My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy)

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Will you do me the honor of having tea with me?” Gabriel wondered as he waved toward the table.

  Lily nodded, not trusting her voice to answer. Moving to the table, she took a seat in the settee and busied herself with pouring the tea. “Would you like sugar? Or cream?” she asked as her free hand hovered over the bowls.

  “A bit of cream, please,” Gabriel replied as he took the chair to her left. “I am calling on you because, until a few days ago, I didn’t know I had a sister,” he said as he took the cup and saucer from Lily’s trembling hands, wanting to get right to the point when he realized she obviously knew his identity. The butler, he thought, realizing the man would have told her who called on her. But did she know they were related? He saw her eyes widen again before she turned to pour her own tea. “Did you know that I am your brother?” he wondered in a quiet voice.

  She nodded. “I did. I … I have known for several years, in fact,” Lily replied, finally taking a sip of her tea. Her posture made her appear much taller than her five-and-a-half feet – her back was ramrod straight and her shoulders were pulled back as if she had been raised as an aristocrat’s daughter.

  Gabriel wished the girl would relax. Not having considered how she might react to meeting him, he wasn’t sure what to do to put her at ease. “We have a couple of brothers, as well,” he offered. That news seemed to take her by surprise.

  “We do?” she replied, her eyes still wide. “I … I did not know that.” She took another sip of her tea. “Have … Have you met them, my lord?” she wondered, realizing she needed to keep up her end of the conversation.

  Shaking his head, Gabriel leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Not yet. I thought to start with you, since you are apparently the eldest,” he explained, wondering at her apparent calm. Good grief! He’d just acknowledged she was the daughter of an earl. Why didn’t she seem … happy? Or at least intrigued. “And do call me ‘Gabriel’, won’t you?” he insisted. “You are my sister, after all.”

  Nodding, Lily put her saucer down. “You say you only learned of me a few days ago. May I inquire as to … how?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  Gabriel straightened, putting his own cup and saucer on the table next to hers. “My secretary, Heatherton, informed me. I’ve suspected for several years that I might have … siblings, but I had no details, so I had him make arrangements with an investigator.”

  Lily’s eyes widened again. “Surely you didn’t need to go to the expense, given the gossip at the time of my birth,” she said in surprise. Lily knew she’d been a source of parlor room talk way back when – her mother told her the circumstances of her birth when she was old enough to ask. “Mum was released from service at the Trenton townhouse in London when she was increasing with child. It’s a wonder she was able to find a position in this household,” she explained. “Although I suspect Lady Trenton might have had something to do with the placement.”

  Gabriel shrugged, not surprised his mother would have seen to removal of a maid from the London townhouse, but a bit surprised she would have helped with placing the maid in another household. Charity Wellingham could abide her husband’s infidelities if they occurred at one of their country estates; a pregnant maid in London would not have been tolerated, however. His mother despised gossip if it had anything to do with the Trentons. “No doubt,” Gabriel replied with a nod, deciding not to defend his mother. “As to your other concern, I wanted to find you, and hiring someone to do so seemed the most expeditious course.”

  Leaning forward on the settee, Lily face visibly reddened. “And why would you wish to find me?” she wondered, almost adding ‘my lord’ to the question, but catching herself at the last moment.

  Gabriel regarded the lady’s maid as if she was daft. “You’re my sister.”

  “I was your father’s daughter, and he made no attempt to find me,” she countered, a hint of ire in her voice.

  This is not going well, Gabriel realized, sensing Lily’s anger. “’Tis true my father had no regard for his by-blows …” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them, and he couldn’t help but notice Lily’s wince. “… But I am not my father’s son, and I have every intention of setting things right.”

  Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “You are a bastard as well?” she whispered.

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “No. Of course, not. I just meant that I am not like my father when it comes to dealing with … with my half-siblings. I wish to … know you. To have you be part of my life. And I of yours.”

  Slumping in her chair, Lily stared at Gabriel. “I am a lady’s maid. Nothing more,” she said in a whisper.

  “But you can be so much more. If you’d like,” Gabriel countered. “And you’re of an age to make your come-out. To be courted. I can provide a very good dowry.” Gabriel nearly grinned at her look of shock as her eyes widened.

  “I am in service as a lady’s maid, my lo … Gabriel,” she protested. “Lady Samantha is very fair and a pleasure to work for, the Fitzsimmons are kind …”

  Shaking his head, Gabriel said, “But you needn’t be, my lady. I am … I don’t wish to sound pompous, but I have a great deal of money at my disposal. It is my intention to find you a townhouse and a companion and pay for a modiste to outfit you in the latest fashion so that you can make your come-out this Season.”

  Lily stared at the earl, stunned by his words. The life of a lady? With servants of my own? In a London townhouse? “May I remind you that I am … illegitimate?” She said the last in a whisper, as if she were concerned that an eavesdropper might hear her. “However could I make a come-out? One would need …” She paused as she considered what Lady Samantha was undergoing in her preparations for her third Season as an unmarried lady. Besides the frequent visits to a modiste for fittings, she’d been taking more dance lessons and practicing elocution and French. And then there were the daily deliveries of hand-written notes from households all over the West End, invitations to balls and musicales and soirées. “One would need to be invited to balls and musicales and such,” she argued.

  Smiling, Gabriel clasped his hands together. “I would see to those, of course,” he replied, wondering at her hesitance. But he considered what it must be like for the illegitimate children of the aristocracy. Lily would be a topic of gossip wherever she appeared in public. Until she was settled with a husband, Gabriel would have to act as her protector. At some point, she would be accepted or rejected according to the whims of the fickle ton.

  Gabriel wondered if his brothers would suffer the same fate. From what he had overheard at ton balls, bastard sons were not so chastised, although they, too, would be required to learn the social niceties.

  When Lily still seemed unconvinced, he added, “Just … think about it. If you’re not ready, or if you prefer to remain in service to the Fitzsimmons, then I will not force you to do this.”

  Nodding, Lily took up her tea and noticed Gabriel had drained his cup. “Would you like more tea?” she asked, quickly setting her cup and saucer onto the table so that she could lift the pot and see to his.

  Gabriel regarded his empty cup, feeling as if he had failed in his mission. How could she not embrace a better future for herself? He expected her to … well, he hadn’t really thought far enough ahead to consider how she would react to his news. “No, thank you, my lady,” he replied with shake of his head.

  Lily saw the disappointment in Gabriel. She realized his shoulders had slumped and his attitude had gone from one of good humor to one of glum. “You should call me ‘Lily’,” she said in a teasing voice.

  Glancing at her in surprise, Gabriel allowed a grin. “There’s my sister,” he murmured, his hope for her restored. “Should you … change your mind, Lily, please send word to me, won’t you?” he said as he offered her his card.

  Lily took it, admiring the beautiful pasteboard and elegant print. “I will,” she promised. After a long pause, she added, “I don’t mean to seem … ungrateful, for I am not,�
�� she assured him. “I just have known nothing of life outside of this household.”

  Nodding, Gabriel said, “I understand. But you are an earl’s daughter, and by your birthright, you deserve more.”

  Feeling dismissed, Lily stood up, her brother managing to do so more quickly. “Thank you, Gabriel,” she managed. Before she could curtsy, Gabriel leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  She blushed in surprise, her blush deepening when she realized someone else had come into the parlor.

  “There you are,” Lady Samantha said cheerily. “Porter said you required a chaperone …” She stopped short and stared at Gabriel. “Lord Trenton?” she said hesitantly. The man who had just kissed her maid looked like Gabriel Wellingham – blond, blue-eyed and more handsome than any aristocrat had a right to be – but his manner of dress was almost too conservative. His dark brown topcoat, Nankeen breeches and scarlet waistcoat were the dress of a more sedate gentleman. Samantha had heard stories of the earl’s bright-colored clothes from her mother – she’d seen him wearing an apple green satin suit at a ball the previous Season – and was led to believe he dressed in them for all occasions.

  Gabriel stepped back from Lily and bowed in Samantha’s direction. “Lady Samantha. So very good to see you this fine day,” he said in greeting, moving to take her hand. He brushed his lips over her knuckles, realizing he had stunned the young woman with his move.

  “What is going on here?” Samantha wondered, her shocked look going between Gabriel and her maid. “Has this man … accosted you?” she asked of Lily, clearly upset at finding her maid in a room my herself with a man.

  Lily had to suppress a grin. “You could say that, my lady, but as my brother, it was his right, I suppose.”

  Samantha’s eyes widened as her stare returned to the earl. “Lord Trenton?” she said in a small voice.

  “Please, call me ‘Gabriel’,” he said as he nodded to Samantha. “And, I apologize for having taken your lady’s maid from your service for a bit. We have finished our visit, though. Good day to you both,” he said, giving them a bow and taking his leave of the parlor. He was quite sure Lily would tell her mistress the nature of his visit.

  Samantha stood frozen in place, staring at her maid. “Is what he said … is it … true?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

  Lily shrugged. “I am his sister, yes,” she acknowledged with a nod.

  Samantha gave her a look of shock. “You act as if … as if you already knew,” she said in a small voice.

  “Indeed. I have known … for as long as I can remember,” Lily answered with a shrug.

  Taking a seat in the chair that Gabriel had vacated, Samantha looked up at her maid. “You’re an earl’s daughter,” she said, her voice still a whisper. “Like me.”

  Lily shrugged again, as if she was unimpressed by Gabriel’s visit and by Samantha’s comparison. “He offered me a townhouse. A companion. A come-out this Season,” Lily said wistfully, knowing her words would have Samantha’s eyes widening even more. She was not disappointed in the girl’s reaction, although she didn’t expect to hear the next words that came out of Samantha’s mouth.

  “Congratulations, Lady Lily! You can have your come-out at Lady Mayfield’s ball!” Samantha claimed as she motioned for Lily to join her. “We have much to do to prepare for the ball in three weeks, but with a bit of work, we can be the belles of the ball!”

  Lily stared at Samantha in surprise.

  Lady Lily?

  Chapter 5

  A Ride in Hyde Park

  Alistair donned the livery Mr. Grimes had given him that morning, the man shaking his head a bit as he handed over the deep blue and green breeches, waistcoat and stockings. “Be sure your boots are shined,” he said before adding, “And there’s a hat here somewhere. Don’t know how well it will fit you, though.”

  Checking his chronometer, Alistair wondered if Lady Julia would even be on time for her ride to Hyde Park. She had apparently requested a horse and groom yesterday, saying she wished to ride during the fashionable hour. It was nearly four o’clock; if they left by half-past, Alistair figured they would be at the entrance to Rotten Row right at five.

  He glanced at his image in the small looking glass he used when shaving, wincing when he saw the ridiculous livery. At least it isn’t pink, he considered, remembering some of the colors displayed on the footmen who rode on the back of the carriages and other equipage in Hyde Park.

  He tried on the hat and then worked to loosen one of the seams around the band. With any luck, the wind wouldn’t whip it off his head whilst they were in the park. Although he wasn’t concerned about being recognized if he wore a hat, he wasn’t so sure what would happen should he appear without one. At least the livery would keep the other gentlemen from looking at him as one of their peers. “The ton only see what they expect to see,” his mother had once said. Well, he’d be testing that theory in very short order.

  He had to suppress a wince when he noticed the condition of his hands. Although he’d never had the perfectly manicured hands of a gentleman, he had at one time prided himself on how he could at least pass for one when necessary. Well, that won’t be necessary, perhaps ever again, he considered before making his way down to the stables below.

  Lady Julia took a quick glance at her reflection in the cheval mirror, rather liking the rakish angle at which her bonnet had been pinned onto her elaborate coiffure.

  Her maid, Susan, was quite adept at hairdressing. She also seemed to know exactly when such coiffures were important. Today Julia would be riding in Hyde Park with the new groom as an escort. If the man seemed able to learn the finer points of being a gentleman, she thought she might ask if he would be willing. She still hadn’t decided just how she would approach him with the query. Greet him, certainly. Then introduce herself. A bit of chit-chat about the weather and the horses. And then she could broach the topic. Have you ever wondered how life would be if you were a gentleman? No, that wouldn’t do. What if he had never wondered? What if he was perfectly satisfied with his lot in life and had no interest in being seen as a gentleman? Julia thought for a moment. “You, sir, look as if you could be a gentleman. If you’d like, I can arrange a dance master and a speech instructor and have a tailor lined up within the week and have you ready to attend a ball in three weeks.” Julia stared into the mirror. “Am I a candidate for Bedlam?” she asked out loud, noting her reflection made her look as if she might be.

  Three weeks? How could she ever have agreed to Lady Samantha’s terms?

  Pride.

  That’s what it was, she decided. My damned pride got me into this. Well, she might have to swallow that pride if she had any hope of convincing the groom to agree to her scheme. She rather doubted she could tell him what she really wanted.

  To dance with the man.

  She imagined him on the dance floor at her mother’s ball, his hair perfectly trimmed in a Titus cut, his black evening clothes fitted to perfection, his cravat tied into a perfect knot with a diamond pin blinking from within the folds, his calves silhouetted in his stockings, his thighs barely contained in the satin breeches, his gaze only on her … Julia shook herself from her reverie. Damnation! What was she imagining? He was a groom! Which brought her back to her original dilemma. How to convince him to undergo the rigors of becoming a gentleman.

  She could always just tell him the truth. “I accepted a dare from a friend. A dare that I could turn you into a gentleman in time for my mother’s ball at the end of the month. Are you game?”

  Her reflection stared back at her, not looking a bit like a candidate for Bedlam. “Oh,” she mouthed silently, wondering how the groom would respond.

  “My lady, I would be honored.” Or, “My lady, I am flattered, but I am otherwise engaged.” Or, and this was probably the response he would give her, “My lady, have you considered a future in Bedlam?”

  Giving her reflection a sour look, she turned and made her way to the bedchamber door. I’ll think of something,
she thought hopefully. I always do.

  Alistair carried the step box to where Lady Julia’s mare stood, and just beyond the horse was the lady herself. Looking rather bored but very regal in a riding habit of hunter green worsted wool, Lady Julia might have been any daughter of the aristocracy. A ridiculous hat, sporting some poor bird’s plumage while forgoing the typical wide brim, was pinned at a rakish angle. At least it didn’t cover the lady’s golden blonde hair completely, Alistair thought absently, rather pleased to discover the chit was fairly pretty. Even without having to study her face, Alistair was quite sure she was the one of the young women who had been watching him the day before from a second-story window.

  He placed the wooden box on the ground next to the mare and held out his hand to Julia, a gesture he would have made with any woman who was about to mount a horse. “My lady,” he said with a half-bow.

  Julia hesitated before placing her gloved hand on his. Not since she was a child had a groom offered this kind of assistance – she was an accomplished horsewoman, after all, and only needed help if a horse was as large as her father’s mount. And did she detect just a hint of a northern county lilt to the groom’s voice? Or did she just imagine it because she expected the worst?

  She stepped onto the box and turned to place her left foot in the stirrup, conscious of the groom watching her every movement. Her right hand on the front pommel, she pushed up on her left leg and managed to get her right leg up and bent around the pommel in a continuous, smooth move that left the majority of her riding habit splayed evenly on the left side of the horse with the hem covering the tops of her half-boots.

  “Excuse me, sir, I did not catch your name,” Julia spoke once she was in the saddle and her right leg was wrapped around the pommel. She had to admire the way the groom watched her every move, as if he was holding himself personally responsible for her safety. Which he should, I suppose, she realized.