The Gossip of an Earl (The Widows of the Aristocracy Book 1)

by Linda Rae Sande

  That had been the night before her father informed her she would be marrying the heir to the Stoneleigh earldom.

  The feeling of disappointment had been crushing, the sense of loss profound. The promise of a title didn’t begin to make up for losing Max Burroughs as a possible husband.

  Michael Fitzpatrick had been a viscount back then, prone to late nights at his club and even later nights at brothels, but a betrothal to him ensured she would be married to a titled gentleman and not to the youngest son of a duke as her father apparently feared.

  The nephew of a banker.

  She allowed a tentative grin to appear. “Max,” she repeated in a breathy voice. His nickname had been short for Maximilian, a name far too large for a young man who could never hope to inherit a dukedom given he had two older brothers. She had no idea where ‘Andrew’ fit in the naming sequence. He probably had one or two other given names. “Where have you been?” she blurted, not having seen him since those days when she was quite sure he might offer for her hand given his words of eighteen years ago.

  Eighteen years ago?

  If only he had. How different her life might have been! Her father would not have allowed the match, though. Not when a potential earl had offered for her hand.

  Andrew shrugged again. “Brighton, Bath, Rome, Athens, Prague, Geneva …” He allowed the list to trail off. “But now I am back in London, and I intend to stay.”

  Her eyes wide as she considered the cities in which he had apparently visited since she had last seen him, she angled her head. “Banking, perhaps?” she guessed, and then remembered that as the son of a duke, he probably wasn’t allowed to work.

  “Indeed,” he confirmed with a nod. “Unlike my older brothers, I could not abide a life of leisure, nor the life of a military man,” he explained. “My uncle came to my rescue, thank the gods, and I found some inspiration in the determination of another who wished to learn a trade in order to make a living.”

  Jane continued to stare at him, trusting he wasn’t about to dance them into the path of another couple. “And how is my father’s banker these days?” she wondered, barely aware the waltz had ended. Andrew and taken her hand and placed it on his arm, leading her somewhere. She found she didn’t care where.

  “Cantankerous,” Andrew replied with a wink. “Old. But he still has all his faculties. I expect he’ll outlive all of us,” he claimed with a grin. “I’ve been working with him on a special project in Chiswick. Keeps him young, and it will provide me with a place to call home when it is finally finished later this week.”

  Jane allowed another grin before she realized Andrew’s manner had changed. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Are you hungry? Supper is served, but …”

  “Oh, no. I hadn’t planned to stay this late. It’s my first ball since …” She allowed the sentence to trail off.

  “I know,” he replied, steering them in a different direction.

  Jane arched an eyebrow. “You know?” she repeated. Goodness. She sounded like a parrot!

  “I figured tonight would be the soonest you would dare make an appearance at a Society event,” he said as he led them into the vestibule, not bothering to add that he had mentioned her situation to Lord Weatherstone a few nights ago at Boodles. The older earl had promised he would inform his wife and see to it an invitation was sent.

  The host obviously kept his promises.

  A footman hurried to retrieve their coats.

  The comment had Jane regarding the gentleman with widened eyes. “How … how would you know that?” she asked as she allowed him to help her with her wrap.

  Andrew finished donning his cape coat and top hat. “I used a calendar, of course,” he answered matter-of-factly. He led them through the front door, the butler giving them a nod as they took their leave. “Did you come in a carriage?” he asked, oblivious to the stare Jane aimed in his direction.

  “I … I did,” she replied, tearing her gaze from him to search for the Stoneleigh coach among the dozens that lined the street in front of the Weatherstone mansion in Park Lane. “I should have walked, though,” she added, rather wishing she had. The townhouse she had let upon Michael’s death was just a few blocks down in South Audley Street. At least the cur had left her with enough funds to live out her life in familiar comfort. She rather doubted her brother-in-law would have been as generous if it had been left up to him.

  There was a fortune in the accounts her father had left her, though, should she ever need to tap them. Should she make the move to Italy. At the moment, though, Italy was far from her thoughts.

  “Should we send the coachman on his way then?” Andrew asked.

  Jane wondered at his query. “Probably better that I go in the coach. It’s my first time wearing these slippers in a very long time” she hedged, wincing when she realized how uncomfortable they were when she gave them half a mind.

  “As you wish,” he said as he stepped up and opened the door to the town coach bearing the Stoneleigh crest. He helped her in and then followed, taking the seat opposite.

  Rather surprised he had followed her into the coach, Jane regarded him for a moment. “Pray tell, what are you doing?”

  “Seeing you safely home, of course,” Andrew replied as he removed his top hat so he could sit up straighter. His head nearly touched the ceiling! “You obviously don’t have a companion nor an escort, so I shall do the honors.” He held his beaver between his gloved hands for a moment before setting it aside on the upholstered bench.

  “That’s rather kind of you,” Jane said, a heady mix of anticipation and dread settling over her. “I do hope your wife won’t mind.”

  Andrew stifled a laugh. “There is no Mrs. Burroughs. At least, there hasn’t been for some time. Bess died of pneumonia the year Prinny became Regent,” he responded in a quiet voice, his kid-gloved hands clasping together just inches from her knees. “We were living in Prague at the time.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jane offered, remembering there had been an inordinate number of deaths that particular year.

  “Thank you for saying so. I missed her at first, of course. We had become good friends. We’d been married … just over ten years, I suppose. Goodness, how time flies. She gave me two sons who are now at Cambridge and Eton, and a daughter who just begun finishing school,” he explained with a shrug. “I hosted Lady Emelia Comber for the past few years in Geneva whilst she attended finishing school. I wanted to be sure Sophia, my daughter, had someone a bit older to help her along,” he explained. He paused a moment. “Bess was a very agreeable wife,” he added, as if he thought it important he mention his late wife again.

  Jane nodded.

  A very agreeable wife.

  She supposed that’s what she had been to Michael Fitzpatrick. Agreeable in that she didn’t complain about the amount of time he spent in Kent, nor about the fact that he had a family with his mistress but never one with her. Although she had been tempted to take a lover—it would have been within her rights, she supposed—she had remained faithful to the earl until the day she received the missive from Kent with the news that he had died.

  Twelve months of mourning commenced. Twelve months of loneliness. Twelve months of hell.

  So tonight’s ball had been a welcome end to her life as Michael Fitzpatrick’s wife. As Michael Fitzpatrick’s widow. She was done with mourning. Had she borne him any children, she might gave considered another six months, but the earl hadn’t seen fit to bed her beyond their wedding night and a few nights when he happened to be in London for Parliament. The nights he wasn’t so drunk he could actually find his way to her bedchamber.

  “Even if she wasn’t my first choice,” Andrew added with an arched eyebrow.

  Jane stared at the man who sat across from her, their knees so close they nearly touched, his head suddenly dipped low so their foreheads were within inches of one another.

  Not his first choice?

  She blinked. Did he mean that she ha
d been his first choice? Her heart suddenly raced at the memory of his promise that night in the gardens. She had imagined herself in love with Max Burroughs at that point, imagined what life might be like with him as her husband. But her father’s words to her the day following the ball had changed everything. Changed her entire life.

  “I have no intention of leaving you alone tonight.”

  Pulled from her reverie by the odd statement, Jane stared at Andrew. “Oh?” was all she could think to say.

  Andrew allowed a chuckle. “I do hope I haven’t scandalized you, my sweeting.”

  My sweeting.

  Goodness, they had just become reacquainted after eighteen years, and he was already using an endearment only suitable for couples who were …

  Lovers.

  Jane inhaled sharply. Is that what Andrew Burroughs intended? To make her his mistress? To offer carte blanche?

  “Oh, Christ, I have scandalized you,” he said with a roll of his eyes. He straightened in the squabs and gave a quick shake of his head. “I apologize, my lady. It’s not my intention to take liberties, nor to …”

  “I am rather flattered, actually,” Jane interrupted with a shake of her head. “No one has ever called me ‘sweeting’. Not even my husband, but then I suppose you already knew that.” This last was said in a quieter voice, as if she realized her place in her husband’s life was well known to others.

  How many women in the ton knew of her despair at being left alone for months at a time as her husband spent all his time away from London? He was only ever at their mansion in Westminster when Parliament was in session, and even then, he spent most of the time when he wasn’t in the House of Lords at his club, Boodles.

  “I did not,” Andrew said with a shake of his head. He sighed and was about to say something else when the coach suddenly halted.

  “We’re here,” Jane said with a quick look at the ceiling, wondering if the driver would get down from the box and open the coach door. There were no footmen to do so, of course, although sometimes the butler would come from the townhouse to see to opening the door and setting down the steps. She had decided to employ a rather limited staff given she was the only one in residence.

  Claiming she wouldn’t require his services, she had given her butler, Simonton, the night off to spend it with his wife, a housekeeper in the Norwick household. She wasn’t expecting to be gone from the house for a ball, after all.

  Andrew was up from his seat and opening the door before she could give it another thought, though. He offered his hand and she took it, noting that at some point that evening, he had donned a pair of kid gloves. Given the lack of stairs, he merely lifted her from the carriage and lowered her to the pavement once he had turned toward the townhouse.

  “Thank you,” she managed, well aware of how close he stood once she was safely on her two slippered feet. She didn’t even wince at how the footwear pinched her toes but merely stared up at Andrew in wonder.

  He offered his arm and led the way to the house, frowning when the front door didn’t open upon their arrival. Reaching out, he turned the knob and opened the door, peeking around the edge to ensure no butler stood there with a weapon.

  Or to greet them..

  “My butler has the night off,” Jane said with a shake of her head. “I didn’t know until this morning that I would be attending the ball. This is my first night out in a very long time, and …”

  “It’s fine,” Andrew remarked as he led her over the threshold and took her wrap from her shoulders. “A blessing, really, given how servants can sometimes gossip when they shouldn’t.” He double-checked the front door to be sure it was locked once he had it shut.

  Jane realized he spoke the truth—how else would The Tattler know of some of the gossip it reported unless it learned it from the servants of aristocrats?

  She watched as he hung her shawl on a hook on the wall and then removed his cape coat. Instead of hanging it on the adjoining hook, though, he draped it over an arm, retrieved his hat from where he had set it down, and offered her the other. “As I said in the coach, I have no intention of leaving you alone tonight.”

  Her breath catching at his words, Jane swallowed. “Out of concern for my safety?” she asked with an arched brow.

  Andrew angled his head first to one side and then the other. “That, and the fact that we have much to discuss. I do hope you’ll afford me the time for such a discussion.”

  Jane considered his carefully chosen words. So he’s not out to seduce me, she reasoned after a moment, rather surprised at the sense of disappointment settling over her just then. But what did he intend? “So, the parlor, or …?”

  “The study, I should think. Is there brandy in there, perhaps?”

  Blinking, Jane wondered at just what he intended to discuss. She had to admit to feeling a bit of relief that he didn’t suggest they hold their discussion in her bedchamber. She had a thought he merely intended to bed her, a situation she thought she couldn’t abide just then. But another part of her had hoped his discussion would be one of a carnal nature. Ever since she had learned his identity, she had felt excitement at having him so close.

  Good grief, what is wrong with me?

  She was playing coy at the same time she was hoping to be tumbled! Being in Andrew Burroughs’ company was certainly a conundrum.

  “I believe there is a decanter of brandy in there,” Jane finally replied.

  Andrew nodded as he held out his arm. “Lead the way, my lady,” he replied.

  Jane held her head high as they made their way from the vestibule past the great hall’s round table. The huge vase of hot house flowers gave off a heady scent that filled the front half of the house. Another day, and they would be resigned to the refuse heap in the alley behind the house. She would need to see to a new arrangement from the back gardens or allow the vase to remain empty until such time as the gardens produced suitable blooms.

  Just past the dimly lit hall, the first door to the left led to the study. Although she had been good about keeping up the household accounts, she hadn’t spent all that much time in the room. Her prized collection of books filled the mahogany bookcases, and her quill and ink pot were evident on the blotter in the middle of the small mahogany desk. The ledger for the household accounts lay open but set off to the side.

  Jane hurried to the lamp on the edge of the desk, turning the key to bring up the flame so its light filled the room.

  Behind the desk, a credenza between the bookshelves sported a silver salver upon which were bottles of various liqueurs. Although she usually only helped herself to a glass of claret on occasion, Jane had seen to keeping brandy and scotch in the event someone of importance ever paid a call. Now she felt a bit of satisfaction at having insisted the liquors be included in the study when she and her housekeeper were setting up the household.

  Andrew did the honors, pouring brandy into two of the brandy balloons set up on the adjacent salvers. He turned and offered her one.

  Her eyes widened before she accepted the brandy. He hadn’t even asked if she would join him but rather assumed she would, it seemed. “Thank you,” she murmured as she took the glass of amber-colored liquor.

  Without another word, they moved to the upholstered chairs set up near the fireplace. Although several lumps of coal were set up in the firebox along with kindling, the fire hadn’t been lit. Andrew helped himself to a flint and crouched to light the kindling. Within a minute, he had a bright fire lighting that end of the dim study.

  Jane settled into one of the chairs, rather liking how Andrew took the one adjacent but angled so they could converse over the side table in between.

  “I cannot help but wish we could have done this twenty years ago,” Andrew said before holding out his brandy balloon. And every day since.

  Angling her head, Jane touched the edge of her glass to his. “To regrets,” she murmured, wondering if her words were appropriate. Of course she regretted marrying Michael Fitzpatrick. H
ow could she not? Eighteen years wasted as a countess without a husband in residence. Eighteen years as a neglected wife, hosting others for tea on the occasions she wasn’t in their parlors.

  Eighteen years of desperation.

  Andrew took a sip and gave an expression of approval. “French, no doubt,” he said quietly.

  “I’ve really no idea,” Jane countered. “I merely asked that some be included in the household stores.”

  He smiled. “You were an excellent countess, no doubt,” he said before taking another sip.

  “I hardly know if I was or I wasn’t, given Stoneleigh was rarely in residence,” she replied with an arched brow. Although she might have at one time said the words with a hint of melancholy, she no longer felt sorry for her situation nor resented Michael for having left her alone in London all those years.

  As a result of his extended absences, she had learned to live alone, learned to attend the theatre with a friend. Learned to spend her days shopping or visiting museums. Learned to appreciate an entire day spent reading a book in the gardens or part of a day walking in Hyde Park or riding her horse during the fashionable hour with a footman in tow.

  Sleeping alone every night.

  The life of an independent woman wasn’t so very bad, she had decided. She had already made plans to continue it, although on a far more enjoyable level by including travel and a fatter purse. As for continuing to sleep alone, she really hadn’t given that matter any thought.

  That she might not be sleeping alone tonight had her breath catching, had her heart racing in anticipation.

  “He was a fool,” Andrew stated as he leaned forward.

  Jane blinked at his accusation. “Sometimes,” she agreed, uncertain as to what he meant.

  Andrew shook his head. “I was a fool.”

  At this, Jane frowned. “What … What are you talking about?”

  Angling his head to one side, Andrew set his glass on the table between them. “I asked for your father’s permission to marry you, only to learn that you were already betrothed to Stoneleigh. Since it sounded as if you had been betrothed for some time, I wondered how it was you would seem amenable to an offer from me …”