My Fair Gentleman

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  The small man looked at her for a long moment and then started a bit at the sound of a harsh cough on the other side of the door. “I suppose I would begin at his ship, the Flying Gull. It’s in dock for another two days. Lady Ivy, it is unseemly, you simply cannot go there.”

  “I shall take Nana’s footman with me. He is very large and strong. And one of your maids will do fine. I would fetch my own lady’s maid but I worry we will not have time.” Ivy winced at the racking coughing noise that carried out from the bedchamber.

  Fuddleston nodded and turned, leading her back downstairs and introducing her to Mrs. Harster, the housekeeper. Mrs. Harster was pale and flustered—the master of the house did not die every day, of course, and they had a new master set to take up residence at any time. Provided he could be accounted for.

  “Millie,” Mrs. Harster said to a young woman who dashed by with a feather duster. “You must accompany Lady Ivy Carlisle on an errand.”

  Millie stopped midstride and spun around, her eyes wide. “Me?” she squeaked, a bright smile crossing her face as she bobbed a quick curtsey to Ivy. Her soft red hair curled becomingly under her white cap and framed her face. “Oh, bless you, Mrs. Harster. I have got to get out of this house!”

  “Millie!”

  Ivy smiled at the housekeeper. “These are trying times, Mrs. Harster. A little uncertainty is to be expected.”

  Mille raised a brow. “Boredom is more like it.” She handed the duster to the housekeeper, who gaped at the girl.

  “Come, then,” Ivy said and made her way to the door as Millie skipped to catch up. “And how long have you been in the earl’s employ?”

  “Only but a week, and the longest week of my life, too! My mum knew Mrs. Harster, and when there was a vacancy come open I was given the position, even though I’m younger than Mrs. Harster likes.”

  Ivy accepted her light pelisse from the butler and started out the door as Millie dashed below stairs for her own wrap. “And have you had much training, then?” Ivy asked Millie as the girl clambered up into the waiting carriage behind her.

  “Some, I s’pose. Mrs. Harster, though, she’s been frightful distracted. What with his Lordship ready to keel over and all.”

  Ivy glanced at Millie and then turned to give the footman quick instructions. As she and the young maid settled into the carriage, Ivy gave her a long look and fought the twitch trying desperately to escape the corners of her mouth. “Millie, we are strangers, you and I. It is hardly the thing for you to refer in such a crass way to your employer’s demise. I might suggest that if you wish to maintain your post, you should consider practicing a bit more professional decorum.”

  Millie blinked at her with wide, expressive eyes that clearly stated she had no experience with professional decorum. Ivy wondered why she bothered lecturing the girl—it wasn’t as though she was a member of the household, and even as the words had come out of her mouth, Ivy had registered the fact that she was sounding—how did Nana sometimes put it? Bossy.

  Ivy smiled at the girl. “You just do your very best. Follow instructions and behave with respect.”

  Millie bobbed her head in agreement. “I can do that. My mum told me that his Lordship is frightful hideous, bein’ old and almost dead, but that I wasn’t ta mention it. What with him payin’ my wages and all.”

  Ivy paused and bit the inside of her cheek. “That is very sound advice,” she finally said. “Your mother must be a wise woman indeed.”

  The carriage bumped and bounced over the streets—some well paved, others not—and finally came to a stop some time later. The sound of seagulls was loud, and the smell of the waterfront lifted on the wind to enter the conveyance and announce their arrival at the docks. As Ivy climbed down from the carriage and squinted at the ships lined in the harbor, she shielded her hand against the sun and reached back into the carriage for her parasol.

  “Which one is it, then, Albert?” Ivy asked the footman as she snapped the parasol open.

  “That ’un there, I b’lieve, my lady.” Albert looked at a ship directly before them in some consternation and scratched at his head beneath his hat. “Yer sure ’bout this?”

  Now that Ivy stood in the flesh before the massive vessel, she wasn’t sure about anything. Squaring her shoulders, she remembered her grandmother’s attitude at luncheon and stiffened her resolve. Lady Ivy Carlisle could do brave things. She could do anything, in fact, as long as it wasn’t inappropriate. Granted, visiting a bachelor—a sailor, no less—on a merchant vessel was far from appropriate, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And the cause was sound.

  “Right, then,” she murmured and began walking toward the gangplank. “Millie, Albert, we must take Mr. Elliot with us back to the earl’s home. We’re not leaving without him.”

  Chapter 4

  When making a new acquaintance, always present

  a pleasant face and a kindly manner.

  Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette

  There’s what here to see me?” Jack asked Pug, who stood inside the cabin doorway with a bewildered expression.

  “Someone—a lady—says she’s here to take you back to Stansworth House.”

  “What the devil,” Jack cursed and threw an armload of personal objects into his trunk. He’d said his farewells earlier in the day to his shipmates, and he had already spent a fair amount of time the night before with his captain, complaining about his lot and attempting to drown his sorrows in stiff drink. All it had gotten him was a blazing headache and a shorter fuse.

  “Let her in, then,” Jack said over his shoulder to Pug, who finally turned with a shrug. The boy returned moments later with a delicate vision of loveliness in a light spring dress and a beribboned and lacy bonnet. She had no business being dockside, let alone aboard the Flying Gull. A young maid and tall footman hovered just outside the cramped cabin in the equally cramped companionway.

  This should be most interesting.

  Jack straightened to his full height and had the momentary satisfaction of seeing his guest’s eyes widen slightly before she recovered herself and managed a smile.

  “Mr. Elliot, then?” She stepped forward and extended her gloved hand. “I’m Lady Ivy Carlisle, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Huntington, and I have been asked by your grandfather to . . . to . . .”

  “Make a gentleman out of me?” he said flatly.

  “Well, I’m certain you are already well on your way,” she said and swallowed visibly. “Perhaps you might benefit from a few tips and suggestions. I understand your formal launch into Society will occur at a ball once the Season is in full swing in one month’s time.”

  The lady was smooth; he would give her that much. She was clearly nervous but managed to deliver her little speech with all the polish he would expect of a person of quality. It irritated him no end.

  “Why are you here right now, Miss Carlisle? Were you under the impression that my lessons are to begin immediately?” He deliberately dropped her title and wondered if it would cause her to swoon.

  She flushed. “No. That is . . .” She straightened her shoulders and met his eyes squarely. “Mr. Elliot, your grandfather is, as we speak, nearly breathing his last. It is most unseemly for you to be away from his bedside at such a time.”

  Jack folded his arms, feeling his eyelid twitch. “As I am hopeful my grandfather’s soul will burn eternally, the last thing I care about in this world right now is being at that man’s bedside while he ‘breathes his last.’” His words were proper enough, he knew, but he deliberately accented them with the rough edge one might expect of a sailor.

  Lady Ivy’s mouth had dropped open, and she quickly shut it. “Mr. Elliot, I have been charged with easing you into your new position as the Earl of Stansworth, and it begins now. Today. If you intend for people to accept you as your grandfather’s heir, you must begin acting the part. It will be that much harder on you if Society learns that when the old earl was dying, his grandson lounged around his me
rchant ship down by the docks.”

  “Miss Carlisle, I don’t give a flying fig for what Society thinks of me.”

  “And yet you have a mother and sister, do you not? Are you willing to drag them down into the dregs with you? I should think you would have a care for their welfare.”

  He wouldn’t have believed it possible, but the little woman had shut him up. She’d found his Achilles’ heel. He felt a surge of anger and welcomed it. “You will leave my mother and sister out of this.”

  “I would love to, sir—however, the rest of the ton will not. You no longer have the luxury of expecting that your behavior will affect only you.”

  The silence between them stretched into several long moments before she spoke again. “Mr. Elliot,” she said quietly, “the old man is dying, and you are to take his place. I understand you’ve agreed to it and I urge you to follow my lead. I’ll torture you for only four weeks’ time, after which you need never lay eyes on me again. Well,” she amended, “I expect you might; we will be moving in the same circles, after all, but you needn’t lay eyes on me for very long. You can turn your head if you see me coming.” She offered that last with a small smile. He imagined she had disarmed many an opponent with that smile. And, drat it all, her reasoning was sound.

  Agreed to it, she had said. He had not so much agreed as been blackmailed into it. But what was done was done, and the old man’s orders would haunt Jack even from beyond the grave. If Jack were to step down or turn the earldom over to another, his mother and sister would find themselves homeless and in more of a mess than they’d been before. He ground his teeth and refrained from picking up the nearest object not tacked down and hurling it through the porthole.

  “I am finished here,” he finally growled, stooping beside his trunk to close and lock it.

  “Are there any to whom you should bid farewell?” Ivy asked him, her pretty brow marred by a light frown.

  “I don’t suppose it matters much, now, does it?” he threw back at the woman. “My mother and sister will face fates worth than death if I do not come with you right this very instant.”

  For the briefest flash, he saw something cross the lady’s face: irritation? Anger? It was in the subtle, nearly imperceptible flare of her nostrils and thinning of her lips—and it was gone almost before it was even there. Perhaps the lady had a temper. Well, that was fine with him. She was making his life miserable; he ought to at least return the favor.

  Jack hefted his trunk and followed the woman out of his cabin, looking back one last time before he closed the door. “You have your things ready?” he said to his cabin boy.

  Pug nodded and picked up a satchel that carried all of his worldly possessions.

  “My valet,” he said to Ivy as she regarded the boy in some surprise. “This is Pug, and he will be joining us.”

  “P-P-Pug?” Ivy looked at Jack with wide eyes and then back at the boy.

  Jack found himself suddenly very defensive of his young charge. “Yes. Pug.”

  “Very well, then,” she said with a smile, and he had to wonder if it was forced. “Millie. Albert.” She turned and led the entourage down the narrow companionway, and he felt a knot of dread form deep in his gut. Uncharted waters lay before him, and he didn’t relish the prospect of sailing into them.

  Chapter 5

  Apparel is most crucial in creating the proper impression.

  While items must not be so costly as to cause consternation

  to the allotted budget, attention should always be paid

  to creating the best impression possible.

  Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette

  Ivy entered the earl’s library early the next morning with a firm purpose and a list in hand. The old earl had died in the night, and the house was officially in mourning and preparing for a funeral. The new earl, John Weldon Elliot, was in the act of being fitted for a suit coat, and he didn’t look in the least pleased about it. “Excellent,” she said briskly and set her reticule on a side table. “There is one item on the list we can cross off already.” She gave the man a healthy smile and kept it firmly fixed when he scowled at her in return.

  “I have a coat upstairs,” he grumbled with a glare at the elderly tailor, Mr. Pearson, who paid the earl little mind, measuring every possible angle of the man’s torso, chest, shoulders, and arms.

  Ivy raised a brow. “I’m sure you do. I am also certain that it will not do justice to the events the next several weeks will bring. You are now an earl and must dress the part.” She circled around to the side and observed the measuring with a slight nod. “You note, of course, the width across the shoulders,” she said to Mr. Pearson. “He does seem a bit broader than most.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Mr. Pearson intoned, adjusting his spectacles and draping the measuring tape around his neck. He made notations in a small notebook as he continued his perusal of the sailor-turned-gentleman.

  Mr. Elliot, for she was having a difficult time of it thinking of him as the earl, shot her a flat look. “I apologize for inconveniencing you,” he said.

  “Now, now,” Ivy said as she circled back around to stand before him, “no need at all to be nasty, my lord.”

  “My name is Jack.”

  “To your mother, perhaps.”

  The man’s nostrils flared, and his jaw visibly clenched. “I am being measured for a wardrobe I do not want and addressed by a title I do not desire. Miss Carlisle, you mistake my relative calm for patience, which I can assure you I possess in very limited supply.”

  “And how glad I am you tap into those limited reserves, my lord. Might I also suggest, however, that you take pains to deepen the well. If the next four weeks are to be met with success on any level, you will likely need it.” She turned her attention back to the tailor. “Mr. Pearson, has his Lordship been fitted for the rest of his wardrobe already?”

  “His Lordship has indeed,” the earl interrupted. “Poked, prodded, and generally abused. We came down here to finish only because you sent word you were on your way, and skinny man, here, thought it prudent that you be neither kept waiting nor entertained in my dressing room or bedchamber.”

  Ivy looked at the earl with what she hoped was equanimity, all the while noting the shocked expression of the tailor in her periphery. Fighting a blush by thinking of bland things—like porridge without a dash of sugar—she refrained from delivering a blistering diatribe on the earl’s outlandish comment. “You are new to this position, my lord, and therefore will be afforded a certain degree of allowance for inappropriate remarks. You’ll find that certain things are not to be mentioned in polite company—the words ‘entertained’ and ‘bedchamber’ most especially should not be used in the same breath. It will be considered shocking.”

  “And if that was my intention? I can assure you, rarely do I misspeak.”

  Ivy tipped her head to one side, struck for a moment at the incongruity between what she knew of his past and his delivery. “You are well-spoken, my lord, come to think of it. Although your pronunciation marks you clearly as one of the working class.”

  He rested a look upon her that she decided would be best not to interpret.

  “Perhaps this task will not be as daunting as I had supposed.”

  Mr. Elliot cocked a brow. “You were expecting an oaf.”

  “I can only judge that which I have observed.” Ivy fought the urge to clap her hand over her mouth, hoping that her quick retort was not an omen of things to come. She was not usually so blunt. Or cutting.

  “Well, well.” The new earl smiled at her, but there was no warmth behind it. “The mistress of manners has some bite.”

  Ivy gaped at him, wondering for a fleeting moment how he might know she wrote as “Mistress Manners.” Realizing it had just been a coincidence, she flushed. Things weren’t going well at all. The silence in the room stretched, and the earl made no attempt to ease the discomfort. Mr. Pearson finished his measurements and, with a few final scribbles in his notebook
, packed up his bag, bowed slightly, and left the room.

  Taking her courage firmly in hand, Ivy straightened her spine and forced a smile. “I have an itinerary of your lessons we must review. And the sooner the better, as the funeral is nearly upon us.”

  The earl was quiet for a moment, eyeing her with a blank expression that gave nothing away, and finally indicated a pair of chairs before the fireplace. “Be on with it, then,” he said and sank into one of the seats.

  Ivy remained standing. “You must not take a seat before a lady does.” It was the most elementary item of etiquette, and he was totally ignorant of it? Perhaps she’d not been mistaken, and training the man would be every bit the chore she had imagined at the outset.

  The earl stood, made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and locked his eyes with hers until she sat down across from him. “If you would be so kind as to allow me to sit now?”

  She nodded. “I can see that we must begin with basics,” she said as he took his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes closed. “My lord? Are you ill?”

  He opened his eyes and regarded her with a stare that had likely rattled the fortitude of many a lowly sailor. They had precious little time, however, and she steeled her resolve, determined to accomplish her objective.

  “The funeral is regrettably soon, of course. Thankfully, nobody will be expecting you to say or do much. Simply be in attendance and make an effort to speak as little as possible. Your words are usually fine, but the delivery is, well, rough.”

  He watched her with eyes at half-mast. “So I’m little more than an idiot monkey boy. Why don’t we just invite all of London to come and gawk at me in a cage? I’ll do my best to keep my mouth shut.”

  Ivy took a deep breath. “Mr. . . . my lord, I certainly intended no insult. But you must understand, the stakes in this endeavor are very high indeed. If we cannot present you well, it will affect your sister and mother in a way most unpleasant. I am hoping to meet with them soon to assess their needs.”