Riordan glanced across the table at his brother. Aidan’s expression held a combination of nausea and boredom. “I’ve read that one out of every three citizens is under the age of fifteen, which is the reason many children labor in textile mills and coal mines,” Riordan said.
Julian nodded. “True. There should be regulations in place to protect the innocent. Another touchy subject is repealing the Corn Laws.”
“Blasted protectionism. I was against it from the first,” the earl boomed. “By imposing restrictions on imported wheat, which in turn inflates grain prices, all it has done is managed to further deepen and expand the wretched poverty infecting this country.”
“I agree, Father. It is going to be a nasty fight. I predict it will shake the foundations of the British government.” Julian popped a piece of scone into his mouth and swallowed. “You should go with me to London instead of waiting until the middle of next month. There are many battles to be fought, and we need every progressive voice we can muster.”
“Yes, perhaps I will,” the earl replied.
Riordan’s heart swelled with pride as he listened to his father’s impassioned words. The subject changed to the running of the estate, and Garrett brought everyone up to date on the horse breeding, farming, and the surrounding tenants.
Aidan remained silent, slowly picking away at his toast and cheese.
“Aidan,” Julian said, his voice tight with annoyance. “You are the heir. You will be carrying our progressive torch into the future. Have you nothing to offer?”
Aidan looked up, a bored expression on his face. “Not this morning, Father.”
The rumblings of a heated argument simmered near the surface, and because of it, Riordan decided to make his announcement to divert away from a family spat. At least, he hoped it would. “I have news. I have accepted a position as schoolmaster in the town of Carrbury, in East Sussex.”
The table grew quiet and all eyes turned to him. Well, he’d shocked them into silence. Might as well continue. “One of our main concerns is neglected, exploited, and abused children. Trying to pass compulsory education is defeated at every turn for the exact reason you mentioned, Father. The notion that children be kept uneducated and ignorant so that it makes them better workers is inherently heinous.”
The men all grumbled, nodding and agreeing with his assessment. Even Aidan reacted with a brisk nod. Riordan pushed on. “Education reform is achingly slow. We all know it will take decades of small, incremental changes before education for all becomes enforced. But there are changes being made. The Ragged School Union was set up this past spring. Schools are opening all across Great Britain, but not only charity schools. There’s a new concept: board schools.”
He had their complete attention. Even the butler listened in. “Fee-paying schools have been around for centuries, but only available to those in the upper class, who can afford them. Board schools would charge landowners and businesses a small fee, to be administered by an elected board of local officials. One of these schools has been set up in Carrbury. I applied for the position of schoolmaster, was interviewed and accepted. I did not go by Wollstonecraft. I applied as Mr. Riordan Black.” Black was his middle name, his mother’s surname. “One of the board members knows my true identity, as I had to prove my education credentials, but he agreed to keep it secret so that it would not draw too much attention to the school. I will be able to gather information, implement my own reforms, and observe if they take root.”
“I am exceedingly proud of you, Son,” Julian said, the words spoken with warmth. A derisive snort came from Aidan, but their father ignored it.
“As am I, Riordan. All the information you gather will only strengthen our cause. How far away is Carrbury?” his grandfather asked.
“About twenty-two miles south of here, less than a day’s ride. I’m to report there in five days’ time. The small township and surrounding area covers a population of about seven hundred, and I’m told I may have upward of thirty-five children of various ages in the classroom.”
“Shrewd of you to conceal the name. Come and walk with me, Riordan, and we will discuss this development further. If there is no other business?” He glanced around the table. “I adjourn the meeting,” the earl stated.
Aidan stood, but Julian shot him a thunderous look. “Sit. We have much to talk about.”
“On that ominous note, I will return to the horses.” Garrett took one last sip of tea, wiped his mouth, and stood. He strode over to Riordan and the earl, clasping Riordan on the shoulder. “Well done. You do this family proud.” Not used to such gracious words from his self-contained uncle, he was genuinely touched. With a nod, Garrett left the room.
* * * *
The late August morning had a slight chill to the air, a hint of the cooler autumn weather to come. Riordan and his grandfather strolled in silence for several minutes. As they entered the garden, the earl returned greetings to the gardeners, answering them by name. The well-manicured shrubs, hedgerows, rosebushes, and wildflowers added to the pleasantness. The slight breeze rustled the birch leaves, acting as nature’s fan.
“For all our progressive views and reform work, we do live a life of privilege. This will be a good opportunity for you, Riordan. To see how others live, how they struggle. Do you plan to stay in the position long?”
“At least one year. I have always wanted to do it. To teach, make a difference in others’ lives. To introduce children to a world of books, learning, and imagination.”
“A noble calling,” the earl murmured.
“I hope one day to start my own progressive school. Employ only the best educators. But I cannot move forward until I’m able to prove my reforms will work in a classroom setting.”
“I agree completely. Take extensive notes, as if you were a scientist conducting an experiment, which, in fact, you are. I pledge I will do all I can to see your dream comes to fruition. As will your father.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
Taking a turn on the stone path, Riordan frowned. They were heading to the private family cemetery. The men rarely came here, as it was a place of unspeakable tragedy. He hadn’t been to this dreary place since his grandfather brought him and Aidan here when they were thirteen. Thankfully, they stopped well short of the gated entrance.
“This is as good a time as any to discuss the curse once again,” the earl stated.
Oh, God. Riordan struggled not to react, but with one glance at his grandfather, at the obvious pain and grief on his face, he decided to keep his opinion to himself. Through the years, he dismissed the fable. Time often lessened the impact of frightful episodes, and his grandfather telling him of the curse was one of them. But here lay the proof. Row after row of graves. It was enough to give him pause. Generations of women. His own mother and grandmother. An aunt who died in infancy.
While his father, uncle, and grandfather had certainly indulged in a few brief affairs through the years, the different generations of men allowed no women close. In truth, many ladies of society were wary of any long-lasting romantic ties to such a storied and tragic clan. The curse followed the men like a hovering black cloud. It was one of the reasons Riordan had hidden his name when applying for the teaching assignment: he did not want the scrutiny or the attention.
“You are about to go out into the world. Make your own way. You will meet young ladies,” the earl said.
“Grandfather, I am hardly a monk. I’ve been in the company of ladies before.” A couple of dalliances. Nothing significant, and he certainly didn’t have the carnal experience Aidan possessed. His twin had cut a wide swath through London society and beyond in the past six years.
“You would be wise to follow your Uncle Garrett and remain free of any romantic entanglements. Build a wall about your heart, lock it away, and let no one in. I know I told you all this years ago, but a reminder is warranted.”
The earl laid his hands on Riordan’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I have come to learn it is better not to feel anything at all in order to avoid heartbreak. You turned twenty-six last month; you are young and impressionable. Remain aloof, even remote, in your dealings with women. I would not see you hurt for the world.”
His grandfather spoke with great emotion, and Riordan took the warning to heart. He would be wise to follow the advice. Remember the curse. Though he did not believe it as intensely as other members of his family, it would be prudent to keep it at the forefront of his mind.
There was much he wished to accomplish in this world, and love was a diversion he neither wanted nor needed.
Chapter 2
As she watched her father slice his morning kippers, Sabrina Durning Lakeside, Lady Pepperdon and widow to the late, ancient, and not-the-least-bit-missed Charles Lakeside, Earl of Pepperdon, visibly shuddered. Not because of the kippers, though she’d never liked them. It was more to do with her loathsome father than his choice of breakfast food.
Snapping his newspaper as he chewed noisily, he grunted as he read, his cruel mouth twisting in distaste.
Biting into her toast, Sabrina waved to George the footman and pointed to her empty teacup. The young man moved to her side and filled it, stepping away silently when he’d completed his task.
“It has been nearly a year,” her father loudly stated, which caused her to start. “A year since that earl of yours had the bad taste to up and die.”
Not only die, but leave her in financial straits, with no choice but to return to her recently widowed father. They both looked ridiculous, sitting at the table in mourning clothes when neither of them truly grieved for those who’d passed. Sabrina had spent the past eleven years in a cold and loveless marriage with a man thirty-eight years her senior, a marriage her father had insisted upon when she turned eighteen. About the same time the old earl expired, her father buried his second wife, a frail creature who died in childbirth.
“What is your point?” she sniffed as she spread blackberry jam on her toast.
“The point is you cannot stay here any longer. The required period of mourning has come and gone. You must marry again.” He laid the paper on the table and cut into his kippers again. “And so must I. Any woman I bring into this house will not want my widowed, aging daughter skulking about in the corner like a spider.”
Aging? She’d turned thirty last month, not old in her book. “It is not my fault my thoughtless husband did not provide for me in his will. Or that his heir, his slimy nephew, would turn me out without a cent. When you negotiated my dowry, there should have been lawful assurances I would receive something out of this disaster.” Sabrina sipped her tea. “A small house, a stipend.” Happiness. Love. But why would she expect in her marriage what she never had growing up in this bleak house?
“Blame me, will you? I do not care much for your tone.” His eyes narrowed. “When a baron marries his daughter to an earl, it is expected that the blasted man will do the honorable thing. Well, I shall not make the same mistake again. I will aim higher and take all legal steps necessary to ensure I will not be responsible for your upkeep. You still have your looks, although the fact that you’re barren means you will have to settle for a peer who already has a grown family and no desire for another.”
Sabrina’s blood froze in her veins. Not again. She would not allow her wretched father to marry her off to an old reprobate. Death would be preferable. A bit extreme, but she would rather die than be used and tossed aside by another man old enough to be her grandfather. “No.”
His fist slammed against the table, rattling the dishes. He turned toward the footman. “Leave us, and see we are not disturbed.”
George bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He scurried from the room.
Slowly and with purpose, she closed her hand over the knife and pulled it to her lap while her father was distracted. It had been many years since he’d struck her, but she would not give him the chance to lay a hand on her ever again. It always started the same way: dismissing the servants. No doubt his second wife endured his temper, as did Sabrina’s mother, from what she could recall. Though her mother died many years ago, Sabrina remembered the pleas, and the sound of an open hand making contact with skin.
“Listen to me, you ungrateful slattern. By Tuesday next, you will present yourself in the parlor, wearing a gown showing your décolletage, and will greet the Marquess of Sutherhorne with a smile on your face and a gracious tone in your voice.”
Marquess of Sutherhorne? Her mind raced as if flipping through the pages of Debrett’s The New Peerage. Her heart sank. Another wizened, elderly man. Seventy if he was a day. She’d met him once, during a rare occasion in which her late husband had escorted her to a ball. If memory served, he had missing teeth and clumps of hair in his ears. And smelled of horse. “Why would he want to marry again?” she whispered.
“Why does any man marry? At his age, he no doubt wants you as a bed warmer. I have it on good authority that he has a weakened heart; he will not live long. I will ensure you are left with the means to live a comfortable life when he meets his maker.”
The urge to rage and scream nearly overcame her. Instead, she tried to keep her voice steady. “Father, do not marry me off to an old man. Not again.”
“You will obey me in this. I’ve waited long enough. I must marry, as I will be fifty-two in four months. I need to find a young woman and breed an heir. You will only be in the way.” He crossed his arms. “In fact, I have a young woman in mind and will have to act swiftly, before she is snapped up by a young buck.”
Sabrina stared at her father incredulously. Granted, for a man of his age, he was still handsome, in his cold, cruel way, and she suddenly felt sorry for any young, impressionable woman who would be taken in by his fake manners and smooth words.
“If you were not such a failure as a woman, I could shop you about the younger peers, but none would have you,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that his words landed across her heart like slices from a blade. “It is the doddering old fools, or you make your own way in the world.”
My own way? Sabrina didn’t have a blessed clue how to go about it. Regardless of her unhappiness growing up and during her marriage, she wanted for nothing. Why, she never had to do anything for herself, especially when married to the earl since he was rich beyond measure. There were maids and footmen aplenty to do her bidding. In truth, she liked being well-off, and reveled in the comfort and luxury. Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away and swallowed hard. Be damned if she would show the baron any reaction.
“Why not allow me to meet men close to my own age? At least give me the chance before shuffling me off to another aged stranger. We will both be coming out of mourning. We can attend social functions together and assess the market—”
Her father held up his hand. “No, Daughter. I want you gone from this house before I narrow in on my selection.”
Sabrina clenched her teeth. “I am of age, a widow. I don’t have to obey you in this.”
The baron shrugged. “Quite true. Then pack what you came with and leave by the end of the week.”
“You would turn out your own daughter?” Her voice quivered on the last couple of words. There was no hiding her distress now.
He leaned forward, his expression hardened. “If you had been a boy, as you should have been, there would be no need for this discussion at all. Daughters are completely useless, except to give other men a son.”
Sabrina stood as a potent roll of anger moved through her. She slammed the knife on the table. “Yes, a calamity for both of us.”
“I will have your answer at breakfast the day after tomorrow.” Picking up the paper, he sat up straight and continued to read, effectively ignoring her.
She indulged in a bout of self-pity for a brief moment. The baron had never loved her. No one had ever loved her.
Sabrina stared at her father. Why was he apathetic and unfeeling? Because she wasn’t a son? Or was he merely born this way? Or both? From what she’d observed, he treated everyone with cold disdain, from the lowest of servants to his fellow peers. Hateful man. She swept from the room and made her way upstairs, determined with every step to thwart her father’s miserable plan.
She would find a husband. A man with all his teeth, who did not have one foot in the grave. Surely there must be an unmarried male person in the vicinity willing to take her on.
A plan began to form in her mind. Her father was anxious to be rid of her. For that fact alone, he would be willing to make a monetary settlement to her husband-to-be. All Sabrina had to do was locate an honest man with a modicum of honor to agree to her scheme.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. She must make haste. Seven days was hardly enough time to find such a man. She’d not been to town in months, had not lived in this area for eleven years. She had no earthly idea what type of man she would find.
The middle class swelled in numbers with each passing year. There were always those in trade or public service. A professional of some sort. A solicitor. A doctor. Besides, this arrangement would not be for a lifetime.
“Mary,” she called out to her maid as she entered her bedchamber. “Lay out my dark green walking dress. I am heading to town.”
* * * *
Lord, how Sabrina wished she’d used the carriage. The mile walk proved how soft and lazy she’d become the past several years. She could send Mary back to the estate and have her bring the carriage for her return trip. The hot late summer sun caused beads of perspiration to trail along the valley of her spine. Tendrils of hair came loose from her upswept style, sticking to her flushed cheeks.
Emerging through a cluster of junipers, Sabrina spotted a fair-sized structure that appeared to be in a state of renovation. A wooden bench along the wall caught her eye. Thank God she could rest for a moment and catch her breath. Funny, she didn’t remember this building being here before.
Marriage with a Proper Stranger Page 2
