by Anne Ashley
Out of the corner of his eye Nicholas saw Benedict approaching, and hurriedly helped the lovely damsel into the carriage. "You are too kind, ma'am," he responded, stepping to one side to enable the maid to enter, and then wasted no time in closing the door.
"Why in heaven's name didn't you introduce me?" Benedict demanded, aggrieved, as he watched the carriage move away.
"What!" Once again Nicholas very much feared those years spent beneath a Caribbean sun had taken their toll. "When I've done everything humanly possible to keep your identity secret since we left the house? You might have no pride in the name you bear, brother, but I most certainly have. Do you imagine I'll permit London to see you going about looking like that? Why, it would be the talk of the clubs for months to come if your identity ever became known!"
Catching the eye of a passing jarvey, Nicholas hurriedly bundled his troublesome brother into the hired carriage before Benedict could draw more attention to himself. "I don't understand what's come over you, Ben. You used to take such pride in your appearance, and yet now you don't seem to care a whit that you look more like a didicoi than a duke."
More interested in the lovely image his mind's eye was conjuring up, Benedict had listened with only half an ear to his brother's strictures. "Who was she? Do you know?"
Nicholas cast him an impatient glance, wondering anew what had come over him. No one would have believed his brother capable of fending off an attack from pirates, when a pair of green eyes could fell him with one glance!
"Of course I know her. I was dancing with her only last night. She's Lady Sophia Cleeve, the Earl of Yardley's daughter." He raised his eyes heavenwards when his brother's besotted expression did not alter. "Anyone would suppose you'd never seen a pretty face before."
"Pretty? A totally inappropriate description!" Benedict scoffed. "She's exquisite."
Nicholas considered this for a moment or two. "Opinions differ. Some consider her a beauty. However, blondes are all the fashion this Season."
His brother appeared decidedly unimpressed. Evidently flaxen hair was not to his taste. "My, my, the little minx appears to have you well and truly in her toils," Nicholas remarked, highly amused now by the unfortunate encounter with the Earl's daughter. "Not that I don't think it's high time you were leg-shackled, brother, but if you take my advice you'll look elsewhere for a wife."
A heart-rending possibility occurred to Benedict. "She isn't married already, is she? Or engaged?"
"No, nor likely to be, either."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"She doesn't seem interested in marriage. At least," Nicholas amended, memory stirring, "certainly not a marriage to a member of our class. If what she tells me is true, she prefers the company of grooms to dukes."
"Ha! She must have been teasing you," Benedict scoffed, thinking his brother highly gullible.
"Perhaps," Nicholas conceded. "I'm only repeating what I was told last night. Furthermore, she's received four proposals of marriage to my certain knowledge since her arrival in town, and has refused them all. Which would suggest that she certainly isn't hankering after a husband, let alone a title." His wicked sense of humour coming to the fore, he gave a shout of laughter. "Why, she paid more attention to you out there in the street just now than she pays to most members of her own class."
Evidently his brother did not share the joke, for he sat silently staring out of the window. "Don't disturb yourself," Nicholas advised. "There'll be plenty of other pretty wenches gracing the Season once it officially gets under way."
"I dare say you're right," Benedict murmured, a decidedly calculating gleam springing into his striking blue eyes, "but it's Lady Sophia Cleeve I intend to get to know. So perhaps, all things considered, it might serve me best if I remain incognito for a while longer."
"How on earth can that benefit you?" Nicholas asked, totally at a loss.
Benedict transferred his gaze to his sibling's puzzled countenance. "You said yourself that she prefers the company of grooms...And if there is one thing I do know...it's my way around a stable!"
Chapter Three
The Earl of Yardley was essentially a man of habit, and his sojourn in the capital had not altered his routine to any great extent. Consequently, Cardew knew precisely where his master was to be found at this time of day, and entered the library to discover his lordship, as expected, seated at his desk, carefully studying his correspondence.
"I regret having to disturb you, sir," he said, as the Earl, pausing in the perusal of the letter in his hand, raised an enquiring brow, "but the head groom is here, requesting an interview with you."
Like all the other servants, Cardew held his master in high esteem. During the twenty years he had been employed as butler in the Cleeve household he could never recall even one occasion when the Earl had been too busy to spare one of his employees some of his time, and he knew what the response would be even before his lordship said, "Of course. I shall see him at once."
Certain that his most loyal henchman would not seek an interview on some trivial matter, the Earl set aside his correspondence and a moment later watched his head groom enter, cap in hand, looking totally ill-at-ease, just as he always did whenever in elegant surroundings. Trapp was never happy when away from the stables for any length of time. Horses were his life, and his lordship suspected that he much preferred their company to that of most people.
"Well, come in, Trapp," his lordship ordered when the groom, who had been with him all those years ago out in India, continued to hover by the door. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm here on young Clem's behalf, sir." Looking and sounding nothing like the iron-handed ruler of the stables whose word was law, and whose barking commands kept the youngest stable-lads in a permanent state of terror, he moved hesitantly across to the desk.
"Seemingly Clem's been offered a post as head groom on some large estate in the south, sir. I 'ave to say I don't want to lose 'im. He's a good lad and he's been with us for a number of years, but there's no denying it would be a good move for 'im." His weather-beaten face creased into a semblance of a smile. "I ain't quite ready to hang up the harness yet, as yer might say, so I can't blame Clem for not wanting to wait around until I do."
His lordship nodded his head in agreement. "Do you know precisely who has made him this offer of employment, Trapp?"
"That I don't, sir. Don't know that Clem does neither, if it comes to that. Or if he does, he ain't saying. Seemingly someone approached 'im when he were in The Red Lion t'other evening. Said that if he wanted the position, he'd 'ave to take it right away. He's been given until this evening to make up 'is mind."
The Earl's silver-grey brows snapped together, clearly betraying his staunch disapproval. He considered this underhanded way of acquiring employees totally unacceptable. Why, it smacked of nothing short of poaching! Yet, at the same time, he could quite understand Clem's wishing to improve his lot, and felt it would be very mean-spirited on his part not to let the young groom go simply because he and Trapp would be put to the trouble of finding a suitable replacement.
"If Clem wishes to leave us, then we must accept the situation with a good grace," he responded at length, echoing his thoughts aloud. "It's unlikely we'll find a replacement at a moment's notice, so I'll arrange for one of the lads at Jaffrey House to come here."
"There may be no need to put yourself to the bother, sir," Trapp surprised his lordship by announcing. "As luck would 'ave it, someone wandered into the mews this morning in search of work. Seemingly, he's been away in foreign parts for a number of years. Brown as a nut he be, so I don't doubt the truth o' that. Came back after his old master died, he told me."
His lordship was not enthusiastic. "Who was his late employer, do you know? Can he supply a reference?"
"No, sir. Happen there were a spot o' bother on the boat journey home. Lost all his belongings, so he told me."
"Mmm." His lordship's brows once again met at the bridge of his thin, aristocratic nose. "You know m
y views, Trapp. I'm never altogether happy about employing people who cannot provide a reference, especially strangers."
"Aye, sir. I do know." Trapp raised a hand to scratch his grizzled hair: a habit of his when pondering a ticklish problem. "And, ordinarily, I'm of a similar mind. But I 'ave to say that this fellow knows a thing or two about beasts. It just so 'appens that Miss Sophie's filly was in one of her frisky moods when he wanders into the mews. Had her quietened down in a trice, so he did. Beasts, I reckon, 'ave a deal more sense than most folks. And what I always says is, if horses take to a cove, then he can't be all bad."
There was perhaps more than a grain of truth in this simple philosophy, his lordship decided, and he took a moment or two more to consider the matter. "Very well, Trapp. If you're willing to give this stranger a chance, that's good enough for me. If he doesn't prove suitable, I can, as I've already mentioned, send to Jaffrey House for a replacement."
Although he had given his consent readily enough, his lordship was not completely happy with this unexpected turn of events. Was it mere coincidence, he wondered, watching his henchman leave the room, that soon after his groom had been offered a new position, someone should have turned up looking for work? A wry smile tugged at the corner of his thin-lipped mouth. Perhaps he was just getting too cynical in his old age, he decided, his mind returning to something else which had puzzled him during the past few days.
Why, he wondered, had there been a marked lack of interest of late shown by eligible young gentlemen in his daughter? Since the night of their ball he had not received one offer, verbal or otherwise, for Sophia's hand. He was not so foolish as to suppose that he would be likely to receive a proposal of marriage every single week for the duration of their stay in town. Nor was he such a doting father that he imagined for a moment that his daughter, lovely though she was, would be to every man's taste.
There was no denying, either, that Sophia could be troublesome on occasions, and any gentleman hoping for a quiet life would do well to consider long and hard before proposing matrimony to her. Only a gentleman with a stronger will than her own could ever hope to keep Sophia under control. Surely, though, somewhere in the length and breadth of this land existed a gentleman of good birth quite capable of keeping a tight rein on a troublesome filly? His lordship could only hope that this was so, and that it wouldn't be too long before this ideal mate crossed his daughter's path.
The door opened and the subject of his thoughts, looking perfectly charming in a lavender silk gown and matching bonnet, swept into the room. The sweetly angelic smile on her face, as she tripped lightly across to the desk, would fool most gentlemen into believing that by nature she was compliant. A grossly inaccurate supposition which any poor deluded fool might make, he decided, his suspicions surfacing anew.
"What on earth have I done to make you scowl so, Papa?" After placing a kiss on the soft, silver-grey hair, she perched herself, uninvited, on the edge of his desk. "Anyone seeing that disapproving look of yours might suppose that I'd been up to some mischief."
"It is not beyond the realms of possibility that you have been, my dear," he responded drily, thereby igniting that gurgle of feminine laughter which never failed to bring a smile to his own lips. "Where are you off to this morning, decked out in all your finery?"
"I'm going out with Mama in the carriage to visit Madame Felice. I'm due there in an hour for the final fitting of my new riding habit, and we mustn't be late, otherwise we might find ourselves having to return some other time."
"My, my! How things have changed!" his lordship remarked, in the same dry tone. "In my day no seamstress would dare to dictate what time a member of the aristocracy was to arrive at her shop."
"Ah! But she's no ordinary dressmaker, Papa. Anyone who is anyone has a gown made by Madame Felice," Sophia remarked, wickedly mimicking the elite hostess whose ball she had attended the previous night. "Ordinarily, as you know, that wouldn't weigh with me, but I am desperate to have my new habit finished. I haven't ridden once since we arrived in town."
This innocent admission jogged his lordship's memory, and he wasn't in the least surprised by Sophia's crestfallen expression when he apprised her of Clem's wishing to leave, and the reason behind the young groom's decision.
"I shall be very sorry to see him go, Papa. I always preferred Clem to accompany me whenever I went out riding." Slipping lightly from the desk, she went over to the door, but turned back as a dreadful thought suddenly occurred to her. "That doesn't mean I shall be forced to take Trapp with me for the duration of our stay in town, does it? I shan't be able to do a thing without his reporting my comings and goings straight back to you."
"And wouldn't that be a good thing!" his lordship retorted, wickedly teasing, and then laughed outright as Sophia gave a haughty toss of her head before sweeping regally from the room.
No, it certainly would be no bad thing for someone to keep an eye on the little monkey, he reiterated, silently revising his own plans for the forthcoming weeks.
Although he enjoyed good health, he was no longer a young man, and had decided long before they had embarked on this visit to the metropolis that he would be leaving the supervision of his most trying offspring in his wife's very capable hands. He had adjusted reasonably well already to town hours, but was very well aware that he no longer possessed the stamina, or the inclination for that matter, to throw himself headlong into the social whirl. None the less, it would not do him a mite of harm, he decided, if just every once in a while he accompanied his wife and daughter out for an evening. His added presence would certainly ensure his daughter's good behaviour. Furthermore, it would not hurt to have a word with Trapp, just to ensure that this new man was well aware that he must keep a strict watch whenever he accompanied the daughter of the house out on what might very well turn out to be a daily ride, if the weather continued fair.
Although Sophia had said very little when she had learned of Clem's wishing to leave, she was very upset by the unexpected news. Clem had been her personal groom for more than ten years. Unfailingly vigilant, while at the same time allowing her free rein, he had proved to be the perfect bodyguard and companion during those innumerable rides they had taken across the Earl's Northamptonshire acres. Some would consider, she didn't doubt, that her manner towards the young groom had been far too free and easy, but Sophia had looked upon Clem more as a friend than a servant, and she felt that he would be very difficult to replace.
Consequently, when she entered the famous modiste's premises in Bond Street, her mood was quite naturally subdued. Her mind locked in the past, recalling those numerous occasions when she and her trusty companion had explored far-afield areas of the Northamptonshire countryside, she hardly noticed the other customers sitting in the plush velvet chairs, nor did she realise that none other than the much coveted dressmaker herself had accompanied her into the fitting-room until a sweetly accented voice remarked, "Your new habit does not please you, mademoiselle? Or is it, perhaps, something else that makes you unhappy this day?"
Drawing her mind back to the present, Sophia received something of a shock when she discovered the modiste studying her intently, the lovely blue eyes openly assessing. "Oh, no, Madame, the habit is perfect."
"Not quite," the modiste countered, her professional eye quickly perceiving a slight fault. "A little adjustment to the skirt is required. I hope then that you will look a little happier when you are wearing it, petite, otherwise my reputation par excellence will tumble, no?"
So the famous modiste had a sense of humour, had she? Sophia mused, quickly detecting the mischievous twinkle in the blue eyes. The dressmaker was possibly more amused than gratified by her meteoric rise to fame, and Sophia felt suddenly drawn to the woman who, she suspected, was not so many years older than herself.
"I assure you, madame, that the habit pleases me very much," she assured her, taking care not to step on the soft velvet folds as she stepped out of the skirt. "It is just that this morning I received some rather sad ne
ws. Someone who has worked for my family for many years is to leave us."
The smile that curled the dressmaker's full lips appeared full of warmth and understanding. "I think, perhaps, that the one that leaves you is something more than just a servant, hein?"
Sophia nodded. "More a friend."
"Then could you not, perhaps, persuade him to stay?" Madame suggested, helping Sophia to don the walking dress and matching pelisse which she herself had made for the Earl's daughter only the week before.
"I dare say I could, but I shan't make the attempt." She caught the dressmaker's look of surprise in the large, oval mirror. "He has been my personal groom for many years and, I believe, has been happy in his work, but now wishes to better himself. He has been offered the position of head groom on some country estate, though I know not which." She moved one of her slender hands in a slight gesture of resignation. "It would be selfish of me to try to stop him improving himself."
The look that sprang into the modiste's eyes was difficult to interpret, but Sophia thought she could detect a hint of respect in those striking blue depths.
"I do not think, petite, that you will have the least difficulty in finding a replacement," the young dressmaker responded softly, as she held back the curtain for Sophia to pass into the elegant waiting-room.
"My, my, Sophia! You have been honoured this day," her mother teased, after they had left the shop and had settled themselves in the carriage once more for the short journey back to Berkeley Square. "Lady Strattan went quite pea-green with envy when Madame Felice selected to offer you her undivided attention. How does it make you feel to have eclipsed such a leading society hostess as the Marchioness of Strattan? The poor woman will never be able to hold her head up in public again!"
"You know full well, Mama, that I consider such things totally unimportant," Sophia responded, chuckling at her mother's rather wicked sense of humour. "I would have been just as content to have had one of the assistants attend to me, though I must confess, I did find the celebrated modiste most interesting," she admitted, settling herself more comfortably on the seat. "She isn't nearly so old as I had imagined. She's not many years older than myself, I shouldn't have thought. And she's extremely pretty too, though she does her level best to conceal the fact by wearing very plain gowns, and hiding her hair beneath a cap."
