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

by Linda Rae Sande

  “What?” Her head shaking from side to side, Jane could hardly believe Lord Fennington’s demand.

  “Let me have the story. I promise to print it as you wish it to appear. No salaciousness. No scandal. Just a good, clean accounting of how you and the banker came to be betrothed and married.” He paused a moment, his brows rising on his forehead. “You obviously have a history together,” he whispered, as if he had just then realized there could be more to Jane and Andrew’s story. “This didn’t just happen overnight.”

  Jane blinked, about to argue that it had indeed just happened over a single night. But his suspicion that there was more to the story was certainly true, too.

  For some reason, Andrew Burroughs could simply pick up where he had left off with her eighteen years ago. Despite having a wife and two—nay, three—children, Andrew had moved back to London and apparently decided to simply begin living the life he had thought he would be living eighteen years ago.

  But can I? Jane wondered.

  Oh, how different life would be with a loving man, she thought then. To wake up every morning with someone who cared for her, someone with whom to have breakfast every morning, dinner every night. To share a ride in the park during the fashionable hour. To sit with in the library whilst she read a book or had a cup of tea. To make love to before sleep took her for the night.

  Oh, I think I do love him, she nearly murmured aloud.

  Jane straightened in the chair, realizing the earl was regarding her with a quirked eyebrow. She angled her head to one side, wondering just why the Earl of Fennington would wish to write such a tale. Why he was so eager to print the story in his paper. The Tattler rarely featured clean stories, after all.

  “Why?” she asked as she leaned forward.

  Felix allowed a long sigh, one shoulder lifting a bit. “The Tattler does on occasion feature real news, my lady,” he claimed in a quiet voice. “And yours would be a tale of requited love, so unlike most of the sorry excuses for weddings we hear about so frequently.” He rolled his eyes. “Or, perhaps it’s because I am a hopeless romantic,” he added. “Or because I, too, am about to be married, and I’m hoping it’s with someone who feels affection for me.” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them, before he could change the inflection to make them sound more sarcastic and not so heart-felt.

  Resisting the urge to giggle at his claim, Jane gave the man’s words some thought. “You’ll print the retraction?” she queried with an arched brow.

  “I will, my lady,” Felix replied with a firm nod.

  Jane felt as if she were inviting a stranger into her life. “All right, Lord Fennington,” she finally agreed. “I agree to let you print the story—if Mr. Burroughs and I do indeed decide to marry—but only if you print the retraction.”

  “It will appear in next Thursday’s issue, I promise,” he said, holding out his right hand. “Hopefully right next to the announcement of your upcoming nuptials.” And mine, too, he thought suddenly.

  Jane lifted her own gloved hand and shook his, hoping she wasn’t making a deal with the devil. “And next to the announcement of your own nuptials, mayhap? I have noticed you escorting Lady Emelia on occasion,” she countered.

  Felix blinked, rather surprised she had paid witness to his having spent time in Emelia’s company on their rides in the park. “Perhaps,” he replied with a nod, his manner suddenly sober.

  “Does the young man in the front office know who you really are?”

  Felix gave a glance in the direction of the other office. “He does not, nor do I think he cares, at least as long as he receives his pay every month.”

  “So, why the disguise?” she wondered. “The brown wig is hideous, you must know, and the mustache …” Jane allowed the sentence to trail off, not quite sure how to describe the facial hair that looked as if it had at one time been a furry caterpillar.

  The editor allowed a chuckle as his picked up the mustache, a reminder that he had lost his favorite one during his last visit with Emelia in the park. He regarded it as if seeing it for the first time. “I have to keep some anonymity,” he responded with a shrug. “We can’t abide an earl working in trade, you must know.”

  Jane allowed a grin at the comment. What would the other lords think if they knew their peer was earning a living at printing gossip? Their gossip? “Have I made you late? Your clerk implied you had a meeting.”

  His eyes widening, Felix pulled out his chronometer and sighed. “If I leave now, I can make it to Parliament with a few minutes to spare,” he said.

  Nodding, Jane stood up. “Then I shall take my leave,” she said as she curtsied.

  The earl reached for her gloved hand and pulled it to his lips. “I do hope this all works out for you.”

  “And for you, my lord,” Jane replied with one eyebrow arched up. With that, she took her leave of Tattler Publishing, light on her feet and feeling ever so ready for a ride in the park.

  Chapter 28

  When a Ride in the Park is Not

  We paid witness to Mr. A Burroughs kissing Lady J in the gardens behind Lord W’s ballroom. How many is this, Lady J? Will you win the prize for most lips kissed in a single Season? An offer of marriage must be on someone’s agenda this week. ~ An article in the May 7, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 8, 1818, Lady Stoneleigh’s residence

  With a good deal of trepidation, Andrew Burroughs approached the townhouse in South Audley Street from which he had just left the day prior. A bouquet of red roses clutched in one gloved hand, he was about to lift the lion head knocker when the door opened.

  “Good day, sir,” the butler said as he opened the door wider and stepped aside. At no point had Simonton’s expression indicated surprise at seeing the caller nor the flowers he carried.

  “Andrew Burroughs for Lady Stoneleigh,” he said as he held out his calling card.

  Simonton took it and gave a bow. “Lady Stoneleigh has asked that you join her in the parlor,” he intoned, turning and leading the way.

  Giving a nervous glance behind him—he hadn’t left the curricle in the hands of a stableboy or an urchin in need of some coin—Andrew followed the butler. He felt a bit of relief at seeing several vases overflowing with daisies decorating the hall table. Indeed, the mahogany table top was completely hidden from view, the daisies looking ever so like a white umbrella with yellow polka dots.

  This is a good sign, he thought, thinking that if Jane had been upset with him, the daisies would have been redirected to the refuse heap out back.

  When Simonton stepped aside and waved an arm into the parlor, Andrew gave him a nod. Nervous—he had expected to meet Jane in the hall and escort her directly to the curricle—Andrew now wondered if perhaps Jane had decided not to accept his offer of a ride.

  With his free hand, he patted the pocket containing the ring he had purchased the day before. Instead of giving it to her after their ride, he suddenly wondered if he should consider proposing right then and there!

  He was about to give the thought some more consideration when he realized Jane was regarding him from the middle of the parlor. Dressed in a carriage gown—the blue was bright and set off her blonde hair and peaches and cream complexion to such good effect, he was forced to inhale sharply—Jane appeared every bit the countess she was, although perhaps a bit younger than most dowager countesses.

  “You’re looking stunning, my lady,” he murmured, remembering just then to bow.

  Jane curtsied as she felt a blush color her face. “Thank you, Mr. Burroughs,” she managed. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  A pang of disappointment shot through Andrew just then. Her use of his formal name sounded wrong to his ears. “I would rather …” He swallowed, holding out the roses to her. “These are for you, my lady. I fear there are no more daisies in Chiswick,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Jane allowed a wan smile. “I cannot imagine why not,” she murmured as she stepped forward to take the roses. T
heir gloved hands touched briefly, her eyes downcast as she took the bouquet. “They’re beautiful. From Chiswick, as well?”

  “Indeed,” Andrew acknowledged with a nod. The florist no doubt thought him obsessed with flowers. He had warned her he might be back—hoped he would be back frequently—but he made sure to let her know he might not require further deliveries into the city.

  The florist seemed rather relieved to hear it.

  Jane glanced around the room, finally spying a crystal decanter that would have to work as a vase. “I fear there are no more vases in the house,” she murmured as she threaded the stems of the roses into the small opening of the decanter.

  Andrew angled his head, his eyes watching her every move, amazed when she moved the roses into a beautiful arrangement with a few deft touches of her gloved fingers. “I cannot imagine why not,” he replied with a shake of his head. After a moment, when Jane had finished with the roses and was leaning forward to take a sniff, Andrew stepped farther into the room.

  “I swear on my life and those of my children that I did not kiss anyone other than you two nights ago,” he announced suddenly.

  Jane whirled around and regarded him with an arched eyebrow. “Of course you didn’t,” she replied with a quick shake of her head.

  Andrew’s brows drew together. “Lord Torrington nearly challenged me to a duel over the matter,” he said, even more nervous than he had been when he knocked on the front door. “I was able to convince him of my innocence in the matter—a case of mistaken identity, we finally figured out—but I’m afraid he was quite persistent with his intention to challenge me to a duel.”

  Blinking, Jane’s expression changed to one of concern. “Oh?” Goodness! What had Adele told her husband? And what had Andrew done to the man?

  “He is my cousin, you see,” he continued, moving his hands to clasp together behind his back. “So, I was forced to accept his challenge …”

  “Oh, my God! Whatever did you do to him?” Jane wondered in alarm, moving to stand directly in front of the banker. If something awful had happened to Milton Grandby, Adele would never forgive her!

  “I made him a promise to make you a cousin by marriage, of course,” he answered quickly. “He and my cousin, Gregory Grandby. They were both quite insistent, although I was rather surprised they would even want any more cousins given the number of us they already have,” he added in an off-hand manner.

  He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out the velvet-covered box. “But they continued to insist, and once we figured we were all arguing on the same side, and since I am the youngest, they were wont to agree with me.

  “Jane Vandermeer, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he asked as he held out the box. Although he knew his hands shook, he hoped the gloves would hide his nervousness as he flipped the lid off the box and displayed the gold ring therein.

  Jane stared in awe, first at Andrew and then at the ring he offered. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she whispered as she peeled a glove off of one hand and placed a fingertip next to the sapphire. She stared up at Andrew, his eyes locking onto hers when she didn’t answer right away. “Are you quite sure you wish to be married to a woman who would believe the ridiculous articles in a gossip rag?” she whispered.

  Frowning, Andrew considered her words and wondered what he might have thought should the tables had been turned.

  If there had been a mention of Lady Stoneleigh kissing someone in the gardens at Lord Weatherstone’s mansion, what would I have done?

  Why, he would have challenged the cur to a duel! He would have punched the man across the jaw when delivering the challenge to meet him at Wimbledon Commons. Pistols at dawn would have been too good for the rake.

  “Considering what my reaction would have been, my lady, I cannot blame you one bit. In fact, it only convinces me that you must have some regard for me if the idea of me kissing another woman upsets you so,” he whispered, his manner most serious. “I promise I shall never kiss another in the same way I kiss you,” he murmured, his lips taking possession of hers just then.

  Not expecting such a declaration—her late husband would never have been capable of such words—Jane allowed the kiss, reveling in the feel of his firm lips against her own, returning the kiss after only a moment of startled surprise. When she felt him pull away, Jane reluctantly let go of her hold on him. “And I shall never kiss another as I kiss you,” she countered in a whisper.

  “Well, except our children.” Andrew said suddenly. “Although I would expect you to deliver your kisses only on their cheeks,” he added with an arched brow.

  Jane suppressed a giggle. “Only on their cheeks,” she agreed as she plucked the ring from the velvet and held it between her thumb and forefinger. The thought of children had her happy and yet a brief melancholy followed when she remembered she probably couldn’t have children.

  Andrew removed a glove and took the ring from her grasp. He slid it onto her fourth finger, rather pleased at how well it fit. “I know I asked you for a ride in the park, my lady, but I was wondering if you might be amendable to a destination a bit farther away?” he queried, his bare hand covering hers.

  Her eyes widening, Jane gave him a questioning glance when she was able to look away from the ring. “And where might that be?” she wondered, a shiver of excitement leaving her nearly breathless.

  “Our future home, my lady,” he replied, barely able to contain his excitement.

  Jane allowed a slow smile. “I look forward to it,” she replied with a grin. When Andrew didn’t immediately offer his arm and move to the door, she angled her head in question.

  “Given the late hour, we may not be back before dark,” he warned, hoping she wouldn’t change her mind about going. “Or at all, if my lady would prefer …” He visibly swallowed. “Spending the night in her new bedchamber.”

  A shiver of excitement had Jane allowing a mischievous grin. “Why, Maximilian Andrew Burroughs. Are you intending to seduce me?” she teased as she pulled on her glove, frowning as she covered the sapphire with the kid leather.

  Blinking, Andrew managed to appear rather shocked before his eyes darkened. “Only if you’ll allow me the pleasure.”

  As they made their way to the vestibule, Jane approached the butler and stated, “Do let cook know I won’t be home for dinner, and tell Nicole not to wait up for me.”

  Simonton blinked but managed a short bow. “Of course, my lady,” he responded as he opened the front door.

  Jane was quite sure she had never before seen her butler quite so discombobulated.

  Meanwhile, Nicole watched her ladyship and her caller take their leave of the townhouse from where she stood at the top of the stairs, a sense of immense relief settling over her.

  Just the hour before, the cook had read aloud the entire front page of The Tattler, three servants listening in rapt attention as she did so. Although there wasn’t a single reference to anyone named ‘Max’, there were certainly several references to a ‘Lady J’. Why, it seemed her ladyship had been quite the belle of the ball two nights ago!

  “Good for you, milady,” Nicole murmured from where she stood. “Good for you.”

  Chapter 29

  A Tour of a Future Home

  Rumor has it Merriweather Manor is nearly finished! Reports have us believing Sir W is behind the project, both in the design and the guineas. Workmen claim the interior is resplendent with odes to mythology and metallurgy (think marble statues in the alcoves, gilt on the walls, and silver in the butler’s pantry). The exterior is certainly an improvement over what first appeared when Henry VIII married his fifth wife. Now we’ll have to discover who will become the residents of this beautifully restored manor home. There must certainly be room enough in there for half the ton! ~ An article in the April 23, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 8, 1818, on the way to Merriweather Manor

  Jane Vandermeer Fitzpatrick threaded her hand through Andrew Burrough’s bent arm,
enjoying how his firm hands on the ribbons had the lone Cleveland Bay pulling them along at an exhilarating clip. As they turned off Kingsbridge Road and onto the Great West Road, she nearly lost her bonnet as her own ribbons gave way. She giggled as Andrew slowed the horse to a canter, her gloved hand catching the ties before the hat was completely unseated from her head.

  “I apologize, my lady,” Andrew said above the noise of the curricle’s wheels.

  “Don’t you dare, Max,” she countered, retying the ribbons beneath her chin. She giggled as they hit a pothole and were momentarily airborne. “I haven’t had this much fun in …” My entire life, she nearly said, just then realizing she had called him ‘Max’. When they exchanged quick glances, he gave her a wink that had her grin widening to a brilliant smile.

  Although she had thought the seven miles to Merriweather Manor might take an hour or more to negotiate, Andrew had them there in forty-five minutes. The late afternoon sun dipped behind puffy clouds as he pulled back on the reins and steered the horse to take a turn down a long driveway.

  Wanting to see Jane’s reaction to his childhood home, Andrew kept his attention on her face, rather satisfied to see her look of awe when the entire manor house came into view.

  Halting the horse next to the fountain as he had done with his uncle’s trotter the day before, Andrew quickly jumped down from the curricle and hurried to the other side, offering his hands to assist Jane.

  She accepted his help, her eyes on the exterior of the manor house as she did so. “This is yours?” she whispered as she realized he had simply taken her by the waist and lowered her to the crushed granite below.

  “Not entirely,” he replied with a shake of his head. “My uncle and I have been working on the plans for the restoration for some time, though,” he explained as he offered his arm. “Several generations of Grandbys and Merriweathers and Burroughs were born here. It’s large enough for all, although I wish it to be ours alone for as long as possible,” he added before placing a kiss on her temple.