by Em Taylor
She halted a proper distance from their host and curtseyed.
“Lord Stalwood.”
“Lady Christina.”
“Oh, no need to introduce us, Gabriel. It really is fine. Just stand there gaping.”
Gabriel frowned.
“I believe neither of you gave me the opportunity to introduce you. Lord Stalwood, this is my older sister, Lady Christina. Christina, this is Viscount Stalwood. We used to be friends at school and university.”
It was the turn of Stalwood and Christina to scowl.
“I am precisely eight minutes older than this brute.”
“I know. He used to complain about you lording it over him.”
“He did?” Christina’s smile was radiant with this news.
“Yes. He says I am a former friend, but I am happy to be his friend on a continuing basis if he will stop being a proud idiot for a few minutes and allow me to be so. I do not care if he is forced to work like a servant. He is still Gabriel Marchby, Earl of Cindermaine.”
“Indeed he is. I wish you had found him sooner.”
“Alas, I have not been in town. I went to the country when I married.”
“So, do you plan to go back?” Christina’s brow had creased and her eyes shone with disappointment. Gabriel wondered if she’d been hoping that Stalwood would somehow help him. He wanted to roll his eyes. Silly, wonderful, endearing girl.
“No. I stayed so long because my wife… well, she died in childbed giving birth to our son Henry. I have been out of half-mourning for over a year. My parents and Charlotte’s parents are in town, so I thought I should come up with Henry for the Christmas Season. Time to start living again. Charlotte would have wanted that.”
“I am so terribly sorry. Were you very much in love?”
“Christina!” barked Gabriel. “I am sorry, Stalwood. Bloody stupid and prying question to ask. You have been reading too many romance novels. Read books that will broaden your mind.”
Stalwood chuckled. “Actually, no. Not very much. I liked her a lot and we dealt very well together. We held each other in very high esteem and were becoming good friends. I missed her terribly when she died. But love? No. Ours was an arranged marriage. But do not for one moment think I did not care or that I do not care, even now.”
“I understand. Thank you for telling me and I do apologise for prying.”
“Well, you are the sister of a very dear friend even if he is being a prize idiot at present. Now, take a seat and we shall have tea. Then we shall arrange another afternoon like this so we might at least all get to know one another properly and Cindermaine can have some time off.”
The next hour passed pleasantly. No more was said about the reasons for Gabriel’s work as a servant nor of the events that had led to it. Stalwood led the conversation, telling tales of their time at Eton, while Christina filled in some stories of their childhood, first at Marchby Castle a day’s carriage ride outside of London and then at Hartsmere Estate in Yorkshire.
When it was time to leave, Stalwood did not push things. He simply said he would see Gabriel on Tuesday and wished him well. The men had an understanding. He ignored the brightness shining from his sister’s eyes as they walked to her carriage and he sat on top with the driver.
Chapter 3
Kathleen did not know where to look. His eyes. Concentrate on his eyes. They were brown. She usually liked brown eyes. Mr Cedric Onslow’s eyes were a bit… well… hard, sneering, unkind. It was very difficult to express, but she was not sure she liked them. But she had to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust her papa.
Mr Onslow was waiting for her to sit before he moved to his seat. This was not good. If she sat, her eyes would be level with the most revealing part of his inexpressibles.
“Please, Mr Onslow, will you not have a seat? The tea trolley will be here in just a moment.”
“Ah yes. Thank you, my dear. I don’t mind if I do.” He marched over to an armchair and sat down, his legs splayed. Kathleen swallowed hard. Well, she supposed she would have to get used to that part of his anatomy if she had to marry him.
He was most definitely a dandy. The style of his cravat knot—over the top, fussy, intricate—as if his valet had spent hours getting it just right. His frilly cuffs must impede everything, his garish waistcoat would give anyone a headache and his skin-tight inexpressibles—a form of menswear that few men would contemplate due to the fact they left absolutely nothing to the imagination horrified her. In fact, she could even see the shape of… it… through the fabric.
She had not seen inexpressibles before coming to England. They just did not exist in New Hampshire. It seemed the gentlemen in America were less fashionable, which she could not help but think was a good thing. Unwed young ladies should not know about that part… or those parts of a man’s anatomy. She had seen them on statues in the museum but in real life…
Even the tassels on his shining Hessians were too big, gaudy and showy. She was trying very hard not to judge him on his clothing alone, but it was very difficult.
Kathleen’s mother poured tea for everyone and Kathleen handed around the cups. The Duke of Hartsmere grunted something that may have been a thank you, but she could not be sure. He looked very severe, and very like his son, though he wore much more conservative clothing.
Her own father was his usual jovial self, keeping conversation to discussing the weather and the upcoming entertainments of the Christmas Season. Teresa sat demurely, all rather overawed by the thought of a real duke being in the same room as her lowly American family. And Mr Onslow’s brother, Godfrey, another dandy, sat with a disaffected air, inspecting his fingernails and looking utterly bored with the whole affair.
Kathleen’s gaze caught that of her mother’s as she returned to the chaise she was to share with her.
What was that she saw in Mama’s gaze? Understanding, caring? Please God let it not be pity. An unwanted chill crept up Kathleen’s spine. Elizabeth Roberts pitied her own daughter.
Kathleen swallowed hard and raised her chin. She was no weakling and had weathered bigger storms than this. She could take this dandy in hand. Surely he was a decent fellow underneath. She sat down and accepted the cup from her mama.
“So, our betrothal ball tomorrow shall be in Hartsmere House. My mother is organising it, although obviously, given the scandal…” Cedric stopped for a moment to cough… and cough. His face went bright red as he grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket to cough into it. “I do apologise,” he croaked after a moment and a gulp of tea. “I believe the wet, windy weather may have affected me. Where was I. Ah yes, my mother is organising it but unfortunately cannot be the hostess, as you must be aware. She married the late Baron Benwick after my brother and I were born and although we could not take his name as my father had already accepted us as his own, she is still the Dowager Baroness. Much though the ton accepts my parents… ah… arrangement in private, so to speak, in public, they could not possibly host a ball together.”
“Oh for God’s sake, do stop twittering Cedric.” The Duke’s voice was a low growl, as he looked first at his son then at Kathleen’s papa. “Truth is, Portia knows her way around a ballroom and decorations. The place will look just as expected. Good grief man, have you got the ague?” He had turned to Cedric who had turned the colour of beetroot as he had succumbed to another bout of coughing. Once the poor man had stopped almost retching, he hauled in a breath and turned sheepishly to address his overbearing father.
“I… err, I have to admit, I do not feel to be in particularly good health. I feel a little light-headed.”
His father let out a weary sigh.
“All right. Well, suffice it to say that everything is in order for tomorrow night. We shall have a family meal at eight. The ball shall start at eleven. The Dowager Baroness will be in attendance, but she will accompany Godfrey. I shall be the host along with my sister, Lady Eleanor Stanbury. Right, I had better get Cedric home, so he is well for tomorrow. Come, boy.”
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Cedric stood on distinctly shaky legs. He was looking rather green now. The Duke bowed over the ladies’ hands, as did Godfrey. Cedric merely nodded his head to them as he coughed into his handkerchief. His brother whacked him on the back a few times, a look of distaste on his face, causing his lip to curl comically.
Kathleen’s papa walked them out to the door. Kathleen, Teresa and their mama stood back from the bay window, just enough in the shadow so that no one on the street would see them gawping at the men as they left. The Duke strode with purpose and elegance towards the large carriage. A liveried footman held open the door for his master. A coachman sat atop the box keeping the four perfectly matched blacks steady. The four horses were beautiful, and it was obvious that the duke took great pride in them.
Godfrey helped his brother out of the house and onto the street. Just before they got to the carriage, however, Cedric reached out his hand and grabbed the shoulder of the footman. The footman lurched out of the way as Cedric used his other hand to grab the edge of the carriage.
Kathleen covered her eyes and groaned. The poor man. Her mama yelped and turned away from the window and Teresa cried out before stating the glaringly obvious.
“Cedric just cast up his accounts all over the side of the carriage. I think he hit the back of the horse and the poor footman too. Uh! The poor horse.”
“Poor Cedric,” said Kathleen, feeling the need to defend her betrothed. The man was clearly unwell.
“Poor footman,” commented her mother, moving over to ring the bell to have the tea tray taken away. “Now, what do you think of Cedric?”
Kathleen had to admit that on first impressions, she had not liked him. He had seemed a little ridiculous and unable to think before he spoke. But she had not spoken properly to him.
“I barely had a chance to form an impression,” she replied, diplomatically. “He is handsome, though his clothing is a little eccentric. He may have been nervous. I believe I should wait and form an opinion once I get to know him better.”
“Those trousers were vile,” exclaimed Teresa.
“You should not be looking at men’s trousers,” chastised their mama. Teresa had the decency to blush and look down at her hands. “But I believe you are very wise, Kathleen my dear. He may be much more charming when he is relaxed.”
“I do hope so.”
Surely all was not lost. He could not be all bad, could he?
Chapter 4
“Cindermaine, His Grace wants to see you.” Gabriel looked up as Donnelly, a footman stuck his head in the door of the kitchen as he carried a delivery of fruit and vegetables in the back door for cook.
“Cindermaine, eh? It must be important if you’re using my title. Well, I had better see what he wants.”
Gabriel climbed up the servant’s staircase and came out in the huge front foyer of his family’s London mansion. One day he would be master of all this but for now, he moved silently, attempting to be as unobtrusive as possible—something that all servants strived to be. Donnelly had told him his sire was in the study. He had to avoid several delivery men bringing in large arrangements of flowers. Due to the ball this evening, the whole house had been abuzz since well before dawn. He, like all the rest of the servants, would be happy when it was over. It was just more work.
He knocked on the door of the Duke’s study and stepped in when the gruff voice bade him enter. He seldom had the chance to set eyes on the man who fathered him, and he halted just inside the door, both men just drinking in the sight of their kinsman. It was just like looking into a slightly warped mirror.
“Sit.” His father’s instruction sounded like the way one would order a dog to behave.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Your Grace?” asked Gabriel. He could kick himself, but he had an inability to keep his mouth shut where his sire was concerned. While his conscience over his mother’s death still pricked at him, part of him could not help feeling that the actions of a five-year-old should not be held against a twenty-five-year-old. But he could not reason with his father and it irritated Gabriel that he had never even tried to talk to the man in the past five years about the situation. He had merely accepted his place in the household and the story that had been spread among society to explain his absence during the Season.
“Cedric is ill. He has some kind of fever.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” replied Gabriel, assuming that was the correct thing to say. The Duke waved dismissively.
“I doubt that. Anyway, the point is, that he needs to be present at this blessed ball this evening, but he is too ill to attend. When he tries to stand up, the poor bastard practically keels over. He cannot even keep down water since he cast up his accounts all over the side of my carriage on the street yesterday. Therefore, since you are the spitting image of him, you shall have to stand in for Cedric and pretend to be him this evening.”
Gabriel blinked and stared at the man who apparently was responsible for his presence in the world and wondered for a moment how it could be possible. The man was insane.
“You want me, your heir, to pretend to be your bastard son at his betrothal ball tonight, so that no one realises that the aforementioned bastard son is upstairs, casting up his accounts because he is suffering from the ague. Have I got that correct?”
“That sums it up perfectly.”
“It sounds like a ridiculous comedy one might see at Drury Lane.”
“What the hell do you know about Drury Lane?”
“Even the poor can go to the theatre, Pater. Do you never cast your eye down to the pit from your lofty position in your expensive box? There you shall see all sections of society mixing.”
The Duke blinked then waved a dismissive hand. “Anyway, forget that. You will be dressed and ready to accept our family and friends at eight tonight. Get bathed and dressed in the blue room. You can wear Cedric’s clothes.”
“I do not mind wearing his coats and even those ugly waistcoats, but I am afraid my ballocks shall not be touching the inside of his inexpressibles. I doubt he would want to share them with me any more than I would want to share with him. You and I have roughly the same size feet. Presumably, you can lend me shoes and stockings. But Godfrey can take me into town for some silk breeches and a shirt. It is the least you can do for both my comfort and Cedric’s.”
His father leaned back in his seat and twirled his quizzing glass in his fingers, considering Gabriel’s request.
“So, son, when did you grow a spine?”
“I always had one. Was having a spine and tattling on your bad behaviour, not the reason I’m sitting here in rags?”
“You are hardly in rags.”
“I am not in the clothing of the heir apparent to a dukedom either.”
“That was your own fault.”
“The folly of a young child. A child who has more than paid the price for his loose tongue.”
“You shall get your chance to go the ball tonight, Cinderella.”
“Very droll,” Gabriel replied, rolling his eyes.
“Fine. Godfrey shall take you to get a shirt and silk breeches and stockings. I am sure my tailor shall have some already made. You do not look oddly shaped. Are you?”
“I have had no complaints, and all seems to be in working order. I am sure the Hartsmere line shall continue when you pop off this mortal coil and I take a young bride and produce an heir. Even if I am an old man when that happens, we both know the mamas of the ton shall still queue their debutante daughters up to wed a duke.”
His father harrumphed because Gabriel’s words were true.
“Bugger off back to the kitchen until your brother is ready for you. I shall send down some suitable clothes for you to wear out with him. You only need a coat, waistcoat, gloves, hat and cravat to look decent.” The Duke looked him up and down. “Perhaps we should get you a few outfits in case this fever Cedric has lasts a few days. You have to act like Cedric.”
“I am sure I can act like a spoiled bastard son of an a
ristocrat. A dandy, a fop and an altogether unlikeable chap.”
“Well, I cannot say I am overly fond of you, son.”
“Really, Pater, I hadn’t noticed. The way you shower me with gifts and affection truly overwhelms me at times.”
“Shut your mouth or I shall give you a slap.”
Gabriel grinned. “And mess up my pretty face before the ball? How would you explain that to Cedric’s betrothed? Especially when I hit you back and you have a black eye for your troubles.” The Duke paled. “Ah yes, you had forgotten, had you not? I may live under your roof and take your orders, Your Grace, but that is simple survival. A man must eat. But I stopped being your punching bag a long time ago. What does this girl look like and what is her name? I would not want to make an arse of myself by going to her sister or not knowing anything about her.”
His father described a buxom blonde called Kathleen Roberts from America. Her father was in the ironworks and fur trades and wanted to expand into the British markets and buy an interest in English iron. A description of her willowy eighteen-year-old dark-haired sister put him at his ease. There was no way he would mistake the two sisters.
Godfrey arrived then, looking sullen and sneering in his usual foppish attire—far too much on show through his inexpressibles. Although it did make Gabriel smile. Either he was very cold, or Gabriel had been given the lion’s share of the goods in the familial trouser department.
The Duke wrote a list of clothing he felt that Gabriel may need over the next few days, should Cedric remain unwell and handed it to Godfrey along with a money pouch.
“Keep an eye on him. Make sure he steals nothing and do not make any detours. I do not want him meeting people who will realise immediately he’s not Cedric. They will not notice at the ball because of the candlelight and because we shall keep him away from Cedric’s closest friends. But out in broad daylight, it is damned obvious he is not Cedric.”
