Arms linked, Emily and Wilma giggled like schoolgirls. Leaning close, Emily whispered into Wilma’s ear as they tried to keep up with the long-legged footman striding ahead of them.
“Good thing we did plenty of walking, if you’ll remember, Willy? We should have worn our brogues today.” She snickered, not loud enough for Wilma’s husband to overhear as he trailed behind them. Wilma joined her friend in girlish laughter. Actually, Emily had packed her walking shoes. She planned to use them while traipsing to the village to visit her parents’ and grandparents’ graves.
The three partygoers soon arrived at the duke’s east wing guest rooms. Emily’s wide blue eyes swung avidly from side to side, absorbing the mansion’s opulent décor. Harry had mentioned during their drive that an identical number of guest rooms were situated in the west wing. No wonder the Duke could easily accommodate over a hundred houseguests. Finally, their footman halted before an oak door, turned the handle, and pushed it open. He stood aside, gesturing for Wilma and Harry to step inside. “Your guest suite, m’lord, m’lady.”
The Porters went inside. Emily waited in the hall, unsure what she should do.
Wilma glanced around the room and smiled, looking pleased. Remembering her friend, she turned to the footman. “Miss Dancy is a good friend. Please be good enough to show her where she will be staying.”
“As you requested, my lady, your suite of rooms connects with a bedchamber next door. If I’m not mistaken, Miss Dancy’s trunk has already been taken there.”
“Ah, wonderful!” Wilma said. “That will be fine then. My maid may have already unpacked my things so she can do so for Miss Dancy as well. And thank you.”
The footman smiled assiduously, as always courteous and helpful.
I think I shall enjoy myself, Emily thought, silently, as she followed the footman to the door next to Wilma and Harry’s. Good gracious me! I never saw a place quite like this!
* * * *
Wilma’s lady’s maid, Betsy, emptied most items from Emily’s trunk and hung her new, second-hand fashions in a large wardrobe.
“Shall I press one of your gowns to wear to supper tonight, Miss?”
The girl was petite and fair-haired. She couldn’t be more than ten and seven, the same age as Lilianne. Sparkling blue eyes in a rosy-cheeked, round, pleasant face looked more than willing to please, echoing her youthful demeanor.
“Oh, thank you. That would be fine,” Emily responded as she meandered about the chamber, pausing to pick up odd items of interest. She lifted a heavy, Venetian glass paperweight and held it up to the sunlight streaming through a single large window. “How pretty,” she murmured. Then, abruptly, she inquired, “I didn’t see the duke and duchess when we arrived. What are they like?”
The girl was about to leave to press Emily’s gown.
“I don’t rightly know, Miss Dancy,” the maid said. “I niver saw Your Graces when I got here earlier today.”
Tiny flutters of apprehension hit Emily soon after the maid left. She had never come face-to-face with an aristocrat as powerful and wealthy as the Duke and Duchess of Carlisle. Leathem was a peer, too, but he was different. Even Gavin Fielding and Harry Porter weren’t very alike. The earl was inches taller than Harry Porter. His glossy hair and thick brows were black as coal; his dark brown eyes were set deep beneath his brows. Wilma’s Harry was fair-haired and blue-eyed.
Mild-mannered, Wilma’s husband was the opposite of the earl. Emily felt comfortable with him. He smiled often and seemed not at all affected by his title though he was a lofty peer and a ton gentleman. Emily knew Wilma and he were well suited.
Thinking back on their first meeting, Leathem held himself aloof from both her and Lilianne for several days. His time spent with them the few times he deigned to speak with them, was brisk and to the point, his tone clipped. He thawed, unexpectedly, the day Emily spoke with him privately to confess her uncle’s disgrace. There he seemed sympathetic, almost affable. And later he had been most cordial when confronted by her holiday request.
Nevertheless, some of Emily’s nervousness hadn’t faded. What would the Carlisles’ highborn guests think if they knew a lowly governess was attending the house party? Her invitation might be frowned upon. She once overheard a conversation between her parents stating that her maternal grandmother had aristocratic connections. But she knew her father and his parents were commoners. John Dancy had been a cooper, a tradesman like a blacksmith. He fashioned wooden tubs and casks.
Emily swallowed, her throat as dry as parchment. She breathed in rapidly, and her hands shook. Why in heaven’s name had she even agreed to come here? She should have refused Wilma’s invitation. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t certain she could handle the situations she might face. True, Lord Harry never said a word about her uncle or his arrest during their carriage ride. Was it possible he hadn’t read the Tattler? The day Emily met Wilma, Earl Leathem had mentioned Dancy was a very common surname. Could that be why Lord Harry never connected Emily with Eustace? Oh, how she prayed that was true!
Still, her anxiety lingered. Her butterflies didn’t go away. If the Porters knew her uncle was a traitor, they would have to tell the duke. He would probably be furious and would demand she leave immediately. How mortifying! For her, and more so for the Porters!
Emily wondered how she could escape before the duke’s rich and haughty guests pointed her out as an unworthy guest. And what if she did manage to leave? She had little coin left after her reckless purchases. And no ready means of transportation. It dawned on her, however, that Toynton-under-Hill, her former village, was only a short walk from Wyndemere. She could sneak off and visit her relatives’ graves. Maybe there was even a villager who would remember her and could help her return to London. She would do this if possible tomorrow. Until then, she needed to brazen it out and hope for the best before Wilma and Lord Harry learned of her family’s disgrace. Emily’s knees wobbled, but she stiffened her backbone. The maid would arrive soon with her wrinkle-free gown. It was time to face the music.
* * * *
Lady Lydia Parcells’ staff escorted the new arrivals from London to their rooms. After Leathem cleaned up, he went below to share a late tea with his aunt. In her mid-sixties, he remembered his aunt as being lively and spry for her age. But today he found her sitting in a rolling chair.
“Your letter arrived only days ago, Leathem,” she said upon greeting her nephew. “It hinted I should be the perfect sponsor for your ward’s come out, eh?”
His aunt’s mind remained sharp, and she didn’t mince words.
“Dear boy, it would be my great pleasure. But nowadays I’m of no help since I’m chained to this dratted contraption.” Lydia slurped from a teacup before continuing. “Why did this have to happen now?” She shook her head with frustration. “Arghh, it was my own fault.” She glanced down at a cat curled on a pillow on the rug beside her. “I tripped over one of my little darlings, and somehow I managed to break my ankle.” She grumbled again unhappily.
The injury had shaken up the aging aristocrat. “I never felt so useless, Leathem. I need a footman to push the bloody thing wherever I wish to go. I even need him to help me into bed.” She threw a meaningful glance toward a tall young man standing at ease next to the doorway. He smiled genially back at her.
She slurped another sip of tea. A large, yellow cat jumped up on her commodious lap, curling up into a ball and purring loudly. “Miss Kitty here wasn’t fast enough to get out of my way. Or possibly because I caught a toe in that blasted carpet.” Leathem’s aunt sighed as she stroked an age-spotted, heavily-ringed hand over the feline’s caramel-striped fur.
“So you see, you must forgive me, Leathem. I shan’t be able to come to London. But, my boy, you are a very welcome visitor. I haven’t laid eyes on you in months. That’s why I didn’t cancel your visit. I hoped you would cheer me up. The village bone thumper ordered me to stay in bed, but as you see, I didn’t listen to him. I wanted out
from under. No way would I let the old fussbudget tie me to a mattress. So, this is what he sent me. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t do for gadding about Town.”
What in hell will I do now?
Gavin was stumped. He didn’t see his aunt launching Lilianne’s come out from her rolling chair either.
Lydia posed another question, bringing the earl’s mind back to what she was saying. “You inherited a ward, Leathem. At the time, I thought it unusual for a confirmed bachelor to be made guardian for a young female.”
Lydia’s bright eyes snapped at him from beneath her frilly cap.
“Were you aware of any known or distant relatives on my father’s side, Aunt?”
When she shook her head, he said, “I wasn’t either.”
“What connection does the gel have to you?”
“I’m not sure I know.” Succinctly as possible Gavin explained. “I never heard of Rudolph and Bedelia Fielding before, Aunt, but obviously, they heard of me. I was named guardian in the girl’s father’s will. It seems her parents were walking to their village when they were trampled by a team of runaway horses hauling lumber in a dray. The loaded wagon tipped over, logs tumbled atop them, and crushed them both to death.” Gavin shuddered.
“Humph! A terrible thing to happen. But even so, the unlucky pair weren’t dumb,” Lydia muttered under her breath sarcastically. “They knew enough to send the gel to a rich relative and have her fired off in London-style.” Lydia humphed again, louder this time. “Well, whoever she is, Leathem, someone taught her some manners. I noticed that much when you arrived with her.”
“I have to thank her governess, Aunt. When Lilianne arrived at Fielding House, I was at a loss how to handle her. I hired Miss Dancy a month ago.”
“Handle her, you say?” Lydia interrupted.
“Bad choice of words, Aunt.”
“Umm, well, I dare say the chit is quite pretty, Leathem. That, at least, will help her fit in, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, but she is countrified, Aunt, and doesn’t know how to speak or behave properly yet. I hope to find her a suitable match by offering a substantial dowry. Meanwhile, her governess has been a Godsend. I was quite desperate until I hired Miss Dancy. She’s young herself, but I found her to be intelligent, sensible, well-spoken, and quite ladylike.”
“Where is she? That isn’t the other giggly female you also brought with you, I hope?”
Gavin chortled. “No, that’s Lilianne’s new maid. I forget her name, but they seem to get along. Her governess, Miss Dancy, is on a week’s holiday.” Gavin cleared his throat. “She’ll be in London when I return with Lilianne. But allow me to continue, Aunt. Miss Dancy had a proper upbringing by her mother who was daughter to a country squire. True, her full background is sketchy, but I hired her anyway. As I said,” Gavin explained, “I was desperate, Aunt. She tutored Lilianne with ladylike manners in a rather a short time. You attested to that already.”
“Hmm…true, Leathem, but your ward needs quite a bit more training.” Lydia sighed and glanced up at him. “How long will you stay?”
“Not I, but Lilianne and her maid will stay to visit, Aunt. I’ll be attending a house party at the Duke of Carlisle’s in Surrey for most of a week. I’ll return and gather Lilianne and her maid and drive them back with me to London.”
Lydia placed her empty cup and saucer on a side table next to her rolling chair. “I’m not sure how much I can accomplish in so short a time, my boy. You may have to keep her with me a bit longer.” A sly smile crossed his aunt’s lips. “And, since I cannot be in London to help, why don’t you look around for someone suitable to help you fire the gel off?”
“Hmm? What do you mean, Aunt?”
Lydia smirked and didn’t answer him right off.
Gavin’s heavy eyebrows lifted with sudden understanding. “Oh, no. I hope I’m not hearing what I think I just did—”
His aunt interrupted, “There are always alternatives, Leathem. Let me see…you’ve been a widower how long?”
“Two decades less than a month or so. Why do you ask?”
“Then it’s definitely time you remarried.”
“Aunt Lydia, I just finished saying—”
“Close your mouth, dear boy, and listen to me.” She snapped back at him, but gently. “A wife can be your perfect solution. As your countess, Leathem, she will have great consequence. She can launch your ward along with your own powerful auspices.”
His aunt’s smile widened. “There is plenty of time to find a proper countess, you know. London’s Season won’t be in full swing until May.”
“But, Aunt—”
“There must be unattached females that will do nicely. After all, in our peer circles marriages are business contracts and are not made for reasons of amour.” Lydia grumped, “I should know. I married under duress. Did you know that?”
Gavin seemed surprised.
“Well, it’s true, and I wasn’t happy about it. My father demanded that I wed Parcells. Fortunately, I got lucky. Locked into a marriage with him, but I didn’t have to live with him very long. Aubrey Parcells was not a very likeable man when I met him, and he was worse after I wed him. But the nasty bugger left me wealthy and independent when he finally stuck his spoon in the wall. And…since his demise, I’ve been happy and quite content, able to live my life the way I wish.”
Gavin scoffed. “You can’t mean that, Aunt. You must be joking.”
“Of course, I mean it, or I wouldn’t have said it,” she responded with a wry grimace. “Take my advice, Leathem, sometimes a marriage of convenience can be just that. Convenient. Find yourself a suitable, amiable, and willing bride and marry her. You’ll be better off for it.”
With nothing more to say, he didn’t respond.
“Umm…you did say your ward is ten and seven, eh? The gel could wait until next year to come out, you know. Especially, since she needs additional training. It is your responsibility to complete what’s in your relatives’ will. I deem you an honorable man, so a promise is a promise. Cast about for a wife. You’ll be at Carlisle’s party for a week, eh? Perhaps while there a new face will take your fancy. And consider what I just said and do so seriously, Leathem. You’re not getting any younger. Time passes quickly when you least expect it.”
Abruptly, Lydia signaled at the footman waiting at the parlor door. He hurried to her side and handily spun the chair about. “Will I see you before you leave tomorrow, Leathem?”
“I doubt that, Aunt. It’s a dashed long ride to Surrey, and I hope to make an early start. I’ll send word and let you know when I plan to return.”
“Fine, my boy. Meanwhile, I’ll do what I can to help get Lilianne Fielding ready for her debut.”
* * * *
The earl was on his way just after dawn. Meanwhile he stopped only to rest his horse, snatch something to eat, and manage a few hours’ sleep. As he galloped across England, Gavin began to wonder why he accepted the duke’s invitation at all. He could have stayed in Oxfordshire, gotten to know his ward better, or even returned to London early.
The ride to Surrey was arduous. Gavin arrived at the Duke and Duchess’ castle late. He even missed supper. He looked as disheveled as he felt. He was covered with road dust—bone weary, sweaty, thirsty, and hungry. He desperately wanted a hot bath, a clean shave, a snifter of brandy, and a bite to eat in that order. Afterward, he must don evening clothes, greet his hosts, and make a brief appearance belowstairs.
Jordan, Gavin’s valet, arrived at Wyndemere earlier that day with the earl’s luggage.
“Welcome, m’lord,” his man said, sliding the travel-stained riding coat off the earl’s broad shoulders. Gavin unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it on the bed in the guest chamber assigned to him. Sinking numb buttocks onto the feather mattress, he groaned tiredly and stuck out his feet so his valet could yank off his boots.
“Ahh, ye-es, thank you, Jordan.” Gavin sighed. “I’ve been living in th
ese clothes for two days. I feel as if they are painted on me. I’m bloody glad to rid myself of them.”
“Aye, m’lord. I already sent for bathwater. Sit back now and relax while I shave you.”
“First, pour me a swig of brandy, damn you, Jordan,” Gavin muttered. “My throat is parched. And pour me a hefty one, you hear, not a thimbleful.”
That task taken care of, Jordan asked, “Will you be going below, m’lord? If so, I’ll hurry. But I’d rather not nick your chin.” The valet chuckled as he methodically stropped the straight razor. “An hour ago the duke’s guests were mingling in two large drawing rooms downstairs.”
“I’m in no hurry, Jordan, but damnation, why must I add to the mix?” Leathem leaned back in the chair. “I suppose I must do my duty like every red-blooded bachelor—chat, flirt, and dance with the plain ones. There are always too damn many unattached females at these blasted affairs. You can bet a month’s wages, however, that I won’t be snared by a parson’s mousetrap.”
Clutching his brandy snifter in one hand, Gavin grumbled some more. “Were it known, I’d gladly wager a pony if I didn’t have to show my face tonight. Every muscle and joint of mine aches. Blast it, I must be getting old,” he groaned. “And cranky to boot, because I am not looking forward to this evening. What I need is a few more brandies and a good night’s rest instead of all this tomfoolery.”
The earl rested his inky hair against the chair back and closed his eyes. “Tell me,” he asked, “how old are you, Jordan? I don’t see gray hairs sprouting from your scalp.”
“Four and fifty, m’lord. Why do you ask?”
“Dammit if I didn’t see silver threads popping out of my scalp not too long ago.”
“I daresay it isn’t from age, m’lord. P’haps, heredity. My father never had a gray hair on his head when he passed on.” Jordan chuckled, still stropping the razor before starting to shave the earl. “Might have been because he was bald as a billiard ball.” The valet snorted as he draped a towel over Gavin’s chest and shoulders. Quickly and expertly, he lathered Gavin’s cheeks with scented soap.
The Marriage Bargain Page 5
