerchief that her abigail was pressing into her hands and stuffing it into the reticule that matched her dress. “Is my hair ready?” she asked of her personal servant.
“I think so, my Lady,” the girl panted.
Alexandra Hargreve checked her reflection in the narrow mirror that hung on the foyer wall. In many ways, she and Matthew looked nothing alike. Alexandra was Matthew’s half-sister, and she took after her Scottish mother in her coloring. She had wavy red hair that framed a pair of Carribean-blue eyes that were at once translucent and fathomless. Her face was perfectly balanced other than her mouth, which was almost too hard to be attractive unless she smiled. She was quite tall for a woman, and she frequently observed that it was terribly unfortunate that the only man taller than herself was her brother.
“Stop fussing,” Matthew ordered her. “You look marvelous.”
His sister turned to face him, her beautiful eyes laughing at him. “Thank you brother, but you are not a very impartial judge, I am afraid.”
Matthew shook his head. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Alex. You look like perfection itself.”
“Your cravat isn’t straight,” she informed him, turning away from the mirror to fix it. “Look up, brother,” she ordered him. Rolling his eyes, Matthew obliged her. “We can’t have you looking too shabby to be seen with my perfect self,” she said, her voice teasing.
Matthew feigned seriousness. “Of course not. Are you quite ready now?”
Alex glanced at her reflection again, then nodded. “I do believe so,” she said.
"Excellent,” Matthew replied. “We shall be back sometime early for us, Dobbs,” he announced as he took his many-layered greatcoat from the butler and swirled it onto his shoulders with a flourish of competent dramatics. Offering his arm to Alex, he escorted her down the stairs to his waiting curricle.
"He reminds me more of his father every day," the butler, Milton told Dobbs, as the two upper servants watched the young lord swing confidently aboard his smart carriage and cluck to his horses before disappearing into the fast-fading light at a spanking trot.
Dobbs, who had not met Matthew’s father, nodded. “I have always thought that his father would be terribly proud to have produced such a fine son.”
“Do you think that he is ever lonely?” Dobbs asked abruptly, his eyes still on the carriage. Milton watched the lamplight glint off Matthew’s golden hair and considered Dobbs’s question.
“Not in any fundamental way,” he answered
finally. “He has never minded being singular.”
∞∞∞
Theresa Dartmoor stared at herself in the mirror, attempting to be both objective and critical. She turned her head slightly to the side to regard the artful pile of curls that her abigail had twined her black hair into. She pressed an errant strand of hair back behind her ear, her green eyes narrowed in concentration. Sighing, she pinched her cheeks in an effort to draw some color into them. She wished that the butterflies in her stomach would settle some.
“Tess! Hurry if you please! I don’t wish to miss Norwood’s dinner after I worked so hard to secure these invitations for us!”
Tess closed her eyes for a moment, gathering herself. “I’m coming, Gregory!” she called back to her brother. She stared at the pale girl in the mirror in front of her for another moment, then stuck her tongue out at her reflection petulantly and whirled away.
“You look your part, sister dear,” Gregory Dartmoor praised his sister as she hurried down the slightly shabby stairs. “Are you prepared to catch the Duke’s attention?”
Tess frowned slightly. “Are you certain that there is no other way to repair the family fortunes, brother? Would it not be enough for me to marry a man who can care for me? I promise to accept the first suitor with some small fortune who offers for me,” she pleaded.
Her brother scowled at her. “Tess, we have been over this again and again. Father lost everything that should belong to me in one foolish night of gaming and drink. Dunsaney now owns our family property and I am sure he makes a tidy profit on it. You know I cannot afford to buy it back, even if the damnable man would sell it to us.”
“But, Gregory,” Tess attempted once more as she placed a slender hand on her brother’s arm, “it was the duke’s father who won East Gate from Pappa. He can’t be held accountable for the actions of either his father or ours. You know I am pretty enough to catch someone with a respectable fortune. We needn’t seek personal vengeance against the Dunsaney family.”
Her brother shook her hand off with a growl. “Damn it all, Tess! I am not discussing this further with you. I want East Gate back and the only way to get it is for you to manage to catch yourself Duke Dunsaney. You remind me that you are very pretty. Prove it to me tonight.”
Tess stared at her brother for a protracted moment, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. She blinked furiously and drew her cloak more tightly about herself. She had been so excited when her brother had offered her the chance to have a London season. He had not told her of his plan to avenge her family’s loss of fortune until they had arrived in London. She was sick at heart about acting her part in her brother’s scheming, but she was a young woman with no connections and nothing to recommend her save her lovely face. If she did not accept her brother’s authority, she would find herself with nowhere to turn and no one to help her.
“Come now, it is past time we left,” Gregory said, offering his arm. Tess took it gingerly, her throat burning with suppressed tears and sudden nerves. “I have heard that Norwood sets a very fine table,” her brother was saying. “I’m hungry enough to eat every course they put before me.”
Tess heard his voice as if it was coming from very far away. She thought of the sweet and gentle mother she had barely gotten to know. She had always vowed that she would never allow any man to make her as miserable as her Pappa had made her mother. She wondered drearily if she was doomed to meet the same fate in spite of her best intentions to the contrary. She uttered a silent prayer and willed fate to be kind to her as she allowed herself to be handed into the hired hack waiting for them.
Two
M
atthew drove slowly, enjoying the clear dusk and the nearing of the nighttime he so loved. He glanced over his shoulder to verify that Nyx was able to keep up comfortably with the speed of the carriage. William had been as good as his word and the mare’s black coat shone in the evening light.
“Rosy will be beside herself with joy,” Alex said, following the line of her brother’s gaze. “I think they will suit one another very well.”
Matthew exchanged a pleased smile with his sister. “I know how much freedom a horse can provide to a woman,” he said knowingly. “As well as friendship,” he added.
Alexandra, who often chafed under the strict expectations of her social status and her sex felt her heart turn over fondly at her brother’s understanding. So few men of the ton saw women as actual people. It was so refreshing to know that men like her brother truly saw their worth and valued their companionship.
The pair observed that dinner was just being served when they arrived, which meant that they had timed their arrival perfectly. Matthew leapt from his carriage and tossed the reins to a servant. He helped his sister down, and left instructions to keep Nyx in front of the house until they had been told otherwise. Alex and Matthew mounted the closely-spaced front steps and were ushered inside by the waiting butler. Matthew handed his greatcoat and hat along with his walking stick to the butler, and proceeded to check his hair.
"I assure you that's it all in the same place as it was before you left,” Alex assured him. “With all the stuff you put on it, I'm surprised it doesn't have the consistency of cement.”
“I resent that,” he told her. “Plenty of women find my hair to be delightful.”
"Only the ninnyhammers that twitter about it in the retiring room," she whispered back, being spared a counter-attack by their crossing of the dining room threshold. Silence fell as if by magic and with rather an abrupt thunk, and all eyes swung to two of the most discussed members of upper society.
Matthew took the moment of silence to survey the guests present, flicking a broad smile at the section of the table where his friends were seated. Noting two empty chairs across from each other in that section of the table, Matthew took Alex to the one on the near side, pulling it out for her to slip in. The silence still held as he rounded the table. "Happy eighteenth, Rosy," he said, his mellow voice jarring the total silence. He bowed neatly to her, before pulling out Alex’s chair for her. Once she was settled, he continued to his seat beside his best friend, Robert Kensington, the richest Earl in England. "How is life treating you Rob?" At his words, the silence shattered into a thousand sharp shreds as gossip and muttered words flew.
"It treats me well enough," Robert responded as both he and Matthew leaned back to allow a servant to place the first course in front of Matthew. "Despite a perfectly useless round of repetitive and rambling amusements arranged by totally unimaginative and unreliable hosts."
Alex glanced down and shook her head slightly, before saying, "You're not snubbing dear Rosalind's ball, are you?"
Robert's blue eyes flicked to the young girl, whose brunette head had come up at the mention of her name. He reached out a beautiful hand, and wrapped his overlong fingers around the stem of an exquisite wine glass. An elaborate signet ring winked on his right hand as he drew back in his chair and twirled the wine glass lazily. "Of course not, dearest Alexandra," he replied studiously, taking a sip of the ruby-red claret in the glass. "I meant the others, and well you know it. This is wonderful claret, Norwood,” he called down the table, causing heads to whip around at his lack of manners. "Excellent color as well. Red as my own blood."
"That's funny," Forrest said from Alex's side of the table, "I could have sworn your blood was a beastly color of blue, Rob."
The other diners laughed obligingly, and Alex and Matthew joined in.
“You are well, Marcus?” Matthew asked of the man seated on the other side of Alex. Marcus Raudell, the Earl of Wythinghall and Matthew were distant cousins, and they had grown up together.
Marcus nodded. “Tolerably, yes.” At times, Marcus could be a bit stiff and pompous, and he was not ever verbose, so his succinct answer was in keeping with his character. Matthew had never truly understood Marcus despite the many hours they had spent together as children. They got along reasonably well, but Matthew always felt that Marcus was not comfortable with him.
&
nbsp; "How does it feel to be old enough to take your bows, Lady Rosalind?" Rob asked Rosalind. She had been silent in such an uncharacteristic way and for so long that Matthew had nearly forgotten her presence.
She smiled gratefully, her light green eyes that tended toward hazel, jumping around the long table a bit fretfully. "Very nice, Lord Coulthurst."
"How much," Matthew said easily, feeling much warmed by excellent food and even better wine, "would you be willing to bet any one of us that I have a finer gift to give you than any other person present here. Well, what'll it be, Roz?"
Rosy looked at Matthew, her secretly romantic idol, her eyes narrowing slightly at the paralyzing challenge so integral in this man whom she so admired. "I cannot be sure about you, Your Grace. You are ever so unpredictable," She wrinkled her small nose in hesitance. Matthew laughed loudly at her reply and lounged back in his gilt chair.
"You have found a gift for the gel who has everything?" Forrest cut in, his tone indicating that the question was purely conversational. They both knew that Forrest could never hope to afford the lifestyle that Matthew was accustomed to, but neither of them thought little enough of each other to consider that fact a part of their friendship in any way at all.
Matthew winked at Forrest. “Quite possibly I have. I need only the find the perfect timing to present said gift. Hopefully dinner will be over shortly.”
