Eleanor eyed her with poorly concealed annoyance. “Florence, you look as beautiful as ever. I wish I had some of your curves.”
Florence brought her teacup to her lips and sipped as she examined Eleanor from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. “Dear girl, there isn’t a thing in the world wrong with you that a good modiste and mantilla maker couldn’t cure. You must let me dress you. But I won’t belabor the issue. You’ve heard all my lectures.” She smiled. “What brings you to town?” Florence put her teacup and saucer on her lap, her face suddenly serious. “Is it your father?”
Eleanor shook her head. “No, thankfully, not yet… but it is something to do with him, yes.” She placed her tea on the low table and fiddled with her gloves. “You remember I told you about the issue with the inheritance?”
“Yes. Last I knew, you and your family’s solicitors were beating the bushes for any sort of male relation, no matter how tenuous.” She frowned. “I take it you had no success?”
Eleanor slumped and shook her head. “None whatsoever.”
“Oh…that’s very bad.” Florence put her tea on the table and reached for one of Eleanor’s hands. “My dear…the Crown will take everything?”
Eleanor nodded miserably. “All but the properties in freehold. I should have to rebuild from the ground up. It will almost certainly mean the selling of many of my horses.”
“And there is nothing you can do?”
Eleanor raised her gaze to Florence and held the woman’s brown eyes steadily. “I was at point non plus, Flo… I instructed my solicitor to produce a list of marital candidates.”
“You are going to get married?”
“Yes. Somewhat married. Temporarily, that is. Well, the marriage will be permanent, just not the husband.”
“What?” Florence pulled her hand back and straightened. “You are going to marry and then get rid of your new groom? Eleanor! I believe there are laws that prohibit that sort of thing—much as one might wish there weren’t.” Florence tapped her upper lip thoughtfully. “Well… I suppose if you didn’t get caught.”
Eleanor snorted and rolled her eyes. “Not get rid of him as in killing him. Just… send him on his way with £30,000 cash and a generous annuity that is dependent upon his never interfering with my administration of Rutledge. Elsington has a petition drawn up to ask Parliament to allow my first-born male child to inherit the entail. He feels there is an excellent chance the House of Lords will grant it as my father is highly placed, well respected, and his unfortunate circumstances viewed with sympathy.” Eleanor squirmed in her seat and examined her shoes. “I know it sounds very disreputable, but my barrister assures me that all the loose ends are tied up in a contract that is unassailable and completely legal. I just need someone desperate enough to sign such a machination… a someone who is acceptable to me. The marriage will be announced publically, and I must have cooperation from Father as the petition is in his name…” Eleanor cleared her throat and shifted on the sofa, “…so it must not be a hideous mésalliance.”
“To risk all on a decision from the House of Lords, my dear? Is that the best solution available?”
“Finding an accommodating male to be my husband and getting an ‘Act of Lords’ is my only solution, Florence.” Eleanor held back from her friend the disclosure of an additional codicil to the marriage agreement that restrained said husband from setting foot on the Rutledge estate unless requested. She also didn’t share with Lady Florence that she had decided, over the heated objections of Penwick Elsington, this marriage would be in name only. After the debacle of her coming out many years ago, she couldn’t face justifying her present actions to her dearest friend. She didn’t have the courage to explain, for it would mean dragging out all those old and profoundly deep hurts and confessing them to Florence. If successful, her current actions would secure Rutledge for her lifetime. That had to be enough.
“And have you broached the subject of such a petition with the Earl?”
Eleanor studied the fleur-de-lis on the wallpaper and wondered at Florence’s bravery in decorating with something so French when England was engaged in full-scale war with Napoleon. “When did you put up new wall coverings?”
“They aren’t new. You just never noticed before. Don’t change the subject, Eleanor.”
Eleanor sighed. “Years ago, Father and I discussed such a possibility at some length, but that was before I told him I didn’t have the heart to endure another season. He never mentioned it again. I think he and Mother have accepted that I will never marry; the family line will end, and Rutledge will revert to the Crown. I hope my marriage will come as welcome news.” Picking up her teacup, she sipped slowly, aware that Florence observed her keenly. “I just need to find a husband for hire…so to speak.”
“And have you? Found someone?”
Eleanor’s stomach flipped over, and she wished she hadn’t had that second piece of lemon cake. “Ah… well… the thing is yes, yes, I’ve found someone.” She swallowed heavily. “I think.”
Florence leaned back with a delighted laugh. “Do I know him? Is he well-favored?”
“Oh… Florence.” Eleanor slumped further into the sofa and hunched over, supporting her forehead on her hand. “Tell me, did you ever further your acquaintance with Lord Miles Everleigh? I recall you had expressed a desire to do so at one time.”
“Lord Miles—? You are considering Lord Miles Everleigh as the potential father for your heir?” Her friend abruptly went silent then her soft chuckle filled the parlor. “Oh, my very dear, Eleanor, I am definitely taking you to a new modiste.”
Eleanor simply moaned.
“Lord Miles.” Lady Florence savored his name as if it were a delicious confection. “I cannot strike from memory that day in Hyde Park when you asked about his horse of all things.” She shook her head, her eyes alight with bemusement. “Trust only you, Eleanor, to see the prime ‘un with four legs while ignoring the one with two.” Florence shook herself as if to expunge her perplexity. “I never furthered my acquaintance with him to the extent I had hoped, however, I’ll tell you what I do know.” Her chin lowered, and her gaze rested on Eleanor in counterfeit sobriety. “Lord Miles Everleigh is the younger brother to His Grace the Duke of Chelsony. It’s a pity about Lord Miles. He’s exceedingly handsome, very prettily behaved even if a bit of a rake, and a darling of the Haut Monde. Lord Miles has entrée to the most exclusive establishments; he is received everywhere. On the other hand, His Grace the Duke is generally disliked as being far too high in the instep and a hard-nosed skinflint.”
“If Lord Miles is well-behaved, why do you say a rake, Florence?”
The widow flashed Eleanor a mischievous glance. “Immediately upon graduating Oxford, he entered into the tender care of a very ‘fast’ widow, Lady Margaret Dorchance, and only left her address when she departed for the continent, whereupon he became the live-in ‘guest’ of The Right Honorable Lady Olivia Norwalk. She let it be widely known that Lord Miles was a singularly delightful houseguest.” Florence wiggled her eyebrows. “It seemed, unlike Lady Olivia’s deceased husband, the young Lord Miles delighted her well and often.” Florence cast Eleanor an arch smile. “She said he was indefatigable.”
Eleanor’s brain flew in fifty directions. Mental images of how Lord Miles might possibly ‘delight’ Lady Olivia Norwalk—all of them necessarily vague—flooded her mind, and whatever did Florence mean by “indefatigable”? Embarrassment tied her tongue. She searched for some response that wouldn’t reveal her abysmal naiveté.
It truly wasn’t fair. Widows and wives had such an advantage. They had entrée into an entire world of experience of which she remained ignorant. Not even her forays into the breeding shed, from which she’d been expelled with humiliating regularity, had offered much insight other than the bald mechanics of “the act.” How that could be deemed delightful piqued her curiosity mightily.
With a low, affectionate chuckle, her friend took pity on her and continued, “Sinc
e then, he’s not lacked for open-ended invitations of which he has taken full advantage. Lord Miles stays in his hostesses’ good graces by being the best of houseguests—one who knows how to please and when to discreetly depart. There’s even a standing bet at White’s as to which aristocratic widow or bored noble wife will support him when he leaves his current address. At the moment. I believe he is residing with an old school chum, Baron Stanton.”
Eleanor eyed her friend with a frown. “Doesn’t he have a living of his own? You would think…”
“Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? Chelsony is not an impoverished title. However, I suppose with three younger brothers…” Florence shrugged. “As I said, the new Duke of Chelsony is notoriously tightfisted. He’s left his two youngest brothers, Lord Miles and Lord Edmund, to live on their wits and the pittance that trickles from his abundant purse. I believe the second brother, Lord Duncan, purchased an officer’s commission in the army while the old Duke was still alive.
“You and Lord Miles share a common interest. It’s said that he’s keen on racing and is quite the authority on Thoroughbred bloodlines. His name was proposed for admittance into the Jockey Club but, alas, he lacks the income to support his passion. So, he uses his expert knowledge to the benefit of his friends. Should I arrange an introduction for you?”
“No. It’s not necessary.” Eleanor rose and kissed her good friend on the cheek. “I must take my leave of you. You are the best of friends, Florence. For better or worse, I’ve made a decision, and I must see Mr. Elsington, immediately.”
Lady Florence rose and ushered Eleanor to the door. “Regardless of what you have decided, I’m calling on you first thing in the morning to attend to your wardrobe.”
Eleanor winced. “Do you really—”
“Expect my carriage at 10:00.” Lady Florence gently pushed Eleanor through the front door and closed it firmly behind her, cutting off any more protest.
“Miles, after dinner, I intend to look up Lord John Hadley and Mister Jules Smart at the club. Any interest in joining me for a reconnoiter and a few hands of whist?” Baron Stanton cast Miles a look of inquiry.
“It would be my pleasure, as long as you are kind to my pocketbook,” he laughed in reply.
“We will keep the wagering low. I’m determined not to let you get the best of me this time.”
Once there, they met up with the two gentlemen known to Miles and Reggie, who agreed to settle into a friendly game of cards at a penny a point. The foursome had been playing for several hours when Reggie commented, “Say, Miles, isn’t that your brother, Lord Edmund?” Reggie examined the last card in his hand, scowled and tossed it onto the table. “Your trick, book, and game. Your skill is uncanny,” Reggie grumbled. “You win far too often.”
Miles smiled and nodded at the pleasant gentleman sitting across from him. “I have an adept partner.”
He shot a glance in the direction Reggie had indicated and frowned. Indeed, Ned stood at a dicing board among a group of men, of whom one was well-known to Miles as a thorough scoundrel and card sharp. Miles suppressed a sense of helpless unease. The ill-advised actions of his younger brother featured prominently among the many things over which he had no control.
His attention returned to his partner. “Well played, Lord John. When you ran the trump and returned my opening, you set up my minor suit nicely.” He picked up the cards, squared the deck and placed it in the middle of the table. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I have an early appointment tomorrow with a certain four-legged arrival. I leave you in the tender clutches of Baron Stanton.” He directed a crooked smile at Reggie. “Don’t be too cruel.”
Reggie slid his chair back and groaned. “I’m coming with you. I promised Mary I’d be early tonight.”
The other two gentlemen hooted, and there was much teasing about being tied to apron strings and leg-shackled which the baron took with good grace.
“Just you wait, you hooligans. Your turn will come.” As they stopped in the foyer and summoned a footman to gather their greatcoats, gloves, hats and walking sticks, Reggie lowered his voice, “Did you see who Lord Edmund was gambling with? That man has a reputation as a Captain Sharp, and the on-dit is he runs a gang of murderers and thieves. I would warn your brother off at the first opportunity.”
“Yes. I’m only too aware. I have already spoken to Ned on several occasions about the unsavory company he keeps and advised him to seek other associates.” Miles looked at Reggie as they walked out of the club and flagged a cab. “He’s twenty-one. Remember yourself at that age? I can’t tell him anything. I’m afraid he’s already in the clutches of the cent-per-centers, but he keeps reassuring me that he’ll come about.”
“What are you going to do?”
Mile’s face tightened, and his full mouth became a thin line. “As with everything else in my life, there is damn little I can do but watch as the ship breaks apart on the rocks and then show up the next day to salvage the wreckage.”
The second-floor chamber maid drew back the curtains to let in the morning sun and lit the coal fire that had been laid in the hearth the evening before. “Morning, my lord. I’ve left hot water for you on the dressing table and placed your clean linen in the wardrobe. Your morning coffee will be up shortly, and breakfast will be in the small dining room at 10:30.” She dropped Miles a brief curtsey and left the room.
Mile scrubbed at his eyes and shoved himself into a sitting position in the luxurious bed of the well-appointed guest chamber in Baron Stanton’s London townhome—a bed in which he was the sole occupant, thank heaven. Due to Reggie’s kind invitation, he’d had a hiatus from the nocturnal activities that accompanied that of being a kept man. Not that he held the lovely ladies who had sheltered him in dislike… nothing could be further from the truth—delicious bits of femininity all of them, and he was very grateful. It was just rather hard on a man’s ego to forge an existence based solely on being an agreeable companion with skill in the bedroom arts. He hoped he had more substantial talents.
As an aristocrat, working in any profession but law or the Church would result in social ostracism. He would not be received anywhere. He found the law excruciatingly dull and was by temperament, entirely unsuited for the clergy. As long as his half-brother held the purse strings in a stranglehold, his only option was to surrender his independence and live at the ducal residence under his brother’s thumb, or offer his services as “gentleman friend, escort and companion at large” in exchange for room and board—very hard on a man with any pride, a character trait he’d discovered he had in excess.
He sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His Grace was forever berating him as a ciscisbeo, a Casanova, a man-whore… but then, his half-brother, the Duke, had the solution within his grasp. As Miles reminded him on occasion, all he need do was stake Miles to a small farm and a few well-chosen broodmares, and Miles would change his living circumstances forthwith. In furtherance of provoking His Grace to that end, Miles made no effort to curtail his notorious exploits with the fairer sex.
He viewed Reggie’s invitation as a temporary reprieve. Ah well, time to face another day of being a useful houseguest. He brightened. Reggie’s new hunter would arrive today. They could have a ride in the park and test the horse’s paces. He rang the bell to summon the young footman who was doing double duty as his valet. Appearance was vital when it was your calling card.
Washed, shaved and dressed impeccably, he sauntered into the small dining room.
Reggie’s wife Mary, the sole occupant, looked up from the remains of her breakfast and smiled. “Good morning, Lord Miles. You’re looking very dashing, as usual. Stanton has gone to the stables to see after his latest purchase. He said he’d wait for you there as you’d no doubt want to try him out first thing.” She waved at the buffet laid on a nearby sideboard. “Please make yourself free with whatever is left.”
He chuckled as he placed some toast, slices of cheese and ham on his plate and crossed to his usual chair. “Ye
s, I’d intended to go straight to the stables, but I’m reluctant to rush off when I’ve such beautiful and charming company.”
“Flatterer.” She cast him a laughing glance. “You can make up the loss of your cordial presence by accompanying me on my shopping excursion this afternoon. I’m to have some new riding habits made up, and as you’re fast friends with the always smartly attired Lady Norwalk, you can give me an educated male opinion.” She frowned slightly. “Stanton complains I’m too staid.” She raised her hot chocolate to her mouth and took a small sip. “Oh, and something’s come for you in the post.”
A thick white packet sat on the table by his usual setting. “Hmm…it’s from a barrister.” He frowned. “I can’t imagine.” Putting it aside to read later, he faced Mary with a smile and all evidence of genuine interest. “Now, tell me, what dressmaker will have your patronage, and what styles are you contemplating?”
Thankfully, Mary wasn’t one of those women who rattled on about fripperies until a man’s head whirled, and it wasn’t too long until he was the sole occupant of the dining room.
He eyed the thick white packet, strongly tempted to ignore it. In his experience, legal professionals rarely sent good news. But there was nothing to be gained by putting off the inevitable. If by some chance he was being sued for say, alienation of affection or worse, paternity—always a possibility though he’d been careful—the sooner known, the sooner dealt with. He opened the envelope, smoothed the thick folded sheets flat on the table and began reading as he swallowed his coffee. He stopped mid-sip, his cup suspended in mid-air. A frown developed between his brows, and when he left the table an hour later, his destination was not the stables.
Chapter Two
A
t the law offices of Elsington & Elsington, Miles handed his greatcoat, top hat, gloves, and cane to a clerk and was shown into a large office in which a mahogany desk piled with neatly organized paperwork occupied the center of the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed with leather-bound books and scrolls of papers made up the walls that surrounded it. An elderly, emaciated man with full, mutton-chop sideburns just as gray as the sparse hair on his head, rose from behind the monstrous piece of furniture. His thin lips twitched in a skeleton of a smile, and he bowed. “I assume I have the pleasure of addressing Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh?”
A Husband for Hire Page 2
