Lord Will & Her Grace

by Sophia Nash

  "Thank you, sir. You're very kind," Sophie said, lying through her teeth. She dropped a small curtsy and hastened from the shop.

  Now she was stuck. She hadn't even ordered the material. She would just have to come back another day and see if there was anyone else in the vicinity who could make up a pair of simple pantaloons and a thick, warm coat instead of the flimsy town shawls good for nothing but decoration of the décolleté.

  Of one thing she was sure. She would never set one foot near that gentleman's house. Now what was the name of his residence? Holton Mews? Hilton Grove?

  William watched the lady in question's lovely derrière swish through the door of the shop. The only delightful thing about the atrocious footwear and rag she wore was that it failed to hide her beautiful trim ankles.

  "Well," William said, turning to the draper. "A pity to let that one escape."

  "I daresay, my lord, the young miss who just left was indeed, Miss Somerset."

  "I haven't the slightest doubt of it," William said, smiling. While she was dressed like the poorest servant, he was surprised she hadn't been snapped up by one of the penniless members of the ton in London despite her disastrous entrée into the beau monde. It was obvious her transgression had left her reputation beyond repair.

  "A fine fortune that one will bring to the altar, I hear tell," said the draper in conspiratorial tones. "Ten thousand a year."

  William blinked. Good Lord. The mystery of why a fortune hunter in London hadn't snagged her hand deepened. She must've been caught in flagrante delicto. Perhaps she was with child. He cleared his throat and in that instant his mind assembled a brilliant idea.

  She could provide the answer.

  His man down from London had indicated there wasn't much time if he meant to continue with his plan.

  He tried to concentrate on the task before him. "Let us begin again, then. I require a complete outfitting. Show me your shirt linen to start."

  "Very good, my lord." The man brought down three bolts of fabric from the shelves behind him and laid them on the wooden counter, shiny from years of use.

  William indicated the bolt of choice and pushed away a card of lace with a look of disgust. "Let's have a look at the possibilities for waistcoats and coats, if you please."

  The man examined his finery and pulled a bolt of peach-colored silk from the shelves behind him. "For. God's sake, man, haven't you anything more somber or dignified?" The draper's eyebrows rose in confusion from William's foppish appearance.

  He felt exasperation creeping under the high shirt points of his ridiculous collar. Honestly, what was Farquhar thinking to own shirts like these? He couldn't remember if he'd ever spent a more ridiculous morning. Choosing fabric, indeed. Where was that bloody valet of his anyway?

  As if on cue, tinkling doorbells heralded Jack Farquhar's entrance. If it was possible, his valet wore an even more outrageous display of male splendor. Pale rose breeches with mother-of-pearl buttons at the knees met black riding boots of the finest calf polished to a mirror finish.

  Farquhar's ostentatious waistcoat was an embarrassment to mankind. The deep rose and green harlequin pattern matched the lapels of Farquhar's burgundy coat.

  But the pièce de rèsistance was Farquhar's hat: a dashing woodman's design much like what Robin Hood was said to have sported, notwithstanding the rose-colored peacock feather erupting from the back.

  The draper's hands, in the midst of retrieving another bolt from the shelves, stopped in midair. He gulped and appeared flustered.

  "Thank God you're here to relieve me from the tedium of all this. You know what I require, Farquhar. Have it all sent to Hinton Arms and arrange for a tailor from London."

  "How delightful! But I see we're in a bit of a temper this morning," the valet replied, then looked at the draper. "Let us have a look at that marvelous peach silk before you return it to the shelves, sir."

  "Farquhar…" William said in a dark warning tone. "If I see one brightly colored article—"

  The valet interrupted. "Oh, all right. If you're going to be fusty about it."

  "Look at it this way. If you arrange for all my needs to my specifications, I'll treat you to a peach waistcoat."

  "How divine. I love presents."

  "I'll leave you to this then. I'm to the cobbler now."

  "Do bring back a bit of hide for Mrs. Tickle." Farquhar paused. "Please?"

  "I'll not spend an instant on that good-fornothing hound of yours. You go too far."

  William turned to face the draper who looked thunderstruck by the exchange. The backcountry shopkeep had obviously never, in all his years, seen the likes of someone like Farquhar, a debonair dandy of the first order.

  Indeed, Farquhar passed all boundaries of acceptable behavior and dress for a valet—or for any town fop for that matter. But his loyalty and honesty had surpassed all standards. Why, Will owed his very life to the man and vice versa. The war years might have been the start of their acquaintance and mutual admiration, but the months after had only strengthened their reliance on one another to hold close their secrets.

  William turned to depart. But not before watching his valet rub his hands together in anticipation and ask to see the peach silk again. William shook his head. If Jack was not the finest valet in all of Christendom, and an excellent foil in their former spy games…

  Chapter Three

  SOPHIE nervously tapped the cream-colored velum card on her lap. She looked at it again.

  The Misses Anna and Felicia Mornington

  request the pleasure of the company of

  Miss Somerset and Miss Owen

  for dinner Wednesday next, five o'clock.

  Oh dear. When she'd left London, Sophie had hoped she was through with dressing up and primping. She loathed the anxiety surrounding formal social occasions.

  She would prefer spending an afternoon walking for miles along the beach or seeking out the two shepherds and the large flock of sheep on her uncle's vast estate.

  There was nothing to be done. She must accept the invitation otherwise the talk about her in Burnham-by-the-Sea would include the term "hermit" instead of "eccentric," which she'd overheard below stairs early one morning. While she might not have appeared to care what others thought, there were times she was deeply hurt by the cool reception of the people in the area.

  At least Mari would be happy about the invitation, Sophie thought while she composed a reply. Perhaps this would help her avoid her cousin's nightly harangue on her future state of poverty should the inheritance slip through Sophie's fingers.

  Miss Somerset was proving to be an amusing diversion during the otherwise unimaginably dull visit in Bump-in-the-Sticks, William's new appellation for this loathsome, mucky corner of England.

  He smiled inwardly. When she entered Mornington's formal salon, the look of horror on her face was beyond price. He'd never seen such an expression directed toward him. The gray-green fire in her almond-shaped eyes was as intriguing as he remembered. And she possessed the most exquisite creamy complexion with natural rosy cheeks, so unlike the painted ladies in town. Her decided chin spoke of intelligence and defiance.

  If he was honest, her features were hard to fully appreciate from this distance. She'd seated herself as far away from him as possible, using generations of Mornington antiques to obstruct his view of her charming profile.

  Enforced celibacy made him long to tangle his fingers in her thick dark blond hair, some of which had escaped the strict coronet of braids she'd fashioned.

  William shook his head. Since when had gauche country misses interested him? Charles's simpering sisters had driven him to madness.

  "Miss Somerset, may I say again what pleasure you and Miss Owens have given me and my sisters by joining us for dinner tonight?" Charles Mornington asked.

  William's friend looked in good form tonight, cutting a proper figure despite his short stature and stout frame. It was a pity William had not been able to fit himself into any of Mornington's more co
nservative garments.

  William looked down at the ridiculous ensemble Farquhar had forced on him this evening. It was the worst yet, involving a dark orange-colored satin coat, bottle green knee breeches and a mulberry waistcoat with heavy gray brocade. He felt like a bloody gourd.

  "Oh yes, Miss Somerset, Felicia and I are delighted you have joined the neighborhood. There are no other ladies"—and here Lady Anna sniffed—"who are of our caliber in the neighborhood."

  "Anna and I were just saying that until we learned Lord Will had arrived here, we were having a dreadful time tearing ourselves away from the amusements in town," Lady Felicia said and dissolved into a round of high-pitched giggles.

  Mornington's two juvenile sisters had been doggedly tailing Will for a fortnight. It was a wonder that two girls, not long from the schoolroom, had learned the game of cat and mouse so quickly. As they sat primly on the blue settee, he could almost imagine claws beneath their long gloves.

  It would have been an altogether different story if they had been available for a dalliance. William would have been able to endure their silly chatter and cattish behavior. Ah, indeed… sometimes two ladies fighting over him in a bedchamber could be quite, quite… Oh hell, and damnation. Surrendering to celibacy was not in his nature.

  Mornington stood up to signal the dining hour and looked to Miss Somerset.

  William could not stop himself from claiming her hand before his host, leaving Mornington to lead in the Welsh country cousin.

  "Miss Somerset, allow me to take you in to dinner, my dear."

  She flushed, which showed to advantage the cream and gold hue of her shoulders against the white silk gown with an apricot sash. Oh, yes, indeed, she presented a tempting morsel.

  She refused to meet his eye but rose from the chaise and began to walk with him toward the double doors.

  "Miss Somerset, I believe decorum dictates you take my arm," William said softly.

  She reluctantly placed her arm on his without looking at him.

  The party of six crossed the hall to enter into the austere magnificence of the dining hall.

  "I have been wondering if you have a twin sister, Miss Somerset," he said for her ears only.

  "A twin sister? Of course not. I am an only child."

  "Then I should warn you that there was a dowd at a shop in the village who said she would pass a message to you. She had a remarkable resemblance to you, my dear."

  "I have no idea what you are talking about, my lord. But I would appreciate it if you would refrain from calling me your 'dear.' I am not." Miss Somerset released his arm and attempted to move to the other side of the dining table.

  It was a shame what the gossipmongers of London had done to this girl. Her bruised pride and reputation made her prudish and unsure. Yet he was delighted to have found her. She would prove to be a little bit of a challenge, he was sure. But a recently fallen young spinster, along with the most definite allure ten thousand a year brought, was exactly what was called for to alleviate the dull, limited society here.

  "Ma Chérie," William said under his breath as he caught her arm. "You must allow me to seat you to my right as is proper."

  She paused, then looked at his hand on her arm and spoke quietly. "Please release me, sir. I have had my fill of etiquette lessons, thank you."

  William smiled and removed his hand. "Pardon me. No offense was intended."

  Miss Somerset turned her attention to the table. Everyone else was seated. Her expression, when she realized he had outmaneuvered her by stalling, was delightful. She sent him a glance that could have melted a snowbank and stiffly sat in the chair beside him, assuming an uncompromising, rigid posture.

  Mornington had placed Miss Owens to his right and his elder sister, Felicia, at the foot. Anna Mornington looked annoyed at finding herself between her sister and Miss Owens. Soon enough the younger sister engaged the attention of her tablemates with mindless banter.

  "Miss Somerset," William asked in low tones, "may we dispense with your falsehoods at the draper's? For I wish to know if you have been successful in your pursuit of a pair of… well, a pair of pantaloons."

  "I thank you for your interest, sir, however, it should be of no concern to you."

  "Ah. Quite right. It's just that I feel compelled as a gentleman"—William arched an eyebrow—"to offer the services of a tailor down from London tomorrow."

  "Thank you for this news, my lord. I'll arrange for his services myself when I'm next in the village." She picked up the water goblet, and took a long swallow, giving him time to admire the long, slender line of her neck.

  "I see I've not explained properly," William said. "I am afraid the tailor shall be housed here to take care of my extensive needs."

  She glanced at him with surprise. It was obvious she thought him a hopeless dandy—only concerned with maintaining the first blaze of fashion. But, perhaps, this would play to his advantage given her skittish nature and distaste of fortune hunters.

  "But I suppose I could spare him part of the morning if—"

  Like a fish grabbing the bait, she reached. "If what?"

  "If you would return here for the fitting." He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap with elegant gestures. "Alas, while I'm most willing to lend the talents of my tailor to a desperate female, I cannot spare him above a half hour. You may consider it penance for your prior sin of dishonesty."

  Her cheeks became pink, her muted green eyes sparked, and her bosom, ah, well, it was most becoming when she took a deep breath in indignation, as she did now.

  "A desperate female? Outrageous. But, then you are not content unless you are just so. I see your methods. But"—she smiled—"I'll not give you the pleasure of an argument. I accept your offer and shall return here tomorrow morning to meet your tailor, which you so kindly offered for precisely one half hour."

  Miss Anna Mornington intruded in their exchange. "I would like a share in your conversation, if you please," she insisted petulantly. "The seating tonight is very inconvenient. Miss Somerset, do tell us the sorts of amusements you favor. We simply must organize some diversions or Felicia and I will go mad being away from London in the middle of the Season."

  "Well, actually, I enjoy walking. This area has an extraordinary stark beauty to it, especially the paths along the shoreline."

  Mornington's sister took on a peevish expression. "I was hoping you might choose to have a dinner and some dancing one of these evenings. It has been ages since we have been to the villa. Not since before Mama's and the duke and duchess's deaths."

  "Anna, that was ill done of you," said Mornington. "Now you have put Miss Somerset in the uncomfortable position of feeling obligated to abide by your wishes."

  Fortune was smiling on him today, thought William. All eyes focused on Miss Somerset.

  "No, no, that's quite all right, Mr. Mornington. I would be delighted to devise an evening at Villa Belza," Miss Somerset said. "I am afraid it is long overdue."

  "My cousin was saying just yesterday, when we received your kind invitation"—Miss Mari Owens cleared her throat—"that she longed to arrange the sorts of entertainments favored by the former duke and duchess."

  The petite Welsh cousin was a skilled liar if he was forced to hazard a guess. Mornington had not seemed able to tear his eyes away from the dark beauty all evening. Now William would not even be able to count on Mornington for rational conversation. Indeed, his friend wore the same lovesick mooncalf expression his sisters wore on Will's behalf.

  "Shall we say Saturday, next? My cousin and I would be honored if all of you would join us for dinner and perhaps some music, if any of you play," said Miss Somerset, hiding her reluctance.

  "Oh, how wonderful!" Miss Anna Mornington clapped her hands together. "Felicia and I would be pleased to perform for you."

  Oh dear God, thought William, not another evening of screeching and sonatas missing a number of notes.

  Suddenly, the familiar sound of a scrambling dog whose nails were faili
ng to catch on hard flooring preceded the appearance of a sausagelike dab of tan and black. An oath not fit for the polite world escaped a nearby servant's lips when the creature dodged the man's hands and leapt into William's lap.

  Mrs. Tickle carried a shoe between her teeth, a newly tooled calf shoe, his shoe. She dropped it in his lap, panted and looked up for approval.

  The high-pitched garble of Jack Farquhar in the hall followed before the man himself made an appearance. Farquhar, bless his heart, was all done up in his most elegant finery for his evening off. Varying shades of pistachio were being put to the test tonight. But no, a hint of yellow and white peeked above and below the satin coat proving that yellow polka dots could compete admirably with vivid green.

  "Oh, Mr. Mornington, ladies, sir," said Farquhar, bowing as low as his stiff shirt points would allow. "I say, sorry to intrude."

  "Farquhar," William said with an edge.

  "Oh yes, of course. Mustn't interrupt the fine ladies and gentlemen. Where is that sorry dog of mine? Oh, there you are sweetheart." Jack Farquhar spied his pug and came around. "There, there, you mustn't make such a fuss when deprived of the new bit of hide"—the valet glared at William—"someone forgot to bring you."

  William passed the dog and mauled shoe to his valet.

  "I will require a word with you later, Farquhar."

  "Oui, monseigneur." The valet adopted his most formal stance and clicked his heels while bowing.

  Farquhar departed while cooing silly nothings in his pet's ear, but not before everyone noticed him slipping William's shoe back to Mrs. Tickle for the pug's further enjoyment. The door closed shut.

  "I'm all amazement by the long leash you allow your man," Mornington said, recovering from shock.

  "Yes, well, I suppose I tolerate it because he allows my leash to be equally long." William would never forget the number of times he had been unable to pay Farquhar during the last year and the man's unquestioning loyalty and bravery.