The Perfect Gentleman (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “I’m sure you’re right.” He grinned over at her. “I’d rather we do nothing more than ride, take in everything at a leisurely pace.”

  “Yes, we’ll take the field,” his sister agreed. “We’ll avoid the town. There’s no reason to face anyone today.” Valiant was a natural comfort and had been doing it for her siblings since before their mother died over a decade ago.

  She’d been the one to pressure Lore into coming, claiming Asher, their older brother, would need them, since it was his first time hosting since their father’s death and his first time hosting as the Duke of Ayers.

  A grand party had been arranged to start the following day. At least thirty families would occupy the castle, filling the ancient rooms with merriment.

  Lore had thought it a good idea, recalling how much his father had loved to entertain. He had even invited two of his own friends from London. Lore planned to keep himself very busy with the guests, losing himself in the games and discussions. He’d avoid town as much as he could.

  After instructing the drivers to continue on the main road, he urged Gasper toward the castle.

  Valiant followed onto the grass and down the first hill.

  While they rode, Valiant informed him of many of the events that would take place and the guests she’d invited. Her husband, the Earl of Beaumont, would join them once his business in London was done.

  Valiant would be acting as hostess since Asher was unwed. Their brother had married when he was younger, but his bride had died of fever three years ago before having the chance to give him an heir.

  “And Hero has allowed Beatrix to invite Lord Dalewell,” Valiant went on.

  Their brother Hero was the eldest after Asher. His wife, Beatrix, had become a dear friend to both Valiant and Lore. Beatrix’s brother Benedict, the Earl of Dalewell, however, had not won the family over.

  He’d nearly destroyed Beatrix and Hero’s relationship a year ago.

  Lore didn’t care for the man. “And why, exactly, is he coming along?”

  They rode down through a thin line of trees toward the ravine. The air was cooler there. The sound of the narrow river was tranquil.

  They would follow the path toward the bridge. Once there, they would cross and take the road toward the tall gate to the castle that would be just over the rise. They’d taken this path many times in the past.

  “Benedict has wed,” Valiant said. “He wishes to make a good impression on his in-laws.”

  Lore grunted.

  Valiant went on, “And for Beatrix’s sake, we should try and get along with him. He is her twin, after all.”

  “For Beatrix I will do anything,” Lore said, not meaning the words lightly. Beatrix had come to their family at a time when they needed her most. She’d returned hope to their family and happiness to Richard’s last day of life. The duke had died only hours after Beatrix and Hero’s wedding, and Lore imagined that their father had died in peace.

  For Beatrix, he would try to get on with Benedict.

  Lore was the only member of his family who’d never wed and, as he’d informed Lord Tellock a few months ago, he never would.

  That night at Lady Everly’s musical had been a disaster that still bothered Lore.

  The Wycliff family and the Curbain family were old friends. But then, the Curbain family and the Tellock family had been friends once upon a time, too.

  He’d found Tellock speaking with a few other gentlemen in the hall and had asked the man if they could speak alone.

  Lore had lost Jupiter to him last year right after his father’s death. He’d been drunk and delirious with grief, but in the morning, he’d seen the error of his ways. He’d chased Tellock down for nearly a year and only at Lady Everly’s party had he seen an opportunity to speak with him face to face.

  The man had bargained his own daughter for the horse and while Lore had felt ill about making such a pact, he’d agreed to it.

  Then the lady in question had strolled into the room.

  Lady Brinley Soulden.

  Once he’d seen her, he’d recalled where they’d met..

  It had been the Reddington Ball. He’d recalled the cap on her head.

  He recalled finding her pleasant and rather humorous when she let herself be. He liked her youthful visage, but the way she dressed did more damage than good. With her hair covered and her body hidden under her shapeless gowns, she looked more like an aged governess than a young lady. Lore wondered if any man had flirted with her this past season, if ever. Who’d inspired the cap? Perhaps, he would encourage some changes if he were to be part of this ruse.

  It hadn’t warmed him in the least to think of the sort of game he and her father had planned for her. Such an idea disturbed him, but he’d told himself that it would all be for the lady’s benefit.

  He’d been ready to do what he must to get Jupiter.

  Lore didn’t know if it had been fate or luck that had made Lady Brinley indisposed for the remainder of the Season. She’d been ill, according to her father, and with growing concern, he’d taken her to the country.

  But Lore knew the matter was not over. He had to get Jupiter back and thus would have to petition once again to Tellock. He only prayed the man decided upon a new method of payment when they met again next year for the Season.

  “If all else fails,” Valiant said, regaining his attention. “I’m sure we can move Benedict to a more comfortable room. Perhaps the oubliettes?” Her eyes danced.

  Lore laughed.

  Ayers Castle was whispered to possess a dungeon that could only be accessed by lowering someone through the floor. It was said prisoners had been left there to go mad, but even their father had thought it untrue.

  Yet just thinking of how Benedict would react to such a place calmed whatever worry he’d had about being home. He’d get through the next few months just as he’d gotten through the last three years.

  He’d laugh, play, and perhaps even find a lady or two to flirt with.

  Oh, yes, Lore was definitely looking forward to the party.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 3

  Lore swept into the breakfast room the next morning and kissed Valiant and Beatrix— who had the good grace to grow bashful— before moving to the sideboard. He was the last to appear for the morning meal.

  The breakfast room, like the rest of the house, had been renovated with all the modern designs of newer homes. The windows that faced east allowed sunlight into the room. The pale green walls and the white ceiling with its wreath designs gave the room a calm feeling.

  And even better, it was absent of the noise of the city.

  Lore loved the country. Now all he needed was Jupiter so that he could take advantage of the freedom the hills offered.

  He’d thought of buying another horse, but the very thought seemed like a betrayal to the friend he’d had for over fifteen years. They’d grown up together. Jupiter had been with him in Lore’s best and worst times.

  He had to get him back,

  Asher had been sitting at the head of the table drinking coffee while he looked over a paper that had arrived from London, but he, along with the rest of the room, had stood at Lore’s appearance. “When do you plan to go and see to Chesterhill Manor? Father left it to you. I know you don’t expect an estate manager to see to everything on your behalf?”

  Lore’s good mood was drained away instantly.

  The room Valiant and Beatrix had filled with happy chatter grew quiet.

  Lore turned his back to the room and placed a slice of ham onto his plate. “I plan to ride by this week.”

  “When?” Asher demanded.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Asher asked. “There are but seven days in the week. Surely, you can pick one.”

  Taking a piece of bread, Lore turned to his brother with a grin.

  Asher would have been a plain man if it weren’t for the haughty air that seemed to cling to him, a thing ever growing, encompass
ing him until there was barely any difference between Asher the man and Asher the lord.

  The two brothers were not close, though Lore was sure they’d both tried to be. Age and rank seemed to always get in the way. They were seven years apart in age and their father’s lengthy illness had forced Asher to begin taking on the duke’s responsibilities long before Richard’s death a year ago.

  Lore knew Asher was trying to do what he thought best, but he had a way of ruining Lore’s mood at every turned.

  And Lore knew why.

  More than anyone, Lore had failed at his duty and continued to do so.

  He tightened his smile and said with a mocking tone, “Truly? Are there only seven days in the week? Perhaps Your Grace would see fit to add but another? Perhaps two? What shall we name them? Perhaps Ayersday?”

  Beatrix burst into laughter.

  Valiant bit her lip.

  Hero hid his face behind his mug and cleared his throat.

  Only Asher seemed to miss the humor. His look, if possible, became even more withering. “It would be good to inform the estate manager beforehand. That way, the man who’s been caring for your house and stables can clear his schedule to give you a proper tour.”

  “Thank you for your observation, Your Grace. I’ll be sure to write the estate manager this afternoon.” Lore piled his plate and sat at the table. “What are you two looking over?” he asked Beatrix and Valiant, steering the conversation away from Chesterhill Manor and the other obligations he’d yet to fulfill.

  “We’re looking over table placement,” Beatrix said. She had golden hair and stunning green eyes. “Valiant and I have given it much thought and decided we should all sit informally, considering you and Hero have invited friends of your own.”

  Asher cut in, “There should be a dinner or two where the formal placement is done.” It was not a request but a demand.

  “Of course,” Valiant said. “But it will be more fun to mix it up a bit and give everyone a chance to make new social acquaintances.” She turned to Lore. “Would you like to choose your place?” She handed him the sheet of names.

  Lore took the sheet and already knew he wanted to sit nowhere near Asher. “Just sit me between the prettiest ladies in attendance,” he said to tease Asher.

  Again, his sisters humored him with laughter while Asher did not.

  Lore looked over the paper seriously then. He saw his friends, Denhollow and Sillian. He was just about to point at that very table when another name caught his attention.

  And then another.

  There was talk, led by Hero, about Lore possibly falling in love with one of the women and wedding them. It was done in jest and to make him cringe, he was sure, but little did they know he was in a panic.

  “Lord Tellock has been invited?” Lore asked.

  “Well, of course,” Beatrix said. “My brother has married his daughter.”

  He’d not thought to inquire who Benedict had wed. He’d hadn’t cared to ask. Now he saw the error in his ways. “Lady Brinley has wed?” he asked with new hope.

  “No, not Lady Brinley. Lady Arabella.” Beatrix smiled. “She’s a sweet girl. I’m sure you recall her.”

  “Very young in age and nature,” Hero said.

  Lore pictured the girl instantly and shared his brother’s sentiments. She was a cheerful young woman. Easily moved to laughter or despair.

  Yes, very young indeed.

  Hero and Beatrix began to describe the match with great enthusiasm, but Lore didn’t listen. His eyes had been drawn to one name in particular.

  Lady Brinley Soulden.

  He looked up and found Asher watching him closely.

  Lore smiled, told Valiant to place him with his friends, and then gave the impression of listening while he ate, but, in fact, his mind raced.

  A footman came to the door at a moment later to announce the first guests had arrived.

  Asher stood. “Let’s go greet our guests.” The statement had been made for everyone.

  Lore gathered with the others and made his way to toward the great hall.

  His stomach protested his every step as he walked the long halls. He felt much like a man facing the gallows.

  Would Lord Tellock expect him to flirt with his daughter during the party? If he did, then the entire event had just been ruined for Lore. He’d have to entertain a woman he had little in common with all in an effort to get Jupiter back.

  There was some light in this mess, he remembered. Soon he and his horse would be reunited.

  He worried about Jupiter’s care. Would his old friend remember him?

  He was not at all surprised that the first guests were the guests of honor.

  Benedict Gillingham, the Earl of Dalewell, strolled into the house and greeted the family as though there was not an ounce of bitterness or anger on anyone’s side.

  Benedict was, by anyone’s standards, a very handsome man.

  He and Beatrix shared the same green eyes, but that was where their twins’ resemblance stopped. Benedict was taller and darker. He was smiling as he introduced his wife.

  And it was clear to see why the man was so happy.

  Lady Dalewell was beautiful as she shyly gazed at everyone.

  There was more movement at the door.

  Benedict introduced Lord and Lady Tellock and then Lady Brinley walked in.

  She was exactly how he’d remembered. Her white cap was in place. Her yellow dress was of a fashion that left much wanting.

  But that didn’t mean she didn’t have an appeal. She held her head up and met everyone’s eyes with her clear brown ones. She even smiled as she greeted the room, the gesture pulling one from Lore’s lips as well. . She looked well for someone who’d been close to death a month ago.

  She also looked nothing like her family. Though there was some resemblance between her and her father, her sister was fairer in every way.

  Lore took her hand as all the other men in the room had and kissed the air above it. “Lady Brinley.”

  She took her hand back swiftly.

  “Brin, I want to see the battlement.” A small boy held her hand.

  The child was introduced as Tellock’s heir, Lord Oliver Soulden.

  Oliver, who was six, didn’t look like the others either, with red hair and green eyes. He bowed to the room before he pulled Brinley away from the circle, speaking enthusiastically about the castle.

  Lore watched her go and wondered where the child’s governess was.

  Tellock approached Lore. “I’ve brought Jupiter.”

  Lore stared at him and waited for the rest of his words.

  The earl didn’t keep him waiting long. “If I am satisfied by the end of my time here, I’ll leave him in your care.”

  Lore didn’t need to ask the man what would satisfy him. Lore already knew the answer— and his happiness— rested with Lady Brinley.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 4

  “Slow down, Ollie,” Brinley called as her brother led her away from the great hall.

  “May I shoot an arrow from the wall?” Oliver asked.

  She chuckled. “Likely not. What if someone gets hurt?” They walked through a smaller chamber and into the outer bailey.

  Servants and carriages moved through the gatehouse, and she watched the commotion from her position at the top of the steps.

  The castle was large, and Brinley couldn’t find fault with Oliver’s excitement. She wished to see as much of it as possible herself.

  She was forced to rush down the stairs behind Oliver and did her best to not trip.

  Brinley knew she should have waited for a servant to direct her to her bedchamber before running off with Oliver, but she’d seen the child’s zeal as a way to escape Lore’s presence.

  She’d tried everything to get out of coming to the party, had even thought to fake ill again, but her father had insisted.

  And she’d known why.

  She felt terrible, not only for herself, but for Lore. She was likely th
e last person he wished to be seen with, but if her father was to have his way—and he was always to have his way—there would be few occasions during the next two months where she’d find herself alone.

  The only bright side of the event was the knowledge that Everly would be attending. It was an opportunity for Brinley to spend time with her friend and for the two to make the final moves in Brinley’s plan.

  In a few months’ time, likely before winter, Brinley would be a free woman, able to do as she pleased on her own terms. Her father knew nothing about it. Her mother had already decided that Brinley would be well suited as a companion for Arabella, but Brinley thought otherwise.

  To the few who knew her, she was nothing more than Tellock’s plump daughter, but Brinley was much more.

  “I’ll be careful,” Oliver said, turning his bright green eyes her way as they made it to the inner wall. He had a cap of red curls that Brinley often marveled at. It was just as wild as her own, yet somehow it made him look whimsical. “I won’t hit any of the guests,” he promised as he continued to pull her hand. “Only the villains.”

  She was breathing hard but tried hard to not show it. Seeing a bench that seemed to have come out of nowhere, she sat down so that she was eye level with him. “Villians? And who might these villains be?”

  “The sheriff, of course,” Oliver said with a frown. “I’m Robin Hood and this is Nottingham.”

  My, how she loved children.

  “Is it?” Brinley had read Oliver the tales of the heroic Robin Hood and his gang of honorable miscreants. “But how do you know this to be Nottingham?”

  “Because it’s a castle!” Oliver cried. “And Papa said the old duke’s name was Richard.”

  King Richard I had been well loved in the legend of Robin Hood. His return was met with great cheer. She thought it clever how Oliver had managed to twist reality with the tale. He’d always been very good at entertaining himself... but not very good at staying out of trouble.

  “Just one arrow,” Oliver said. “Please, Brin. I’ve never been to a castle. I say, I may never see one again!”