“I do?” Jane sniffled, eager to hear Adele’s words.
The Countess of Torrington nodded. “You either forget you ever heard anything about the kiss in the gardens and go with Mr. Burroughs on a ride in the park tomorrow afternoon, or …” Here, she paused and took a deep breath.
Jane gave her an expectant look, waiting for her friend to state the alternative. “Or?” she prompted.
“You don’t.”
Jane blinked. All the air seemed to go out of her in a ‘whoosh’.
Adele was right, of course. She could either forgive the man his indiscretion—he had apparently kissed Lady J well before he danced with her and escorted her home—or she could give him the cut direct when next she saw him.
Tomorrow.
When he came to take her for a ride in the park.
“You’re absolutely right, of course,” Jane replied as she stood up and pulled her shoulders back as far as her pelisse would allow. “Thank you for a lovely luncheon,” she managed as she made her way to the vestibule. “Your flutterbies were so adorable.”
Fortified by the brandy—a pleasant buzz permeated her entire body—Jane Vandermeer Fitzpatrick took her leave of Worthington House and marched back to her townhouse in South Audley Street, entirely unaware her driver and town coach were following at a discreet distance.
The envy she had felt when hearing about Andrew’s kiss with Lady Jane soon turned to anger—anger directed at the banker. How dare he kiss Lady Jane and then turn around and spend the night in my bed only an hour later? Anger turned to a rage that fueled her quick steps and saw her home only minutes after leaving Worthington House.
Her town coach, suddenly stuck in Park Lane traffic, arrived at the mews behind her townhouse a half-hour later.
Jane was in her vestibule and removing her pelisse before she realized that in her haste and blind fury, she had not only left without the coach, she had also left her maid behind at Worthington House.
Mortified, she ducked into the study and replayed Adele’s last words in her mind. Relieved to discover her glass of brandy was still right where she had left it—the downstairs maid hadn’t yet made it to this room—she downed the contents. Placing the empty balloon on the desk, she wondered about the glass Andrew had used. She found it on the side table. Glancing about the room, she decided she would simply return it to the tray next to the liquor decanters.
No need for the maid to think she had been imbibing too much.
Or entertaining male callers.
Chapter 19
An Earl Gets an Earful
Having delivered a set of twins to the T earldom hasn’t seemed to diminish the beauty of Lady T. She was in high spirits and looking ever so lovely in a gold glitter gown accessorized with a gold tiara. Is it any wonder the Earl of T finds her wherever he can? In the library. In the alcoves. In the retiring room. On the dance floor. It’s a wonder we didn’t pay witness to them in the gardens last night! ~ An article in the May 7 issue of The Tattler.
May 7, 1818, Worthington House nursery
Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, sat cross-legged on the floor of the nursery in Worthington House. One knee held his daughter, Angelica, while the other provided a perch for his son, George. Dressed in the long gowns most babes wore before they could walk, the twins were indistinguishable from one another. They even had the same number of teeth, although those were only apparent when they grinned, as Angelica was doing in response to her father’s entertaining faces.
Keeping quiet in the threshold of the nursery, Adele proudly watched her husband dote on their children for several minutes until George noticed her and cried out, “Muma,” his chubby arms raised up in anticipation of being hoisted into the air. Her back to the door, Angelica had to turn around on her father’s knee in order to see Adele, her foot intersecting Grandby’s crotch as she did so.
“Watch it, Angel, or you shall render me unable to service your mother,” the earl complained as he struggled to reposition the children onto the floor so that he could stand up to properly greet his countess.
“Milton!” Adele scolded as she moved to pick up George. “I rather doubt there’s anyone who can accomplish such a task,” she added in a teasing whisper, one eyebrow arching up as she remembered just how service-minded he had been the night before.
And that morning.
What was it about balls that had him so randy when they finally made it home at three o’ clock in the morning?
“True, but leave it to a little lady to try,” he countered with a mischievous grin. He bussed Adele on the cheek and then bent to pick up Angelica, the girl cooing in delight as she settled into his bent arm. “I take it your luncheon is finished?” he half-asked.
“Yes. But aren’t you supposed to be in Parliament today?”
The earl angled his head first one direction and then the other. “I am, but I decided I preferred spending time with the twins over time with twats.”
Adele gasped. “Milton!” she admonished him again, realizing it was too late to cover the twins’ ears. “It’s safe to come downstairs,” she added, turning to lead them out of the nursery and down the steps. “But before you sequester yourself in the study …”
“I’m going to sequester myself in the breakfast parlor,” he interrupted. “I haven’t yet had any luncheon, and I’m starving,” he complained.
“I’ll join you then. Something’s come up, and I wonder if you might know anything.”
Intrigued by her words, Grandby handed off his daughter to one of the nurses while Adele gave up her hold on George to the other. Grandby watched with pride as she kissed both babies on their cheeks before giving a nod to the nurses.
Having given birth to the twins—her first babies—at an age when most women were having their last baby or none at all, Adele was proving to be a rather loving mother.
“From the tone of your voice, it doesn’t sound good,” he hedged, once they were out of earshot of the servants.
In the breakfast parlor, Adele gave quick instructions to the footman on duty. Knowing she and the earl would be alone for only a few minutes, Adele filled him in on what had happened with Lady Stoneleigh during the luncheon. “I’m angry Eugenia would bring that rag with her today, but in the end, she was merely the messenger. Jane would have discovered the news from someone else, no doubt, or read it for herself in the paper,” she explained with a shake of her head.
The earl regarded his wife for a moment. “Short of challenging the publisher of The Tattler to a duel, what would you have me do?” he wondered with an arched eyebrow. “As much as I despise gossip, it’s a fact of life amongst our kind. What would you ladies talk about if you didn’t have gossip to share in your parlors?”
Adele rolled her eyes, knowing her husband spoke the truth. “How well do you know Andrew Burroughs?” she wondered, keeping her voice low. “Didn’t you two both live at Merriweather Manor when you were boys?”
Grandby shrugged. “Of course. He’s much younger than me, though. We all just knew him as ‘Max’ back in the day.” At his wife’s nod and expectant look, he explained how the Burroughs boy had been saddled with the name Maximilian. “His uncle …” At Adele’s furrowed brow, he added, “William Burroughs the Third, my original banker at the Bank of England.” When she nodded her understanding, he continued. “He taught him the business of banking, and after Max worked at the Bank of England for a few years, off he went to the Continent. Always wondered why he left England so soon after he married Craven’s daughter,” he murmured. “Other than I heard he worked in banking all that time. Heard his sons are at Cambridge and Eton, and his daughter is in finishing school.” He paused a moment, realizing his wife was waiting for more information. “Truth be told, I heard he was back in London, but I didn’t see him until I spoke with him at the ball last night.”
Adele nodded her understanding. “Did you see him … canoodling with Lady Jane?” she asked carefully. “In the gardens?”
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br /> Grandby blinked, wondering why she would think he would be in the gardens without her. “No, but I saw him waltzing with Lady Stoneleigh. Does that count?” he wondered. At Adele’s quelling glance, he sighed. “He spent most of the night in the card room renewing old acquaintances,” he explained with a shrug. “I don’t see how he would have had time to canoodle with Lady Jane in the gardens, or anywhere else, for that matter. I can ask him, though,” he added with a shrug, despite not knowing exactly where he might find Andrew Burroughs at the moment. He knew the man had been seeing to a special project, although doing so from across the Channel. Now that he was back on British shores, Grandby figured he would be spending his days overseeing the final details. As for if he could find him that night, he didn’t know if the man would be joining White’s or had another men’s club in mind for his evening pursuits. Given his father’s politics, Grandby thought perhaps he might be a member of Boodles.
It was Adele’s turn to blink. “You would do that?”
The earl shrugged. “Of course. It sounds as if a budding romance has been derailed because of that damned Tattler,” he stated in disgust. “If the account about Mr. Burroughs is a lie, or perhaps simply a case of mistaken identity, as I suspect it is, then it’s about time something is done to put that rag out of business.” Even though he didn’t really believe it was possible to put The Tattler out of business, he thought putting voice to the possibility would appease his wife.
Adele inhaled as if to argue, but she thought better of it. The Tattler provided the fodder for most of the gossip exchanged in Mayfair parlors. If her guests didn’t have information from a printed source, the on-dit would come from suppositions and suspicion. The paper’s approach wasn’t mean-spirited—at least, not usually. The same couldn’t be said for some of the gossip espoused by ladies of the ton, though.
Even if her husband could see to the demise of The Tattler, another gossip news sheet would simply pop up in its place. Rumor had it the publication was quite profitable for its owner.
“Mr. Burroughs will apparently be in Chiswick until tomorrow afternoon,” Adele offered with an elegantly arched brow.
Grandby allowed a grin. “Visiting the old family estate, no doubt.”
Adele angled her head, surprised at his comment. “What makes you say that?” she asked as a footman entered and poured wine.
Grandby shrugged. “Back in the day, Merriweather Manor housed generations of Grandbys and Merriweathers, including me. And Gregory. Aunt Sophia was a Burroughs, you see.”
Adele frowned. “Sophia?” she repeated.
“Cousin Gregory’s mother. She was the one who married the butler and disappeared with her inheritance,” he explained as he leaned toward his wife and lowered his voice. He enjoyed telling a tale of how the butler did it. “Spent a fortune on real estate and made four fortunes within a few years. I always figured it was Uncle William who helped her hide the money.”
While she listened to his explanation, Adele continued to frown. “But I thought Merriweather Manor was abandoned,” she murmured, helping herself to some bread and cheese from the platter a footman had placed on the table. She put together a sandwich and gave it to Grandby.
“Indeed. It was for several years,” her husband agreed with a nod as he took the sandwich. “But Uncle William decided it was worthy of restoration. He sold some of the unentailed land to an adjacent landowner, and he and Max added some of their own funds to pay for the restoration. Soon it will probably fill up with another generation of …” He stopped, frowning when he realized he didn’t know who was going to live in the manor house. “Us,” he finally added.
Adele offered him a slice of cheese on an apple wedge and then set about making another sandwich. “Unentailed land implies part of the estate is entailed. To whom does it belong?” she wondered, rather enjoying the opportunity to serve her husband his luncheon.
The earl frowned a moment before allowing a shrug. “Me, I think. But if not, it may be one of Ariley’s,” he replied, referring to the Duke of Ariley.
His countess stared at him in shock. “How can you not know who owns Merriweather Manor?” she asked in surprise.
He blinked. “As old as that place is, I have a feeling no one wants to claim ownership because it means taking responsibility for the bills. Grandma’s family built it—the Merriweathers—generations ago, but then she married my grandfather. It might have been her dowry.”
Adele shook her head. “Then why would Ariley have any claim to it?”
Angling his head to one side as he took the slice of bread with jam she offered, he replied, “The Merriweathers and Burroughs go way back. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was part of the arrangement to marry off our youngest uncle, Roger—God rest his soul—to Sophia Burroughs. Quite a coup that was at the time.”
“Because?”
Grandby took a bite of his bread, chewing as he gave her question some thought. “Sophia Burroughs was quite a beauty—still is, given she’s nearly … seventy,” he murmured in disbelief. Goodness! Where had the years gone? “Had a line of suitors attending her at every ball. But Grandma saw to it she chose Uncle Roger.” He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I figure she must have bribed the Burroughs—perhaps with the house—or else she turned down a traditional dowry. Grandma—that would be Mary Margaret Merriweather Grandby—was rich, you see,” he explained as he turned his attention back to his bread. “And she wanted Roger to have a Burroughs girl for a bride. Got a grandson in Gregory out of the deal before Roger succumbed to pneumonia. Gregory inherited twenty-thousand pounds when he reached his majority …”
“I thought he earned his wealth from investments,” Adele interrupted, surprise evident in her voice.
“He did. Had to start with something, though,” Grandby replied with a nod. “Once he proved he could make money, I had him do the same for me.”
“Which explains why you’re rich,” Adele commented in awe, not having known from where her husband had obtained his wealth. He had always implied the Torrington earldom was a poor one. “So, I suppose it’s not important who actually owns the manor.”
He screwed up his face at her words. “As long as I’m not being billed for all the work that’s being done to the place,” he countered. “I heard it’s being plumbed for toilets.” He finished his bread and sat back. “I do believe it’s time for me to pay a call on the old stomping grounds,” he spoke as one of his bushy eyebrows waggled.
“Oh?”
“Aye. Give me an opportunity to say ‘hullo’ to a long lost relative, and to determine if I need to be bloodying his nose.”
About to argue with the last part of his comment, Adele remembered she had promised Jane she would speak with Grandby about Andrew. She certainly hadn’t agreed to ask for a duel, though. If her husband decided a duel of sorts was called for when it came to Andrew Burroughs, then it was best it happened in the country and not in London proper.
She could only imagine the on-dit should The Tattler print the story of cousins fighting over an incident originally reported in the gossip rag.
“But first, I’ll need to read the article for myself,” the earl stated, accepting the slice of tart and cheese his wife offered him. “I want to be sure I have the story straight,” he explained at Adele’s questioning glance.
“I’ll have Bernard send one of the footmen for a copy right away,” she replied, her displeasure at the idea apparent in her frown.
Grandby shook his head. “Och. That won’t be necessary. There’s a copy on my desk in the study.” At Adele’s suddenly widened eyes, he allowed a shrug. “I have a copy of The Tattler delivered every Thursday.” Before Adele could respond—he could see she wasn’t pleased by this bit of news— Grandby leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I have to keep up on the news of my goddaughters somehow,” he whispered. “Do have a good day, my sweeting.”
When he turned back to regard his plate, both of his eyebrows shot up. “
Good God, sweeting. I thought I had eaten everything you offered me. Are you of the opinion I need to be putting on some weight?”
Rather startled by his question, Adele turned her own attention to the earl’s plate and broke out in giggles. Several sandwiches, tarts, and slices of fruit covered the bone china plate from rim to rim. Her eyes darkened as she turned to regard him. “Perhaps I’ll just have this saved and brought up to your bedchamber. You know how hungry you can get late at night,” she hinted with an elegantly arched brow.
Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, stared at his wife for several seconds before a huge grin appeared. “Why, be still my beating heart. My wanton wife hath returned,” he whispered. “Might have to let The Tattler know about this,” he teased.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Adele breathed in shock.
He angled his head a moment before he shook it. “I suppose not.” With that, the earl was off to his study to learn what he could about the gossip from Lord Weatherstone’s ball.
Chapter 20
An Earl at Parliament
Yes, dear reader, we admit to having donned fake noses and mustaches and to wear spectacles in order to maintain anonymity. However, it was necessary. How else is gossip to be acquired when we are so recognizable in our natural state? ~ The editor’s final article in the May 14, 1818 issue of The Tattler.
May 7, 1818 at Parliament
“Good God, Fennington, you look as if you ran the entire way here,” David Carlington, Marquess of Morganfield, remarked as the two donned their periwigs and robes. “Mistress keep you abed too long?” he added in a teasing voice.
The earl gave the marquess a quelling glance. “I rather wish I could claim that as my excuse,” Felix replied as he straightened the black robe and took a quick glance at his reflection in a looking glass. Although I was in the company of a young woman, he nearly added with a wan smile.
The Gossip of an Earl (The Widows of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 14
