by Wendy Vella
Pulling a weed with more force than required, Simon knew the answer to that question. The thought of her ill or in distress had settled uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach and it would not be dislodged until he had answers. He hated to admit it even to a bed of violets, but he cared about Claire Belmont’s welfare far more than he should.
Rising, he wandered into his glasshouse to check on his seedlings and then made his way back inside. He would visit with Daniel and Eva–and his favorite small person, of course—this morning. Perhaps he could make a few subtle enquiries of Eva; she may know why Claire had been in that lane. He didn’t want to alert Eva to his concerns, but maybe she would let something slip if he brought up Claire’s name.
His bath was ready when he returned to his room, and, sinking into it, he watched his valet tsk at the dirt on the hem of his dressing gown and then tsk even louder at the dirty feet Simon draped over the edge of the tub.
“Slippers, my lord. Easy to put on and would save scrubbing several layers off your skin whenever you return from your gardens.”
Simon had inherited Sullivan on a hunting trip to Ireland five years ago. He was flamboyant and opinionated and felt Simon would look like a chimney sweep in days if he was not with him at all times.
“I like the dirt under my toes,” Simon said, knowing how much this annoyed Sullivan, as they had had this conversation more times than he cared to count.
His valet snapped his mouth together and said nothing further, just scurried around the room selecting items of clothing for him to wear.
“For pity’s sake, Sully, I am visiting friends. There is little need of such an extravagant waistcoat, surely?” Simon raised an eyebrow at the emerald and blue satin garment the man held reverently.
“You are to visit with the Duke and Duchess of Stratton, my lord. Such company deserves the very best attire.”
“Bilby told me you threatened to tie Merlin down and scrub his neck and neckcloth if he did not wash both.”
“Your butler is a man of impeccable cleanliness. However your head coachman is not, my lord.”
Simon tried to remember the state of his head coachman’s neck but couldn’t.
“One of the parlor maids told me she was quite taken with Merlin, my lord, yet could not countenance his grubbiness.”
“Therefore you have taken it upon yourself to help the budding romance along by suggesting he smells no better than a rodent?” Simon rose and dried himself.
“One tries, my lord,” his valet said, handing Simon his breeches. “I have also generously offered to assist him so he dresses in a manner that would ensure the maids did not run in the other direction, holding their noses. However as yet, he has not taken me up on this offer.”
“I must tell him to run for the hills and not look back, then,” Simon muttered. Rather than be insulted, Sullivan merely held out Simon’s dark green jacket for him to slip into. He then took a small brush and began to apply it vigorously, which, of course, was not necessary, as the jacket had already been brushed repeatedly.
“Have mercy, Sully, I yield,” Simon said tersely minutes later when he had been brushed until he gleamed.
“As you wish, my lord.”
“Stop the wounded look. It doesn’t wear with me, and for pity’s sake, ensure my evening clothes are ready. Last night there was a crease in my waistcoat,” Simon lied as he sailed from the room, smiling. Sullivan would now spend the next hour examining said waistcoat.
“Coffee this morning please, Bilby.” Settling in his chair, he picked up the paper his butler had laid out for him and opened the first page. He had managed to read most of it before Bilby returned with his drink.
“If I may discuss a matter with you, my lord.”
Lowering the paper, he then looked at his butler. “And the matter is?” Simon said politely. After all, his household was run by this man and it was run extremely well, to Simon’s mind. If his butler had a problem, then it needed to be addressed at once.
“The scullery maid is with child, my lord, and Mrs. Bevarly wishes to let her go, however I thought to speak with you first.”
Had he a wife, this would be dealt with by her, Simon thought, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do we know who the father is?
“Merlin, my lord,”
Well, it seemed his grubby collar and neck did not bother Simon’s scullery maid.
“And how old is the scullery maid?”
“Sixteen, my lord.”
“Her name is?”
“Jilly, my lord.”
“Thank you for coming to me with this information, and you were right to do so, Bilby. Can you tell me what the housekeeper has to say on the matter?”
Bilby’s expression became pinched as he mentioned Mrs. Dodd. “She’s of the same opinion as Mrs. Bevarly, the cook, my lord.”
“And yet they are happy for Merlin to stay in my employ, which seems unjust, don’t you think, Bilby?” Simon knew his views did not often coincide with the more bigoted members of society, yet he had not thought his staff so cutthroat in theirs.
“Indeed it does, my lord, and I fear that even if you keep her, they will not be fair to the girl.”
Simon studied his immaculate butler. His age must be nearing sixty, he had a ring of silver hair around the back of his head but nothing on the top, and he was not what a person would call handsome, however he was comfortable to look at, in a grandfatherly kind of way. “And why do you not want to throw her from the house, Bilby, as my cook and housekeeper do?”
The man stood straighter, and the hands he had at his sides clenched briefly. “Everyone makes mistakes, my lord, but it is not everyone who can come about because of them.”
Simon wondered what mistake his butler had made. Perhaps one day he would ask, but for now he would deal with Jilly and Merlin.
“Wise words from a wise man, Bilby. Now if you will please bring Merlin to me at once, and after that, I will decide what next needs to be done.”
As soon as the butler left, Simon ate his breakfast slowly and then drank half the cup of coffee he had poured.
“You wish to see me, my lord?”
Simon questioned the eyesight of the maid who had declared Merlin a handsome man. His nose was crooked and he wore a permanent scowl. He had a head of brown hair that Simon was certain no amount of brushing would subdue, and on closer inspection, he did have a grubby air about him. His body was fit, which he supposed could be a lure for women, especially scullery maids. And he was unequalled in handling horses and for that matter, carriages.
“I understand you have Jilly with child, Merlin?”
The man raised his chin and nodded.
“And what did you plan to do about it?” Simon kept his eyes on the man. To his credit, he did not shuffle his feet or evade his look; in fact, he simply stared back.
“I love Jilly, my lord.”
Merlin had been his head coachman for many years, however they rarely conversed. In fact, when they did, the barest minimum of words passed between them, usually to the purpose of making travel arrangements. In all honesty and to his shame, Simon could say he knew next to nothing about the man before him. “Do you wish to marry her?”
“I do.”
“Mrs. Bevarly and Mrs. Dodd wish to let Jilly go. Merlin, will there be a problem in my household if she stays after you wed?”
Rage flashed across the man’s face briefly. “Mrs. Bevarly and Mrs. Dodd think Jilly is a light skirt, if you’ll beg my pardon for saying such a thing, my lord, however she is not. My Jilly is a fine woman.”
Good god, the man was in love. He’d just strung an entire and passionate sentence together.
“Bilby!” Simon roared through the door, knowing his butler would be nearby.
“My lord?”
“Have Jilly brought up here at once.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Where will you live, Merlin?” Simon said when the door had shut once more.
The
chin rose again and this time Simon saw pride in the man’s face. “I’ll provide for us.”
“I’m sure you will, but I would like to help you with those provisions. If you find a house and need assistance securing it please let me know. I will then organize it on your behalf and we shall work through a suitable payment scheme for you both.”
“I’ll provide for us,” he said again, thrusting out his chin further.
Simon knew it was pride talking and could not fault the man because of it. “I understand that, Merlin, but would also add that should you require my help at any time then my offer is always open.”
Color flushed his face as he struggled to keep his mouth shut, and then he nodded abruptly. “Mighty fine of you, my lord.”
“I want you wed as soon as it can be arranged, and if you or Jilly have any further trouble from any of the staff, I wish to know of it.”
The door opened again and in slipped Jilly. Simon wondered how this sweet looking young woman had ever found her way into Merlin’s arms. She came to his shoulder. Slender as a reed, she had black curls and brown eyes, and her complexion was the color of a peach. She moved to Merlin’s side, where he took her hand and squeezed it briefly.
“Hello, Jilly. There is no need to be afraid. Now I want to ask you a question, and I would ask that you answer me honestly, please.” The girl nodded so Simon continued. “Do you wish to marry this man?”
“Oh yes, my lord.” She looked up at the coachman with such adoration in her eyes, it made Simon wonder when he would receive just such a look from a woman—well, at least one he wanted to look at him that way.
“Excellent. Well then, you have my congratulations, and please let me know when you have all the details in place, Merlin.”
Merlin bowed and Jilly curtsied, and then they both left the room, leaving Simon to finish his now lukewarm coffee. Bilby reappeared to remove his breakfast as he was finishing the paper.
“I want to know if there is any trouble for either Jilly or Merlin, and please pass on to both my cook and housekeeper that if there is, it will not be my scullery maid or coachman leaving my employ, Bilby.”
“I will see to it at once, my lord, and thank you.”
An hour later, he was seated on his horse and making his way through London. He stopped briefly to buy flowers on the way, but it did not take him long to reach the Duke and Duchess of Stratton’s house. Dismounting, he handed over his reins to Daniel’s groom and then made his way to the front door. He was surprised when it opened before he knocked.
“Simon!”
“Hello, Eva,” he said, “and my favorite little person.” Georgia waved a pudgy fist, then lunged out of her mother’s arms at him. Catching her, he pulled her close, inhaling her baby scent. Placing several loud kisses on her sweet-smelling cheek, he then whispered into her ear, which she loved. Simon adored children and babies. Little people, to his mind, were less complicated than the grown-up ones. If they were hungry or angry, they simply let you know it in a loud, demonstrative manner. They responded to him without the restraint of social restrictions, and most of all, they loved to be hugged.
“Are those for me?” Eva questioned, nodding to the flowers he held out of Georgia’s reach.
“Of course.”
She took them and buried her nose in the colorful blooms. “You always bring flowers and I love them, Simon. Thank you.”
Taking them from her, he then handed them to the butler so he could kiss Eva’s cheek. “You’re welcome, darling. Are you going out?” he added, once he had the baby settled against his chest.
“Yes, we’re visiting Claire and her mother, but do go on up, as grandmother is here and Daniel will be pleased of your support.”
Simon visibly shuddered at the mention of Daniel’s grandmother. The Dowager Duchess of Stratton was an old termagant who instilled the fear of god in all whom crossed her path, with her caustic comments and general air of ill will.
“Ah, if you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you, as it is has been a long time since I visited Mathew Belmont.” This would give him a chance to observe Claire again and maybe get her alone for a few minutes.
Eva gave him a steady look that made him want to wriggle. “I was not aware you and Claire’s brother were any more than passing acquaintances, Simon.”
“Oh, Mathew and I have known each other for years,” Simon said with a perfectly straight face. It was not, strictly speaking, a lie; after all, they had known of each other for years–they had just rarely conversed.
“He may not be there, and then you’ll have to take tea with me and Claire until I’m ready to leave.”
“I’m sure Georgia will keep me company, won’t you darling?”
The little girl gave him a smile that displayed one tooth and pink gums. She then grabbed his necktie and tugged.
“Very well, but you will be in no fit state to visit if you let her keep doing that,” Eva said, urging him out to the carriage.
“Dare I enquire as to why, Kelkirk, you are getting into a carriage with my duchess and daughter?”
Simon looked up and saw Daniel standing on the small balcony above him. Georgia squealed when she saw her father, who, in turn, pulled a funny face.
“The better man has finally won, your grace.”
“He is trying to avoid Grandmother, therefore he is accompanying me to visit Claire,” Eva said from beside him.
“I thought you had the same relationship with Claire that you had with my grandmother.” Daniel looked over his shoulder to make sure his elderly relation had not followed him outside.
“Claire and I are friends,” Daniel said defensively as Georgia undid another fold on his necktie and then stuffed it into her mouth.
“No you’re not,” the duke and duchess said in unison. “In fact,” Daniel added, looking smug, “I believe she said you made her feel like she was wearing a hair shirt.”
“Did she say that?” Simon removed his necktie from Georgia’s mouth, but she just fixed her gums on one of the buttons of his jacket.
“For pity’s sake, man, everyone knows it. You two are like two stray cats when you are near each other, all hackles and hissing.” The duke now leaned on the balcony, obviously enjoying his friend’s discomfort.
“Rubbish,” Simon said. “Claire and I are always polite to each other. We are friends.”
“Polite, yes—friendly, no.”
“Ah well, the rest of society loves me, Stratton, so I’m sure I shall cope without Miss Belmont’s adoration.”
The duke snorted at that. “I don’t adore you, and I’m pretty sure my wife only tolerates you.”
“Don’t listen to him, Simon. Of course we both adore you.” Eva patted his hand.
“Dukes do not yell in the streets, Grandson. Must I constantly remind you of your position in society? With whom are you conversing in such a loud voice?” The Dowager Duchess of Stratton appeared behind her grandson.
“He is sadly lacking in manners, your grace. Please have stern words with him whilst we depart,” Simon said, acknowledging the elderly lady with a bow that made Georgia giggle as he tipped her upside down then righted her again.
“Goodbye, Grandmother,” Eva said as Simon urged her into the carriage and climbed in behind her.
“Look after my women!”
Simon lifted a hand at the duke’s words, and then a footman shut the door behind them.
“Lady Carmichael told me Miss Lydia Simpett has eloped, Claire. Of course her father is refuting the claim and saying she is laid low with a stomach ailment, but Lady Carmichael is quite sure of the accuracy behind the rumor.”
Murmuring the appropriate response, Claire let her mother rattle on as she did most mornings at the breakfast table. Mathew, of course, was buried in the paper.
Claire had not slept well. Upon returning from the ball, she’d washed and changed into her nightdress. She’d then brushed her hair and sipped the tea Plimley had left for her, going through the preparing-for-sleep rit
uals she had been enacting since Anthony’s death. Her bed had been turned down and the lavender scented sheets should have been inviting, yet upon climbing into bed, she had felt her body grow rigid. All tiredness had suddenly fled as thoughts bombarded her.
Relax, Claire–deep breaths, she’d reminded herself when her thoughts had gone to Anthony and what he had left in France. Closing her eyes, she had willed herself to sleep, but restfulness hadn’t come, so she’d tried to occupy her mind with thoughts other than her inability to sleep. She’d counted all the people who’d worn purple at the ball, including Lady Bellwater, whose dress had been a nasty, violent shade that clashed horribly with her orange slippers. Then she’d recalled all her dance partners, of which there were many, due to her determination to avoid Simon. That thought had made her think about Simon and why he was so intent on finding out the reasons for her behavior today. Eventually, after forcing herself to lie in the dark, she had thrown back the covers and stalked from her room into the next one. Plimley had, as usual, laid the fire and placed a lamp. Choosing a book she had already read twice before, Claire then lay on the sofa and dozed and read for the remainder of the night until the sun began to rise. She had then slipped outside and walked through the gardens, inhaling the coming day and the clean fresh scent of nature. It was out there she missed her brother the most.
When Anthony was sick, they had sat in the gardens for hours, especially to watch the sun rise. She would wrap him in blankets and they would walk slowly about until, exhausted, he would sit and say, ‘Go to bed now, Claire, I can manage,’ to which she always shook her head and then laid it on his shoulder, and together, they would silently wait for the new day to arrive.
