The Bargain of a Baroness

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Edward nodded. “Of course. I shall tell him of it tonight. He’s just over there, playing whist with Morganfield and Haddon and...” His eyes narrowed as he attempted to determine the identity of the fourth player at the whist table.

  “Trenton?” Graham offered, his lips curling into a grin when he recognized the blond-haired, blue-eyed earl that sat across from Mayfield. “He hasn’t changed a bit.”

  Glancing in the direction of the table in question, Edward said, “His oldest son looks just like him.”

  “Gabe the Younger?”

  “Indeed. He was caught in the parson’s mouse trap just a couple of months ago,” Edward said with a smirk.

  Graham gave a start. “Gabe is married?”

  “Indeed. To a potter he met at the British Museum,” Edward replied. “She’s... probably a bit older than he is, but they are a handsome couple, and they married for love,” he added in a quiet voice.

  “The only reason to wed,” Graham countered quietly.

  Edward’s eyes widened. “I do hope I shall end up in such a situation.”

  Graham regarded the young heir and allowed a sigh. “Then you shall have to inform your mother and your grandfather of your intent so that a marriage is not arranged on your behalf. As I recall, it seemed it was the way of the world when I was last in England.”

  Edward dipped his head. “Not so much, these days,” he said. “Although I expect there will be young ladies I am supposed to find suitable, I do not intend to marry until I am well past twenty.”

  “So... three or four years, then?” Graham asked, a smirk appearing. He could barely remember having turned twenty.

  “Mayhap seven or eight,” Edward countered. “Unlike you, I have not yet had a visit from Cupid.”

  Graham furrowed a brow. “What makes you think I had a visit from Cupid?”

  Settling back into his chair, Edward said, “You’re coming to dinner Monday night. To claim my mother. You wouldn’t be doing that if you hadn’t already taken a direct hit to the heart.”

  Stunned at the young man’s insight, Graham was left speechless for a few minutes. He used the time to savor the brandy and consider how to respond. “What if she has set her cap on another?”

  The young man across from him shook his head. “Was there not a bargain betwixt the two of you?” he asked. “One that assured you would be her husband if my father could not be?”

  Graham stared at the Mayfield heir apparent, doing his best to hold back a curse. “She told you about the bargain?”

  Edward captured his lower lip with an eye tooth as his eyes darted to one side. “Under duress, perhaps,” he admitted.

  Frowning, Graham asked, “How much duress? What did you... what did you do to her?”

  Allowing a wicked grin, Edward said, “The kind only a devoted son can impose.”

  “Bastard,” Graham accused, not so lightly.

  “Doubtful,” Edward replied. “For that would make me your son.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, so he did his best to keep his chin up and his gaze steady as he stared at Graham.

  Stunned at the young man’s words, Graham gave a shake of his head. “Is that what you believe?”

  It was possible, he supposed. Hannah had lain with him that last night before he departed England. Begged him to bed her, for she had learned something about the man she was to marry, and she was unsure if she could abide a marriage without the hope of romantic love.

  So he had taken her virtue, but only because he had hoped her mind might be changed. Hoped she might break off the engagement. Hoped she might instead agree to wait for him to make his fortune and marry him.

  Someone had convinced her to go through with it, though. Perhaps she even knew that night she would marry Charles, no matter what transpired between them.

  The note he found pinned to his pillow the following morning had him leaving for Boston, bitter but unable to hate the only woman he had ever loved.

  Edward blinked several times before his head hit the back of his chair. “I only wish to know the truth of the matter.”

  Graham gave a shake of his head. “Did you have a reason to doubt your mother’s virtue?”

  His head dipping, Edward finally shook his head. “The Duke of Ariley is my great uncle, but apparently my grandfather was a butler. Sorting my mother has not been an easy task,” he said in a quiet voice.

  Hissing, Graham found it easy to come to Hannah’s defense. “Miss Hannah was one of the most virtuous women in all of England. Her father’s former occupation had nothing whatsoever to do with how she was raised, other than she had an appreciation for those in service and a thorough understanding of life as an aristocrat. As her son, you would be wise to embrace both lineages and live the best life you can knowing what you know,” he scolded.

  Edward regarded Graham with a furrowed brow for some time before he said, “I wish someone would have said those words to me when I was much younger.”

  Graham shrugged. “Better late than never.”

  Nodding, Edward drained his brandy and said, “Agreed.”

  His own brandy glass empty, Graham said, “Lord Harrington, are you not?”

  Giving a start, Edward said, “I learned just this evening that I have the courtesy title of baron, but... I have not yet used it.”

  “Use it,” Graham replied. “No matter your youth. Even if Lady Mayfield lives to be a hundred and Mayfield is forced to follow suit, you’ll one day be an earl. It’s best you get used to the idea.”

  Laughing at the mention of his grandfather having to live as long as his grandmother, Edward said, “I suppose you’re going to tell me not to bother returning to school?”

  Graham regarded the younger man for a time before he said, “Do you know your Latin?”

  “I do,” Edward answered in Latin.

  “Some Greek?”

  Edward recited a quick response in Greek. “I am fluent in French, as well, but I’ve no idea why I had to learn it.”

  “Probably to appease your mother.”

  His face reddening, Edward glanced in the direction of the Earl of Mayfield before he said, “You had to learn it, too?”

  Graham allowed a nod. “My parents aren’t even aristocrats,” he murmured, and then he struggled to suppress a yawn. “Apologies.”

  “Are you well?”

  Graham squeezed his eyes shut and straightened in the chair. “Besides lacking a good night’s sleep for the past three weeks, I am.”

  “Have you a place to stay, sir?” Edward asked, his brow furrowed.

  Sure he detected a hint of genuine concern, Graham cleared his throat. “The entirety of the Woodscastle estate, it would seem. None of my cousins—nor my parents—seem to have use of it at the moment.”

  Edward nodded. “That is a relief, sir. But should you have required lodgings for the night, I would have been happy to offer a guest bedchamber at Harrington House.”

  Arching a brow in surprise, Graham was about to admonish the young man when he realized Edward was serious. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t setting up Graham for some kind of public humiliation. “That is rather kind of you,” Graham murmured. “But given Hannah is your mother, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “She is a charitable woman,” Edward agreed. “Unlike other women of her station, she does genuinely care about the less fortunate.” He displayed an expression that suggested he was proud of his mother, but then he gave a quick shake of his head. “Not that you, sir, are less fortunate.”

  “Thank you for the clarification,” Graham muttered. “Unless something drastic has occurred in the past few weeks, I cannot count myself among the less fortunate. Indeed, I do believe I shall soon be taking on my father’s responsibilities at Wellingham Imports. Perhaps not right away, but within the year. One day I shall inherit his share and eventually my mother’s, at which point I shall be the majority owner.”

  “Mr. Wellingham wishes to retire?” Edward asked in surpri
se.

  Furrowing a brow, Graham allowed a shrug. “My mother has already arranged her replacement in the hopes they can spend more time in Derbyshire.”

  “At Cherrywood?” Edward asked, referring to the country estate owned by the Burroughs family. Although the direct descendants of the Duke of Ariley rarely visited the large manor home surrounded by a parkland and gardens, Gregory Grandby and his brood—along with Thomas and Emma Wellingham—had adopted it as their home for the holidays.

  Graham blinked. “Yes. How is it you know about Cherrywood?”

  His shoulders lifting in a shrug, the young man said, “As the grandson of Lady Simpson, I have spent many a summer and a few Christmastides at Cherrywood.”

  Allowing a chuckle, Graham finally nodded. Edward had more of a right to call Cherrywood a second home than he did. “I suppose you have,” he murmured. When another yawn threatened, he said, “Pardon me, but I really should take my leave.”

  Edward dared a glance in his grandfather’s direction, noting how the whist players were concentrating on their cards. They probably hadn’t even noticed his conversation with Graham Wellingham. “So you will come for dinner? Monday evening?” he asked. “I should like very much to be the one to introduce you to my mother.”

  Graham winced. “That would have required you be born about the same year as me.”

  “Reintroduce,” Edward clarified. “I know she will be so happy to see you again. I should like to be present when her turtle appears in the parlor.”

  Once again wincing at the nickname, Graham rolled his eyes. Realizing the young man wasn’t going to be deterred, he said, “Dinner, then. Seven o’clock?”

  “Perfect,” Edward replied. “Harrington House, in Park Lane.”

  “I know where it is,” Graham replied. He turned his attention to his brandy glass and said, “Thank you for the drink. I do believe it’s past time I take advantage of my bedchamber at Woodscastle. I’ll see you Monday at seven o’clock at Harrington House.” He stood and gave himself a moment to be sure he was steady on his feet before he bowed.

  “It’s been an honor, sir.”

  Graham regarded the young man for a long moment. “As for me, as well.” Feeling as if he might pass out at any moment, Graham made his way to the exit and then to the town coach parked down the street.

  He knew Edward watched his departure, and despite his land legs not yet firmly in place, Graham was determined not to embarrass himself as he made his way to the Woodscastle coach.

  “Where to, sir?” Mr. Allen asked from the driver’s bench.

  Graham couldn’t help but chuckle. “Home. You’ll no doubt have to wake me when we arrive.”

  The driver gave him a nod of understanding. “Will do, sir.”

  The coach didn’t even make it to Jermyn Street before Graham was sound asleep.

  Chapter 11

  A Grandson Explains Much

  A few minutes later, still at Brooks’s

  Edward finally found his way to the faro tables and watched the play until he was sure he understood the rules. When the dealer gave him an expectant glance, he nodded and placed a twenty pound note on the table.

  The play was quick and rewarding, his suspicions as to the odds favoring a player confirmed when he won more than he lost.

  When his winnings had increased to one-hundred-and-twenty pounds, he gave the dealer a tip and pocketed the rest as he watched the foursome playing whist stand almost in unison. From his grandfather’s expression, Edward was fairly sure the earl had lost most, if not all, of his allowance during the play.

  When Mayfield finally joined him at the buffet for the supper—Edward had already helped himself and was in line for a second helping—he grumbled about the Marquess of Morganfield’s ability to cheat without being caught. “He’s practically family now that Haddon is married to Juliet,” he said with disgust.

  “How much did you lose to Morganfield?”

  Mayfield stiffened, his eyes darting to one side. “You cannot tell your grandmother,” he warned.

  “You expect she will ask me?” Edward asked in surprise.

  The earl nodded. “I have no doubt.”

  Edward fished in his pockets and handed over half his winnings.

  Frowning Mayfield asked, “What’s this?” as he rifled through the fifty pounds of bank notes.

  “This is the money you shall show grandmother when she asks if you enjoyed yourself on this night,” Edward replied.

  “Where did you get this?” Mayfield asked as he stared at the stack of notes. “I only gave you a twenty pound note.”

  Edward motioned toward the faro tables. “Might I recommend you share the money with grandmother? Suggest she buy herself some frippery? I will do the same with the rest of my winnings.”

  “But, why?” Mayfield asked, his bushy brows furrowing in confusion as they took seats at a dining table.

  “It will go a long way toward smoothing things over when we arrive home an hour later than we said we would,” Edward said before tucking into his meal.

  His eyes widening in fear, Mayfield pulled his chronometer from his waistcoat pocket and allowed a curse. “You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Harrington. If I was looking at you, I would think you were six-and-thirty.”

  Edward dipped his head. “I hope you’ll still think that when I tell you who I have invited to come for dinner the day after tomorrow.”

  Mayfield furrowed a brow. “But we don’t seat a formal dinner on Sunday evenings,” he argued, picking at his food.

  Tapping his chronometer to indicate it was well past midnight, Edward said, “The day after tomorrow is Monday.”

  “Ah, so it is,” Mayfield murmured. He ate his supper, continuing to complain about having been cheated as Edward simply listened and watched those around them. When his grandfather had finished his meal, they stood up to leave and Mayfield asked, “Who have you invited to dinner?”

  Edward motioned to where the footman was holding the door for them, and Mayfield allowed the other footman to help with his greatcoat while Edward saw to his own.

  “That man you were speaking with earlier this evening?” Mayfield guessed as they took their leave of the club and headed to where their coach was parked. “He’s the one you invited to dinner?”

  “Indeed,” Edward replied, surprised his grandfather had even noticed him while he played whist. His attention seemed entirely focused on the game.

  “Who is he?”

  For a moment, Edward was tempted to say, “My father,” but Graham’s lecture about Hannah had him doubting what he had come to suspect over the past few years.

  Then he considered answering with, “My future step-father,” but thought better of it.

  Instead, he said, “The future owner of Wellingham Imports and a cousin to the Earl of Trenton. He’s just today returned from Boston.”

  “Looking for an investor, no doubt,” Mayfield grumbled.

  Allowing a guffaw, Edward said, “He has no need of our blunt, sir.”

  Mayfield grunted his disbelief. “If not blunt, then what does he want?”

  Edward regarded his grandfather by the dim light of the lantern that hung on the side of the town coach and said, “Only his due. And I intend to see that he gets it.”

  Mayfield paused a moment, regarding his grandson with a furrowed brow. Then he stepped up into the town coach and settled into the velvet squabs. He watched as Edward took the seat opposite, surprised when the young man didn’t offer any more information about what he’d been doing—and with whom—whilst at Brooks’s.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mayfield asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

  Edward furrowed a brow. “Sorting. I’ve been sorting, sir.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Men,” Edward replied. “Suitors, actually.” Even in the dark, Edward could tell his grandfather had come to the wrong conclusion. “For mother,” he clarified.

  “But... she hasn’t had
any suitors,” Mayfield argued.

  “She will. Starting Tuesday, with the first ball of the Season,” Edward argued. “She’s out of mourning now, so I expect there will be a steady stream of widowers and older bachelors intent on gaining her hand in marriage.”

  Mayfield stared at his grandson in wonder. “How is it you know this?”

  Edward sighed. “Really, Grandfather. All the years I have spent at Eton have shown me the various scenarios that can occur when someone dies,” he replied. “And I intend to have a say in who my mother marries.”

  His eyes widening in both surprise and respect for his heir, Mayfield said, “Well, I have to admit, I am impressed, young man. So impressed, in fact, I think I shall make good on my earlier suggestion and order you to remain at Harrington House.”

  Edward gave a start. “You were... you were serious about me not returning to school?”

  Mayfield sighed. Loudly. “Truth be told, I could use you and your sensibility now,” he murmured. “I am growing old, and I find I am not as interested in running the earldom as I should be. My man of business is on the verge of quitting me, given how long it takes for me to answer his queries.”

  “Not as interested?” Edward repeated, hearing a slight slur in his grandfather’s words. He hadn’t thought the man drunk when they left the club, but now he thought he might be quite foxed. “Does that mean... you have not? Been running the earldom, I mean.” He remembered the state of the exterior of Harrington House upon his arrival and now wondered if all the Mayfield properties were in similar states of disrepair.

  Rolling his eyes, Mayfield whispered, “I do what I must, but no more than that. If it wasn’t for J. Arthur Peabody, the earldom would belong to the Crown. The Mayfield earldom deserves better. But all I want to do is fuck my wife, sleep, eat, drink, and to beat Morganfield at cards.”

  Edward blinked, sure his face was bright red at hearing what his grandfather wanted to be doing with his grandmother.

  He had heard the rumors, of course. Rumors that Mayfield was quite enamored with his countess had floated about Mayfair for Edward’s entire life.