Alex hugged her first. No one would replace Alexandra as Rose’s sister, but to people who had very little family starting out in life, Rose seemed glad to welcome more. She’d already taken her cousin William into her fold. His father, however, who’d tried to kill Rose to gain her inheritance, had been put on a ship, to live out what remained of his days.
There were more smiles all around, and many tears, and then Rose turned to Reuben. “I had an idea, but now that this has happened, you are not allowed to refuse me.”
Reuben grinned. “I refuse you nothing, Rose.” He’d give her whatever she asked for, just as he’d given her the name “Rose” when she’d been a baby, declaring it so, since the moment he held her in his young arms.
“I thought a fine way to for you to make more friends amongst the beau monde would be to host a party for your birthday, and since you brought that rather large property…”
Reuben regretted his promise immediately. The only reason he’d secured the property had been because of its proximity to the park. It had cost him nearly all his earnings, but it was worth it. Its size hadn’t mattered. After living in camps with earth under his feet, and the sky over his head, he liked the outdoors and his space. There was very little of that to be found in the city.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Alex said. “And we could introduce Ellen to society at the same time.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Rose said. Then she turned to Rachel. “You must help.”
“Oh, I would love to!” Rachel’s smile was just as large as the others. “But it’s right around the corner, so we must act quickly.” That she knew his birthday didn’t seem to bother anyone in the room, except for him. He recalled telling it to her, years ago. Had she recalled it all this time?
She seemed right at home amongst Alexandra and Rose, in Alicia’s less than fashionable sitting room. There wasn’t even a window. Neither woman had been born a lady like Rachel, but the girl didn’t seem to care in the least.
The thought of her fitting in with his family pleased him, but that was only because Rachel, like Rose, was important to him.
But the two made him feel very different, though he would keep that to himself.
Chris pulled him away while the women began to scheme for ways to ruin Reuben’s life.
“What did Yall want?” Chris asked.
“Official business,” Reuben said. “Nothing about the Coalition, but we do need to find that diary before anyone else does.” That was the main goal of the coalition. If they could find Mary Best’s journal, they could ensure that every person, rich or poor, remained in their place. Already Reuben had two men guarding Alicia and the Homes. Chris had paid for watchmen at the other locations.
Chris nodded. “Whoever has the journal, is releasing them without much care, now.” He turned and looked at the women. “Will this party get in the way of whatever Yall needs of you? I’ll have it cancelled, if need be.” He was much better at breaking the hearts of their sisters than Reuben was, having had more practice at it.
Reuben thought on that and decided it wouldn’t hurt him at all. And as a fact, it was more likely that the party would help him, more than anything else. He needed to find an assassin amongst the beau monde, and what better way than to bring most of them together? “Word of such a party is bound to gain me more invitations, in the hopes that I return the favor.”
Chris frowned. “And this pleases you?”
It didn’t, but for this particular assignment, he had no other choice.
* * *
6
CHAPTER
SIX
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* * *
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Dear Lady Jay,
I beg your many pardons. I had no clue that it was a woman I spoke to, and though it pains me to admit it, it is unlikely that I would have written to you, had I known.
Yet, I am very glad I did. The people in Eastridge have grown to adore me for finding Mr. Butler’s murderer. I receive gifts monthly, and have become close to many of the families.
Please, accept my apologies. There is likely no way I could ever repay your kindness.
Again, my many thanks.
Lord Eastridge
Lord Eastridge,
I accept your apology, and am glad that the people who surround you have grown to respect you. It takes a strong man to ask for aid, and an even stronger one to ask for forgiveness.
I hope you write to me again when next you have an issue, and know that I am still here whenever you have need of me.
Lady Jay
Rachel leaned over the dress catalogue in Mrs. Courtney’s shop and followed Lady Susanna’s finger, as it flowed from one page to the other.
“That one,” the woman declared. “And this one! You must have it. You’ll look quite darling in it.”
Rachel didn’t wish to look ‘darling’ in any of the new costumes she was to wear for the Season, but had allowed Susanna to have her say, for Susanna was very good when it came to fashion, and had never led Rachel astray. Since her debut into society, Susanna Cull had been overseeing Rachel’s wardrobe, and while Rachel had not married, the reason did not rest with a lack of offers.
Susanna was one of her oldest and dearest friends. She’d known Stacy, and had been fond of him, though since Susanna married, the only time she and Rachel came together, was while they shopped for the new season.
And Rachel always came to Mrs. Courtney. The woman had been French by birth, but married a Englishman nearly twenty years ago, bringing both her talent and sense of fashion with her from the continent.
Susanna turned to the strikingly tall woman who owned the place and said, “We’ll take this one in a spring green, and the other in cerulean blue.”
One of Mrs. Courtney’s girls made a note of it, as the dressmaker spoke, with a smile. “You will have them in a fortnight.” Susanna turned her gray-blue eyes to Rachel. “Has your father given you any limits for your wardrobe?”
“None,” she said, which was always the case.
Susanna smiled even brighter. She did love to spend money, even if it wasn’t her own. She’d married a knight, for love, which was fine for many, but for an earl’s daughter, it hadn’t made her family very pleased. Funds were limited, but Rachel never saw Susanna without a smile.
Rachel wanted to marry for love. She could still remember the way Reuben had held her in the dim hallways two days ago. The feel of being in his arms after so many years… It was truly like coming home.
And yet, different. Before, a hug during her worst times had been enough, but now she wanted so much more.
But then she recalled the way he’d patted her head at Rose’s wedding. The audacity! She’d not allow it again. If he ever dared, she’d… stomp his toe. Yes, that was what she would do.
But then, perhaps that was too childish. Was it? She could slap him. A real lady would, when offended by a man’s actions. Though, usually slaps came from when a man touched them inappropriately, or said something vile. Reuben had done neither of those things.
Maybe she’d simply tell him to never do it again, and finish her statement with her best withering look.
That was what a true grown lady would do. She smiled, and stood when Mrs. Courtney called her to the back of the shop for measurements. With her lady’s maid’s assistance, they were done within an hour.
“I was surprised you chose to have that last gown done in rouge,” Susanna mentioned when they stepped out of the shop. “Quite daring.”
The air in London was warm, but that was not the reason Rachel blushed.
It was a very daring color, though the gown would still be designed like much of the rest of her closet. High collared and all. But it didn’t matter. The color would nearly match her hair. “I’ve never worn a gown that color.” She was slightly nervous at the thought of wearing such a daring color.
“If only it could be readied by tonight for Lord Wint�
�s party! I bet your mother would have worn such a gown.”
Susanna’s footman helped them into her carriage.
Rachel settled into her seat and smiled. “No need to place a bet. My father has a painting of her in that very color.” It stood in the gallery at their family estate, across from an east-facing window that seemed to pull in light, just to pay homage to the residence’s former mistress.
Her friend’s words pleased her, though they both knew that it took more than a dress to gather as much attention as Florentia had, and Rachel would never dare make a spectacle of herself. She’d be drawing enough attention as it was, yet she truly only wanted one man’s eyes. Such potent colors were usually worn by older women, but at twenty-two, Rachel was verging on spinsterhood, anyway.
Susanna snapped her fingers. “I dare say, I thought I’ve seen that painting before. Yes, now I recall it. Quite a dress. Quite the lady. There isn’t a woman alive who doesn’t wish to be so legendary. You’ll likely look much like her when the time comes to wear it. Is there a certain occasion you plan to wear it for?”
“Lord Eastridge will be having a birthday celebration.” Rachel knew his sisters would use tonight as a way to judge who they would be inviting to Reuben’s party. Since the Blue Blood Coalition had no list of members, it made it hard to know who belonged. While some members spoke their hate to the masses, that was not the case for everyone. The women would have to watch and see how people reacted to Reuben’s presence tonight.
Rachel knew the sisters were worried about the coalition standing in the way, but she had little fear where a group of old men with old ways were concerned, and neither would most of the ton, once they realized that while Alexandra was but a countess today, when her husband’s father died, she would become a duchess.
And no one wished to upset a duchess.
Susanna gasped. “Lord Eastridge plans to host his first party? You know, word spread swiftly when he secured the old Johnson residence.” The residence in question was not far from Grosvenor Square, and Rachel knew that would be another thing to draw the crowds. Which meant every room in the house had to be thoroughly furnished by then. There was so much excitement that went with planning a party. Rachel had assisted Susanna with hosting dinner parties and musicals on more than one occasion.
“I’ll make sure you receive an invitation,” Rachel told her as they stopped in front of the Woodley townhouse.
Susanna grinned. “Thanks. Shall we plan to meet for your fitting?”
Arrangements were made and then Rachel stepped into her house. She handed her bonnet and gloves to Lucille, her lady’s maid, as she spoke to the butler. “Is my father here?”
“Yes, my lady,” the old man said. “He’s in the study and has given you permission to interrupt upon your arrival.”
She didn’t hesitate to intrude upon her father’s study. He looked up from his books when she entered, and grinned.
“How was shopping?” He removed his spectacles, revealing warm hazel eyes, as Rachel took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
She settled with a sigh. “I may have sent you to the poor house. Mrs. Courtney is designing me quite a few new gowns, and they’ll all need matching gloves, hats, and slippers.”
Her father only grinned and leaned on the table. “Tragedy. Well, make sure Lucille boxes up the old gowns nicely, to be sent to the estate.” From there, they would likely get old, but remain protected from moths.
Rachel straightened. “I believe I’d rather give them away, along with all the other pieces I’ve sent to the country. It seems silly to keep what I won’t be using again.”
Her father frowned. “Well, that is a lovely idea, Rachel, but who would wear an old gown? Both the poor and the working class need gowns that are made of materials much harder than silk and lace.”
He was right, she knew, but Rachel had come up with an idea. “Miss Alicia Best, who owns the Best Home I’ve been visiting of late, has more than a few girls interested in becoming seamstresses. I thought the material could be of use to them.” In fact, one of Best Home’s sponsors owned a textile factory and allowed a few of the men and women who left the house to use a room, and learn such skills as woodworking, painting, and tailoring clothes, though this was all done during the hours the factory was closed.
Woodley’s eyes widened. “You’d allow a bunch of women to cut up your dresses?” The very thought would have made other ladies cringe, or even faint. Clothes and accessories were a lady’s pride and joy. In them, she found assurance of her place in the world, and even, herself. Rachel understood that. In a society where women were given so very few choices, one’s gowns were not a luxury that they wished to part with.
Rachel smiled. “They do nothing but get old, if I keep them. It makes no sense. At least, this way I know someone is getting use out of them.”
Her father smiled. “Your mother had a kindness about her as well, though she didn’t allow many to see it. She rescued more than one animal from their owner.”
Rachel’s smile widened. Whenever she was compared to the woman she’d hardly known, it made her glad. And really, she was simply glad to learn more about her, whenever she could. She hoarded every word about her mother as though it were a prized jewel, and to Rachel, they were worth so much more than all the gems in the porcelain box with silk lining on her dresser.
She could recall a few things about her mother, but most of it was vague, just glimpses of smiles. The way her eyes would crinkle at the ends, or the way she held herself when company was around, as opposed to when it was only the two of them.
But whenever she tried to push her memories harder, Rachel would begin to struggle to breathe, and the feeling of being trapped would set in.
“Rachel?”
She looked up at her father, and took a cleansing breath before she stood. “I should start preparing for the party tonight.”
“Mighty early to start getting ready. Even for you, and it’s only to happen next door.” Woodley situated his spectacles back on his nose, readying himself to return to his papers.
“It’ll be an important gathering.” Rachel said. “Lord Wint’s first, in fact.”
Her father glanced over the gold rims of his lenses and lifted his brows. “Will all your friends be there?” She’d told him everything that had taken place the other day.
She nodded.
He smiled. “Will the viscount be there as well?”
Rachel turned toward the door before she could blush. “I don’t know. I’ll see you later.”
“Rachel?”
She paused and turned at the door.
Her father wore a serious expression. “I want to ask a favor of you tonight.”
Rachel waited. It was rare that her father asked anything of her.
Her father crossed his arms on the desk. “Dance with every man who asks.”
Rachel frowned and opened her mouth to speak.
Her father cut her off with a hand. “I know your heart is set on Reuben, and while I will allow you to pursue this as much as you wish, you must also keep in mind that he may not be the one. Perhaps, his only place in your life is to remind you that it’s all right to love again.”
Her pulse quickened.
Woodley didn’t stop. “He isn’t the man he once was, Rachel. You heard him at dinner. Perhaps that man you remember is gone.”
“No—”
He lifted his hand again. His eyes went soft behind the lenses. “I would be glad to call Reuben my son. You know this.”
She did. Her father had always approved of Reuben, and she didn’t even know why.
“Even married women dance with other men,” Woodley reasoned. Then he lifted a brow. “I know where your heart rests, and I am grateful that it is Reuben who’s brought out this side of you, but if you love me, do this for me.”
She stared at her father and knew she couldn’t refuse him. So, she nodded. “Very well.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced wit
h a man who might want to court her. Usually, she’d commit to two or three, and always with men who only saw her as a friend. What Father was asking of her…
But she couldn’t say no. He could have commanded it of her, but he didn’t. This was obviously what he’d meant, by her being placed back on the marriage market.
It was only dancing. He hadn’t demanded she marry someone else, like so many other fathers would have, by now.
She nodded again, then left to prepare.
* * *
7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
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* * *
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Reuben stopped abruptly when the doorman held out his hand.
“Your hat, sir.”
Removing it, he handed it over the man, and then glanced around the dark smoky room. Cigar smoke filled the air, and along with it, came the scent of wood and leather polish. Reuben had been sent an invitation to Jasper’s over a year ago, and though he’d accepted it, he’d never come. The gentlemen’s club was known to cater to only the titled gentlemen who could afford their obscenely high membership fee. Reuben had paid it, never knowing when it might come of use, but was now glad he had.
Immediately upon entering, his eyes were drawn to the ceiling that stretched three stories into the air, doming the building, and masterfully painted with a scene of angelic beings at war. A golden chandelier hung from the center, more for show than light. His eyes then traveled down each floor, taking in the gleaming wooden beams and burgundy walls, until his eyes fell to the wooden floors. There were more servants walking about, than men. He saw a crowd of gentlemen sitting by the window that faced the street. They spoke in low murmurs, all reclined in chairs and either smoking or with a glass of dark liquor in hand. On the other side of the room, a group of young men streamed out of one room, only to head to another. Scents flew into the common space as they closed the doors. The smell of fresh bread made Reuben head in that direction. He’d not eaten all day, and here it was nearly three in the afternoon.
Tales of a Viscount_Heirs of High Society Page 6
