My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Faith Regan stared at the purse her visitor had placed in her hand. “But, I … I cannot accept this,” she said with a shake of her head, her first thought that Alistair would expect something in return.

  Alistair took a step back. “You must, my lady, as I made a promise to your husband that I would provide for you and your children in his stead.”

  Swaying a bit, as if she was feeling light-headed, Faith stared at Alistair for several seconds before her arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, how can I ever thank you?” she whispered before releasing him.

  Alistair stared at the widow, stunned at her reaction. “You already have, my lady,” he said with a nod, an embarrassed smile replacing his brief look of shock.

  The simple gesture had been one of the most surprising and gratifying acts anyone had done for him, so when Alistair bade his farewell, he again tipped the caddy who held his horse and rode off feeling rather proud of himself.

  As he passed a very old coach, the one that he was sure had followed him from when he had first made Oxford Street on his trip to the Dials, Alistair managed a glance toward the conveyance. The face he saw in the window surprised him, probably as much as the girl who was staring at him was surprised at being discovered. I’ve seen that face before, he thought as hurried his mount down Monmouth Street and out of the Dials. Staring at me from a second story window of Harrington House.

  The girl certainly wasn’t Lady Julia – he was quite sure of that – but if not Lady Julia, then who was she? And why had she followed him to the Seven Dials?

  Alistair considered the next dance lesson. Since he already knew the steps to the Cotillion, it would be much easier to make conversation with Lady Julia. And now he had the perfect topic. Tell me, Lady Julia, who do you know that might have followed me to the Seven dials?

  Chapter 33

  A Maid and a Manager

  The next day

  Sarah peeked into the parlor. Having knocked and not heard a reply, she wondered if the countess and her lady’s maid had fallen asleep by the fire. But the room was empty. Even the dishes from their luncheon were empty, or nearly so. She smiled, glad that the inn’s cook had managed to make another luncheon suitable for a countess. If Thomas’ report from his mother could be believed, apparently Lady Trenton had been quite satisfied with the food she was served the day before. And, in typical aristocratic behavior, the woman hadn’t been seen by any of the inn’s employees until well after noon today.

  Gathering the empty dishes onto a tray, Sarah was about to take her leave of the parlor when she realized she was no longer alone. “Mrs. Fuller,” she said as she turned to find the maid just inside the door. “Oh, did you wish to …?” she started to say, thinking the maid had returned to finish eating.

  “Goodness, no,” Mrs. Fuller replied with a shake of her head. “I ate enough for two more days,” she claimed with a wan smile. “Would you have a moment? To … talk?” she wondered, realizing the inn’s manager was probably needed elsewhere. The sounds from the public room had died down, making her think the mail coach had taken its leave of the inn.

  “I think so,” Sarah replied uncertainly as she moved to a chair near the fireplace. The day’s mail coach had departed a few moments ago, and the rest of the staff was seeing to the restoration of the public room for the arrival of travelers later than evening.

  Earlier that morning, John Bristow had come down from his rooms to announce that Sally’s fever had broken. Relieved to hear the news, Sarah paid a call on the woman, reminding her of how she’d been missed. “I cannot run this place as well as you do,” Sarah claimed when she left Sally’s room.

  Sarah waited until Lady Trenton’s maid had taken an adjacent chair before seating herself.

  “Her ladyship is in a bit of a quandary,” the lady’s maid stated suddenly.

  “Oh?” Sarah replied carefully. Her heart rate increasing, Sarah held her breath. Had the countess found fault with something at the inn?

  “The earl told her about his … your … son,” Mrs. Fuller said then, her hands clasped together on her lap.

  Keeping her face as impassive as possible, Sarah regarded the maid before blinking once. She blinked again before giving the maid a slight shrug. “The earl?” she finally replied, hoping she sounded as if she knew nothing of what Mrs. Fuller was speaking.

  Mrs. Fuller sighed when she realized Sarah wasn’t going to admit she knew the Earl of Trenton, let alone admit that the baby was, indeed, the earl’s son. “She’s rather fond of him,” Mrs. Fuller went on. “The babe, I mean,” she clarified with a wan smile, as if there was someone else for whom the countess could be feeling fondness.

  Then she remembered Gabriel.

  “Oh, and her own son, Gabriel, of course,” Mrs. Fuller added, one of her hands suddenly waving in front of her flushing face as if she were overly warm. “The Earl of Trenton.”

  “Oh?” Sarah replied, her heart suddenly racing. She could admit to feeling a bit of relief that the woman would feel something for her own grandchild. As a bastard, Gabe would never enjoy the same rights in life as other legitimate males in the world did, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be acknowledged by his relatives – aristocrats or not.

  Perhaps Lady Trenton would abide by Gabriel’s promise to see to the boy’s education. “Does that mean ..?” Sarah started to ask, and then stopped. She hadn’t yet agreed with anything Mrs. Fuller had said. The countess obviously knew the baby was her grandson, though. “Does that mean she will abide by the earl’s agreement to see to the boy’s education?” she whispered hoarsely, hoping no one was within earshot of the parlor door.

  Mrs. Fuller’s eyes widened. The inn manager’s response wasn’t quite what she expected. “I don’t know anything about that, miss,” she replied with a shake of her head. “However, I do know that the countess would like to … assist you, if you will … in the … in the expenses associated with the child.”

  Sarah’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Expenses?” she repeated, wondering if the countess meant to provide money toward Gabe’s food and clothing. “I can certainly afford to raise my son without any assistance from Lady Trenton,” she stated in a quiet voice, “Or the earl, for that matter,” she added, feeling a bit offended by the implication that she couldn’t afford to raise her own son.

  “Oh, of course,” Mrs. Fuller replied with a nod. “Lady Trenton would just …” She shrugged as she allowed the sentence to trail off.

  Just ..? Sarah leaned toward the lady’s maid, wondering why she had stopped speaking. “What?” she prodded.

  Mrs. Fuller sighed. “I’ve no idea what her intentions are,” she finally said, her attention suddenly on her hands, once clasped together in her lap and now wringing together.

  Sarah straightened. “Whatever do you mean?”

  The lady’s maid gave Sarah a sad look before closing her eyes. “I’m not really sure, miss.”

  What did the countess mean to do? Buy her baby? Steal her baby? Alarms were suddenly going off in Sarah’s head.

  “I was just told to … to keep you occupied,” Mrs. Fuller whispered, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. “And ask that my son be allowed to take me back to Trenton Manor when it’s convenient for him to take some time away from here.”

  Sarah gasped. Where was the countess now? Was she, this very minute, attempting to take Gabe? Had she already done so? Given the amount of time that had passed since the countess left the parlor after her luncheon, it was certainly possible.

  Certainly someone would stop her, thought. Margery was watching over Gabe. She would stop the countess.

  Wouldn’t she?

  Sarah stood up suddenly and rushed toward the door. “Gabe,” she murmured, one hand pressed against her chest.

  “Miss Cumberbatch?” the maid questioned, obviously ashamed as she watched Sarah’s sudden departure.

  “She cannot have him!” Sarah replied as she reached
for the door knob. “He’s my son!”

  Mrs. Fuller, who was in the process of standing up, gave the inn manager a quizzical look. “I do not believe Lady Trenton means to … take your babe,” she replied uncertainly.

  Or did she? The woman had been rather taken by the boy. He was her grandchild, bastard or not, she considered. But would the Countess of Trenton take the babe from his mother? Or offer money in exchange for taking him from Miss Cumberbatch? Mrs. Fuller thought not. But when she returned her attention to the parlor room door to give Sarah her opinion, the inn manager was gone.

  Chapter 34

  Pity the Poor Groom

  Julia awoke with a sense of excitement, at once looking forward to that day’s dance lesson and to asking Mr. Comber about this family. Of course, he couldn’t be married. Why would he dare kiss me if he had a wife and family only a few miles away? And allow me to kiss him?

  Although it was merely a few hours until Monsieur Girard was expected at Harrington House, it seemed far longer. Julia changed gowns three times and had her lady’s maid pin up her hair twice before she decided she was ready for the lesson. So it was no surprise when she entered the ballroom before anyone else. Well, I can use the time to walk, she thought as she took a turn about the room, admiring her mother’ choices in the decor in preparation for the ball while trying with all her might not to think about the woman who had kissed Mr. Comber only the day before.

  As Alistair made his way through the back garden and into Harrington House for his dance lesson, his mind was back in the Seven Dials. He kept remembering the look of surprise and delight on the face of Faith Regan, the look of awe her children displayed when they realized he had known their father. Despite their worn clothing and disheveled appearance, they had somehow left a positive impression on him, an impression that had him wondering how it was a man of Michael Regan’s age – he had been a year younger than Alistair – and average looks – a layer of mud and grime only made them worse – could manage to land a comely wife and sire three children before he joined the British Army. Michael had claimed to be happily married to a girl from his youth, the two making their way to London in the hopes of finding better employment than the dwindling farm fields of Sussex could offer. Although Faith had been able to land a position with a well-regarded modiste, her husband hadn’t been so lucky and was forced to enlist. He had been in Belgium and France for two years before his untimely death. Certainly he would have been better off staying in Sussex.

  Alistair was still daydreaming when he came upon Lady Mayfield making her way toward the ballroom.

  “Pardon, my lady,” he said as he paused and gave Lady Mayfield a leg.

  “Mr. Comber, how fortuitous that we meet before we go in there,” Temperance Harrington whispered as she slowed her pace.

  “Oh?” Alistair replied, slowing his own pace to match hers.

  “It seems Lady Aimsley has heard from her missing son and is in good spirits,” she commented, giving Alistair a wink. “I called on your mother this morning.”

  Alistair nodded. “I am very glad to hear it. Thank you for insisting I write to her,” he whispered back.

  “You’re most welcome. Now, something dire must have happened yesterday, because Julia seemed awfully out of sorts when she returned from Fitzsimmons Manor.”

  “Fitzsimmons Manor?” Alistair repeated, wondering what might have happened there to trouble the Mayfield daughter.

  “Yes. Lady Samantha lives there with her aunt and uncle, poor dear. She and Julia have been best friends for years,” she added before she suddenly stopped. “Do go in before me, won’t you?” she suggested, giving him an arched eyebrow.

  Alistair couldn’t help but be surprised by Lady Mayfield’s request. Whenever was a man to enter a room before a woman? “If you insist, my lady,” he answered, a bit confused as to why the lady of the house would insist he precede her into the ballroom.

  “It will give you an opportunity to impress Julia when I do make my entrance,” she said with a smirk. “I’m playing the piano-forté for the Cotillion, you see,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  Alistair eyebrows raised up. “I see, my lady. I shall not disappoint you,” he murmured as he realized what the lady of the house had in mind. An entrance.

  “See to it you do not,” Lady Mayfield replied as she waved him on.

  Grinning, Alistair made his way into the ballroom, bowing to Lady Julia when he realized she was leaning against the piano-forté. “You’re looking especially lovely this afternoon, Lady Julia,” Alistair said as he took Julia’s hand and kissed the back of it.

  And she does, he realized suddenly, noting how her upswept hair gave her the appearance of an older woman. The gown she wore was in a pale peach that suited her complexion and hair color. She’d make a perfect countess for someone.

  Julia’s eyes widened as they followed his lips from her hand to where they ended up as he straightened. “Why, thank you, Mr. Comber,” she managed to get out before his attention was suddenly directed toward the ballroom door. She felt a stab of jealousy as Alistair excused himself and moved toward her mother, who had just swept into the ballroom as if she were attending one of her own grand balls.

  Julia watched as Alistair executed a perfect bow before reaching for Lady Mayfield’s hand and kissing the back of it. And then her mother tittered as if she was still a chit in the schoolroom!

  “Why, Mr. Comber, my daughter has already made a gentleman of you, has she not?” Lady Mayfield cooed in her sweetest voice.

  Alistair grinned in response. “Your affirmation is music to my ears,” he replied with a nod. “She has performed a miracle, has she not?” he added, directing his compliment in Julia’s direction.

  Stunned by the groom’s comment, Julia felt her face flush before she could look away.

  “Forgive me,” Alistair said as he moved back to stand before Julia. “I have embarrassed you. Do not be, for your attentions have made me a better man,” he assured her, bowing his head as if he was worshipping her.

  Julia nodded in return. “Thank you,” she managed to get out before Monsieur Girard entered the ballroom, a metronome in hand.

  “Positions, everyone,” he called out in a manner that suggested he was impatient.

  Alistair immediately took his place in the middle of the ballroom. Julia hurried to take her place in front of him as her mother rushed to the piano-forté.

  “The Cotillion is our dance this afternoon,” Girard announced with one hand behind his back as the other held the metronome, “And we haven’t much time,” he added with a hint of warning in his voice. “Mr. Comber, have you studied the steps?” he asked, as if he was addressing a recalcitrant student in class.

  “I have, Monsieur Girard,” Alistair stated from where he stood in front of Julia.

  “Commence,” Girard announced. Lady Mayfield placed her fingers on the keys of the piano-forté and began playing music that suited the Cotillion as well as several other dances.

  Alistair bowed to Julia, and she returned a curtsy. Alistair reached out and captured one hand in his and executed the first series of moves by rote, his mind on how snuggly Lady Julia’s gown fit her bosom, on how elegant she looked in a nearly empty ballroom, on how beautiful she would look on his bed.

  Shaking himself back to the present, he realized Julia was staring at him with a hint of confusion.

  “What is it, Lady Julia?” he wondered, continuing the dance as if he didn’t have to concentrate on the steps.

  “How is it you already know this dance, Mr. Comber?” she wondered. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Or have you been secretly meeting with Monsieur Girard to learn the steps?” she half-accused, her manner suggesting she wasn’t the least bit amused by the possibility.

  Alistair allowed a smile as the dance required them to separate for a moment. When Julia executed her turn, he said, “I have not been in Monsieur Girard’s company since the day ’fore yesterday. Nor would I be now if these lessons didn�
�t demand it,” he added, sotto voce.

  Julia’s eyes widened again as she dared a glance in the direction of the dance master, hoping the Frenchman hadn’t overheard Alistair’s remark. When her gaze took in her mother at the piano-forté, she had to quickly turn attention back to her dance partner. Her mother was watching them, a rather large smile on her face.

  “What is it, my lady?” Alistair asked as he turned to his left at the same time Julia turned to her left. “You seem … unsettled.”

  Julia dared a glance at her mother again, whose attention was back on the keyboard and the sheets of music spread out on the music rack.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she answered, careful in how she executed the next turn. With Alistair performing the steps as perfectly as he was, Julia found she was having a hard time doing the same. Girard appeared as if he was about to interrupt several times, but then she would mind her position and the dance master would return to holding one hand against the side of his face while another rested on one hip.

  “Is something amiss?” Alistair pressed, thinking Julia seemed distracted. If she made another misstep, Alistair was sure Girard would stop them and insist they start from the beginning.

  “It’s nothing, really,” Julia answered. After a moment, she relented. “Won’t you tell me how it is you already know the steps for the Cotillion, Mr. Comber?”

  Giving her a teasing grin, Alistair began the next set of the dance. The chit was persistent, he’d give her that. “My mother taught me,” he finally admitted, remembering the time she’d spent with him in the parlor at Aimsley House when he was a boy of only five or six. Perhaps she had taught him all the dances, he realized then, not remembering a dance master of Monsieur Girard’s ilk being present in the Comber household. “She was a very patient teacher,” he added when he saw Julia’s expression of surprise. But I was a very willing student, he recalled, remembering how he had looked forward to that time with his mother. She would be dressed in her finest ball gowns and jewelry, and he in his Sunday-best short pants and coat, his hair combed into place and dampened until it clung to his head. There was no controlling the wavy curls as it dried, however, leaving him with a head of unruly hair if it wasn’t cut short.