He was all but being told to speak of nothing more than the weather, which he thought a waste of time, or politics, which he cared nothing for.
But he concentrated on these topics of conversation as his carriage came to a halt in front of Woodley’s townhouse.
It was strange to be ushered through the front door of the house he knew better than his own home. Everything was the same. The pale pink and white marble floors matched the walls, with vases of roses of like hues scenting the air. It felt like coming home, except after he bowed to his host, Woodley and Rachel both lowered their heads in similar fashions.
It was startling, and set him back, but he recovered before Rachel’s eyes met his once more.
She was just as beautiful as she‘d been the week prior. Her dress was a soft blush color that matched her cheeks, and made her hair’s color that much deeper. It, like her gown, was sensible, without fuss or tons of distraction. She wore twin curls by her ears, but the rest of her hair was pulled back. The look should have made her blend into the background, yet it only managed to make her natural beauty stand out. Something he noticed many other ladies wouldn’t dare do.
“Lord Eastridge.”
His gaze turned to Woodley and he grinned. “Woodley.”
* * *
Rachel pulled in a breath as Reuben’s eyes turned away. Though his expression had been nothing but pleasant, it was the length at which he’d watched her, that set her blood pounding. While he spoke to her father, she took her time to take him in, as well. He looked beautiful, though Rachel had always thought him quite charming, even as a footman. Being attractive was almost a requirement for footmen and lady’s maids, since an employer always wanted to prove that they had the best of everything.
But Reuben’s looks were different. Elegant, but not gentle. His cheeks and jaw held a toughness that came long before the war, yet there were a few new lines around his eyes that spoke of stress. The urge to soothe him overcame her, and she forced herself to concentrate on the conversation.
“Everything looks the same,” Reuben said aloud. His green eyes seemed darker in the overhead lighting, his skin more golden.
“There are a few new pieces here and there,” her father said. “Rachel finds the most interesting art pieces, but you’re correct. Not much has changed in six years.”
Reuben looked at her father and then her. “I’m glad. Your home always conveyed a certain level of warmth.”
She felt warm with his eyes on her. “We’re glad you feel comfortable here.”
“Oh, yes.” Her father took her arm and started toward the dining room, thankfully taking the lead in the conversation, as Rachel tried to gather her thoughts. “I hope you’re hungry. When I told Cook we were to have a soldier come to dinner, she outdid herself and prepared a feast.”
“I do enjoy eating,” Reuben admitted.
Rachel turned to look at him, once she’d taken her seat. “I’m sure you’ll find the meal more to your liking, than what they served the soldiers.”
Reuben grinned. “That’s putting it mildly, my lady. There were times when it was better to starve than eat whatever was being served.”
Rachel froze. “Really?”
Her father looked at Reuben with interest as well.
Reuben looked between them and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry. There’s surely not an appropriate topic for dinner conversation.”
“No.” Rachel wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but she held herself back. “You can say anything to us.” She looked at her father for confirmation.
Woodley nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! Rachel is quite right. We’ve known one another for years. You don’t have to mince words with us.”
Reuben turned to Rachel again
She smiled softly. “We worried for you, my lord. Please, tell us.”
Reuben stared down at his bowl of soup, and seemed to relax before he lifted his head once more. “While officers and those who could afford to pay a higher commission were given better portions for meals, lowly foot soldiers were given whatever was left and sometimes the food was already on the verge of going bad. It was best to either check your bread for bugs, or avoid it entirely.”
Rachel dropped her spoon in her soup, the silver clinking loudly against the porcelain. She gathered her hands in tight fists. “That’s horrible.”
“Quite,” Woodley whispered. “How did you happen to move up so high in the ranks? Surely, you didn’t have the means to purchase your commission.”
Reuben smiled. “I became a Gentleman Volunteer to my Commanding Officer. Then, in
the course of the war, another officer died, and my Commanding Officer allowed me to fill in his role.” That was one way commoners became leaders, Rachel knew. Gentleman Volunteers were close enough to their officers to show their skills, which could accelerate their careers quite quickly.
Reuben looked at his food. “From there, I rose by simple determination. Those above me saw what I was capable of, and gave me a chance.”
“Quite the man of valor,” Woodley said. “Though it troubles me, all you had to go through.”
“I’m sorry.” Reuben lifted a hand. “I’ll say no more.”
Rachel reached out and touched the hand Reuben had left on the table. “No, don’t.” She swallowed around the unease in her chest. It took everything within her to pull her hand away, once she had his eyes again. “Like my father said, don’t hold back from us. You’re safe here.” She didn’t dare look at her father. She wasn’t quite ready to see his reaction. Feeling quite silly herself, she resumed her meal, sure that Reuben or her father would change the topic.
But a moment later, Reuben began to speak of war, and though it pained her to listen, she did.
* * *
2
CHAPTER
TWO
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You’re safe here.
He’d immediately believed her, the moment the words had left her lips. A peace had washed over him, and her soft eyes had held his so sweetly, that it had taken an abundant amount of strength to not fall into them.
Rachel was good. She didn’t dress, or appear as a woman who wished to be alluring to a man, and yet it was exactly what she’d done over the course of the meal. Her softness spoke directly to his hardness, and threatened to break the walls he’d built in order to keep the darkness back.
Many times since returning from the war, he’d almost let that darkness consume him. When Rose’s father-in-law, the Duke of Avon, had threatened to keep his son apart from her, Reuben had been willing to see to the duke’s end, in order for his sister to be happy.
And had Avon continued to stand in the way, he’d have made the offer again and again, until the evil deed had been done, and his sister was free to love as she wished. His freedom for her own seemed fair. He was a soldier, and they paid the price for freedom one way or another.
“Do you think about the war often?” Rachel asked, in the quietness of the hall. They were heading to the garden. The meal had ended, and Reuben had spent a few minutes alone with Woodley before the man had suggested Reuben see the gardens— the one place on the property that had changed dramatically. Rachel was to be his guide.
“I think of the war all the time.” Because while the fighting in one part of the world may have ended, another was always afoot. Even in England, if his suspicions were correct. He’d heard whispers about conspiracy, but nothing more.
They came to the fork at the end of the hall, and Rachel turned the opposite way from the garden.
“Where are we going?”
She glanced up at him, and he couldn’t help but notice the mischief in her gaze. “You shall see.”
For a moment, he was reminded of the past, a time before war, where, instead of protecting an entire country, he’d lived to protect just one young woman. At fifteen, Rachel had been quiet but also quite clever. H
e had no clue where she was taking him, but decided he could wait and see.
They stopped at the doors to the kitchen, and he lifted a suspicious brow. “Why are we at the kitchen? You never went in here while growing up.”
She licked her lips just as she lowered her chin. “I’ll have you know that I’ve changed.” She met his eyes again and fixed her face into sincerity. “Alexandra has pulled me once or twice into the kitchen. I can make kifli.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“It’s a crescent-shaped roll that is quite good. Alexandra brought a cookery book from Hanover, but since she doesn’t read the language, that is where I come in.”
“You read German?”
“Yes, the Prince of Hanover is the king’s cousin, you know?”
He did know, and obviously her father had prepared her for meeting such people, constantly surrounded by powerful people.
She went on, “Either way, kifli is quite delicious, and I find myself enjoying myself when we bake.” Her lashes fluttered up at him.
He found it hard to believe her, for while Rachel had been a very kind lady, she’d very much been a lady. She didn’t work. She’d never given a hand to the servants. If someone became injured while performing a task— like slipping while bringing in a tea tray— she would gladly have her father pay the expense for a doctor and even allow the maid or footman to have a few days off, but then readily send for another servant to clean up the mess, never once getting herself dirty.
She narrowed her eyes as if she could read his thoughts, and let go of his arm. “Fine. I’ll make you kifli.”
He laughed, and it felt good to do so. “I think I’ll take soldier rations instead.”
She gasped, pressing her hand to her lips as she giggled demurely, though it was clear that she wanted to laugh aloud, too. He recalled what George had said about her laugh, and made it his goal to get one from her.
She shook her head and sighed. “I should feel rightly offended.”
“Yes, you should.” He leaned against the wall and stared down at her. She’d set him at ease, when he’d been dreading this night. He was glad he’d come. Perhaps being a lord didn’t mean he’d have to change for everyone. They could still be themselves, he and Rachel.
She rolled her eyes. “My lord, you may not know this, but as a viscount, it’s your job to flatter me.”
“Is it? I thought that was to be reserved for women I intended to…” His words trailed off.
The humor died from her eyes. “You’re to flatter every woman. Married or not. Old and young. Even those women you have no intentions of marrying.”
He’d ruined the moment. The ease with which they’d spoken was gone. He didn’t know what to say. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. “When I first entered your home, I was reminded of its beauty and warmth, but then I saw you, and remembered that it was neither the wallpaper nor lavish fixings that gave it those attributes. It’s your presence, Rachel. You are its warmth and beauty.”
Her eyes widened. “No one has ever said anything so lovely to me before.”
He doubted any man was fool enough or brave enough to do so, but everything he’d said was true. “You said I was to flatter you.” He tried for a grin.
She did as well. “Thank you,” she whispered before turning away. “Go inside the kitchen, my lord.”
“What about the garden?”
“Another time.” She didn’t meet his eyes again. “Go.”
And since he was running out of things to say, he did as she’d asked and stepped into what could only be described as a gathering.
They were Woodley’s servants, but Reuben had always known them as his friends. Everyone from the scullery maids to the housekeeper either bowed or curtseyed, but Reuben broke the tension by giving Cook a hug and kiss on the cheek. In seconds, there was laughter, cheering, and the sharing of one tale after another. When Reuben turned to look at the door, he noticed Rachel had not come with him.
And it bothered him how much he wished she had.
* * *
Rachel listened from her spot on the other side of the door, and then slowly backed away from the kitchen and started for the parlor. She found her father there smoking his pipe as he looked over a paper.
The scent of tobacco was immediately soothing. “I took him to the kitchens. Everyone wanted to see him.”
“I know.” Her father glanced over at her and grinned. “Did you see the way Jonathan’s eyes widened when he stepped into the dining room?” Jonathan was one of the footmen who’d been around when Reuben had been an employee. Her father chuckled. “I bet word spread swiftly of his presence.”
Rachel moved farther into the room and settled into a chair. “I’m sure he’s glad to see them. I heard laughter.” Part of her had wanted to go in, but she’d refrained from doing so. There was a small part of her that was possessive where Reuben was concerned. She wanted to witness his every smile, and soak in his gladness. She’d missed him.
“You’re safe here?” her father asked mockingly. His chuckle broke into her musings like a sharp knife. He’d positioned his chair by the fire, setting only half his profile into a bright glow. “You all but told him you wished to be his wife.”
Rachel stiffened. “I did not. I only offered him friendship.”
Her father lifted a brow. “Well, your kind words seem to have allowed him to drop his guard somewhat. He’s a proud man. Always has been. But… Reuben is having troubles with his land, unsure if he’s doing the right thing. He doesn’t want to ruin the gift the king gave him. He confessed this to me while I spoke to him alone.”
Rachel stared at her father. She was glad Reuben had opened up to her father about it, but thought it wrong that her father would share it with her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because, I told him that I knew of someone who would be willing to help him, while keeping his secret from the rest of the ton.” Her father glanced her way. “I gave him an address where he could post letters to a person named Jay, who would give him the very best advice. Someone he could trust.”
Rachel frowned. “What is this address?”
Her father told her. It was a home not far from this one. Rachel thought again. “Father, you own that property.” And at the moment, it was without tenants.
“And so I do.” He looked back at his paper and placed his pipe back in his mouth.
“Who is Mr. Jay?” she inquired when her father would say no more.
“Rachel Joanna Lush, you tell me.” He peeked over at her and waited.
Rachel stared at her father, and then slowly her eyes widened. “I’m Mr. Jay?”
“I said ‘Jay’. I didn’t say Mr. or Mrs., Lord or Lady.” He smiled. “I’ll leave that up to you.”
She stood, because she was overcome with emotion. She wanted to help Reuben and feared what the ton would say if Eastridge fell into ruins, but she wasn’t sure if her father’s scheme was wise. “Father, you’ve given me such great responsibility.”
“But it’s one you can handle,” Woodley said with a flick of the paper. “I’ve taught you everything I know, preparing for the day you would tell me that you were far too heartbroken over Stacy’s death to even think of marriage.” He looked at her again. “If you were to be a spinster, you were going to be a very wise one. My heir— your cousin— will be given the house and estate, but the rest of my lands will go to you.”
Overcome by wonder, she sat again and placed her hands on her lap. “You never told me this.”
He folded his paper and leaned toward her. “Make no mistake of it. I would rather see you married, but since your son cannot inherit Woodley, there was no point in forcing the issue. You are a good daughter to me. You loved Stacy. He died. I count that as your duty being completed.”
Rachel didn’t know what to say. She’d always sensed that her father wanted her to marry, but had questioned why he’d not pushed her into it, why he’d never forced it upon her. He had no other
children. Only her. Did he fear losing her if she grew upset by the marriage?
She stood and moved to her father’s side. Taking his pipe, she set it to the side and then took his hand. “What would make you happy, Father?”
He smiled. “I was very happy with your mother. I want you to be happy, Rachel.” And then a second later, he said, “Do you want Lord Eastridge?” He asked it as though the man were some jewel he could simply acquire for his daughter.
Rachel wondered how many other powerful lords thought the same way. Woodley was kind, but he’d not grown in power by being timid. He wasn’t weak, yet she still didn’t see Reuben as a man who’d be easily swayed.
But she couldn’t deny she wanted him, wanted to be there to take away his pain, to guide him through the ton, to help him cultivate his lands, and be the one to ease the tension from his eyes. She’d gotten a smile from his lips. He’d called her warm and beautiful.
“I want him,” she confessed. “But I don’t want any more help from you.” Reuben had to want her for himself. It was the only way Rachel would ever think to marry again.
Her father’s lips twitched. “I confess, the thought of simply sitting by does not please me.”
She smiled. “Please, Father.”
He sighed. “Very well, but if you are to do this, you must return to the marriage market fully. I’ll call Lady Esther to come as your companion.”
Lady Esther was a distant cousin on her mother’s side, but age had granted her the title ‘aunt’. She’d been Rachel’s companion when she’d courted Stacy, but had retired to the country after his death. Esther also had trouble hearing at the time, and Rachel was sure the condition had only grown worse. “Are you certain she’ll be up to the task? Society events run rather late.” And Aunt Esther had always enjoyed her sleep.
Tales of a Viscount_Heirs of High Society Page 3
