The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Evangeline blinked, somewhat surprised by the question. “Well,” she hedged a moment. “The description of Lord Ballantine is as I would expect a man to describe him. There is no mention as to whether or not he is handsome, nor anything about the color of his eyes or the shape of his nose. If he has a square jaw or a strong chin. There’s also no description of his clothing. The color. The cut. Whether or not it’s made of quality fabrics. Does he wear boots or shoes? Are they shined?

  “Had a woman written this, I’m quite certain those details would have been described in great detail,” she explained with a nod. “Of course, I could be wrong,” she added with a shrug, wondering at the baron’s quizzical expression as she gave him her list of reasons.

  Straightening on the bench, Jeffrey regarded Evangeline for a moment. No, the lady couldn’t be wrong. She wasn’t wrong. And he rather doubted she was often wrong about anything. “And the description of Miss Porterhouse?” he asked, anxious to hear her take on the heroine of the story.

  At his query, Evangeline suddenly seemed at a loss. “I have not met a woman quite like her whilst paying calls. Nor did I have any classmates who were like her in character,” she answered carefully, her head shaking a bit.

  “Classmates?” Jeffrey repeated, his brow furrowing.

  Evangeline nodded. “I attended Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School,” she said. “For three years.”

  “Ah,” Jeffrey answered, folding his arms across his chest. The finishing school was favored by aristocratic families who wished to have their daughters learn how to speak French, dance, draw and paint, play piano forté, and sew. “So, you probably attended with other young ladies of gentle breeding,” he decided, thinking the girls from Warwick’s probably didn’t plan practical jokes or pull pranks when they weren’t in class. At least, not like the ones he’d been guilty of at Eton and Cambridge.

  Nodding, Evangeline said, “Most of my classmates are married now. And my experience with Society events is still rather limited, so perhaps there are women like Miss Porterhouse, and I just haven’t yet met them.”

  Jeffrey gave her a sideways glance. “Are you sure you are not like Miss Porterhouse?” he gently teased, wondering too late why he wished she were.

  Evangeline’s eyes widened in shock. “I most certainly am nothing like Geraldine,” she said, her emphatic response causing Jeffrey to raise a brow. “Even if they were the best of friends when they were children, she was far too forward with Lord Ballantine,” she argued. “I don’t know how she expects to find a suitable match when her reputation is already in question. Perhaps we’ll learn if she truly is ruined, for I rather doubt this is her first time being so forward with a member of your sex.”

  His eyebrows furrowing so a fold of skin formed between them, Jeffrey shook his head. “What ... what makes you say that?”

  Shrugging one shoulder, Evangeline lowered her voice before saying, “If she is so forward with Lord Ballantine, she is no doubt that way with other gentlemen,” she reasoned quickly, “Which means she is probably a target of gossip. Ballantine has heard she may have been intimate with as many as three gentlemen. I cannot believe he heard it directly from the guilty parties involved, which means he heard it in the form of gossip.”

  Jeffrey considered her words for a long time before he nodded, realizing any man who came into contact with a character like Geraldine Porterhouse would talk about her. “Men are the worst gossips,” he said in agreement.

  It was Evangeline’s turn to be shocked. “They are?” she asked in surprise. Lord Sommers obviously hasn’t been in a Mayfair parlor at ten o’clock in the morning!

  Suppressing the urge to laugh at Evangeline, Jeffrey merely nodded. And then he watched as her expression changed from one of astonishment to one of concern. “What is it?” he wondered.

  Evangeline shook her head. “I was just wondering what was being said ... about me, is all,” she whispered, a flush of pink coloring her face. “If anything,” she added quickly, not wanting to suggest there was any reason she might be a source of gossip.

  Recognizing her look for what it was, Jeffrey leaned in and said, “I have not heard a single offensive word spoken about you.” He could have claimed he hadn’t heard a single word of anything about her, but that would be a bald-faced lie. Most of what he had heard had more to do with the pity people felt for her – pity because the poor chit was stuck with Lord Everly, her inattentive and mostly-absent brother, as a protector. And there were those who referred to her as a bluestocking, but he didn’t find the term particularly offensive. What was wrong with a woman who was educated? he often wondered. Wouldn’t a man appreciate being able to speak on subjects other than the latest gossip and the fashions from France over breakfast with his wife?

  I would, he thought with a sigh.

  He glanced in her direction and was surprised at the expression she showed. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I find it very difficult to believe you,” Evangeline stated, determined to make sure the baron understood he wasn’t allowed to lie to her. “That is, unless you spend most of your time in your apartments and not out among the ton.”

  Jeffrey frowned, a bit offended that she thought he lived in housing meant for a bachelor rather than in the house in Cavendish Square he had inherited from his father. His frown deepened when he realized she was accusing him. “Are you calling me a liar, Lady Evangeline?” he challenged in response, deciding he really was offended. How dare she?

  Evangeline’s brows arched up and then settled back down to their normal placement. “Not exactly,” she answered finally. “Yes,” she said after another pause.

  Jeffrey blinked. And then he burst out laughing. “I, my lady, do not find the term ‘bluestocking’ an offensive word when describing the attributes of a lady,” he said in his own defense.

  Bluestocking!

  There it was. The word she’d been dreading. The term she had suspected was being used to describe her. And his flippant statement hadn’t made the word any less palatable.

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Evangeline stared at the baron for a long time. She had known the ton had been saying things about her – about her tendency to read too much – and now the moniker of ‘bluestocking’ had been applied to her. She would never be able to lose the label; even if she claimed to be spending her days doing embroidery – which is exactly what she did most days – or drawing silhouettes or painting or playing piano-forté – she would never be anything but a bluestocking to those in the ton.

  Jeffrey suddenly remembered her comment about staying in his apartments and thought it best to clear up that matter as well. “And I own a house in Cavendish Square, my lady. Although I spend my nights and mornings there, I spend far more time among my peers,” he said gently.

  Still miffed at the suggestion she was a bluestocking, Evangeline straightened suddenly. “I must go,” she said, not wanting to spend another minute with a member of the aristocracy.

  “My lady?” Jeffrey replied, concern evident in his voice.

  “I promised Lady Samantha I would pay a call this morning,” she said, suddenly not able to make eye contact with the baron.

  “Of course.” Jeffrey stood up and offered her his hand. Evangeline stared at it for a full second before placing her own gloved hand in his. She stood up, making sure the book ended up in the crook of her other arm. “Good day, Lord Sommers,” she said as she gave him a curtsy.

  Jeffrey felt a bit of panic. He didn’t want her to take her leave of him, at least, not yet. “May I escort you to Lady Samantha’s?” he offered suddenly. “Fitzsimmons Manor is on my way,” he lied. Actually, Lord Chamberlain’s house was only on his way if he walked two extra miles and made at least three turns getting home from there.

  Evangeline gave her a maid a glance. “I think not, Lord Sommers. I should hate to think of
the gossip our jaunt would elicit.”

  Jeffrey had to suppress the urge to wince at her comment. She was right, of course. Even with her maid following them, there would be someone who would claim there was something illicit going on between the two of them. An affaire.

  A sense of disappointment settled over the baron before he remembered the book. “Then, when can we next meet?” he asked, pointing to the book. “To read?”

  A rather pleasant shiver traveled down Evangeline’s spine as she considered Lord Sommers’ question. He seemed so eager! “What about tomorrow? In the middle of Grosvenor Square?” she suggested. “If the weather is fine,” she amended.

  Jeffrey nodded. “Ten o’clock?” he offered.

  Evangeline nodded. “Ten o’clock.”

  Jeffrey was about to allow her to leave when he considered the unpredictable British climate. “And if the weather is not fine?” he wondered suddenly. “What then?”

  The earl’s sister considered some options. Although it wasn’t particularly proper for Lord Sommers to call on her, the visit might generate some gossip that could work in her favor. Imagine the on-dit suggesting Lady Evangeline was being visited by a man whilst her brother was still abroad! What’s the worst that could happen? That she’d be ruined? It would serve my brother right for having stayed away so long, she thought spitefully.

  A shiver of excitement had her holding her breath lest Jeffrey hear her sudden gasp. “The library at Rosemount House,” she said with a curt nod, feeling rather bold just then. “We can have tea and biscuits whilst we read.”

  Jeffrey didn’t hide his surprise at her suggestion. And he suddenly found himself hoping for inclement weather.

  Days and days of it.

  “Very good, my lady,” he said as he reached for her hand. His lips brushed over her gloved knuckles before he straightened. “I look forward to tomorrow, and to Chapter Two,” he added. “Promise me you won’t read ahead,” he ordered with a cocked eyebrow.

  Evangeline wondered if the baron expected a response, but she replied with, “I promise I will not,” before giving him a curtsy.

  Giving her a deep bow, Jeffrey took his leave of Evangeline and her maid and headed back toward the bookshop.

  He intended to have a word with Mr. Pritchard about the limited availability of his book.

  One copy, indeed!

  Chapter 8

  On Scandalous Women and Books

  Evangeline watched the baron take his leave of the square before opening her parasol. She regarded her maid for a moment. “Did I shock you, Annabelle?” she asked with a quirked eyebrow, not intending her question to be taken seriously by the maid.

  Annabelle regarded her mistress for a moment. “A bit, my lady,” she admitted as she moved to walk alongside Evangeline. “But I’ve been thinking it was high time you did.”

  Evangeline spun around, a look of shock on her face. She was about to scold the maid, but then she caught the teasing gleam in Annabelle’s eyes. Having been her maid since Evangeline was old enough to have a lady’s maid, Annabelle was usually quite proper. A few years older than Evangeline, she often confessed she would have liked to spend more time dressing her mistress for soirées and balls and musicales rather than for paying calls on a few young matrons and unmarried ladies of the ton or for an occasional shopping trip. She had said just the week before that she thought Evangeline would be a married woman by now.

  Perhaps it’s time I shocked everyone.

  Or, perhaps just some of my acquaintances, Evangeline considered.

  Or maybe just Lord Sommers.

  Evangeline bit her lip as she realized she might have a bit to learn from Geraldine Porterhouse. She quickened her step as she hurried from the square.

  Jeffrey found the bookshop’s manager sifting through a pile of books just inside the entrance to The Temple of the Muses. The man seemed surprised to see him back in the shop. “Lord Sommers?” he said with a quick bow. “I thought I saw you leave earlier ...”

  “I escorted Lady Evangeline into the square so that she might begin reading her copy of The Story of a Baron,” he interrupted with a huff. “Was that truly your only copy of the book?” he asked with such vehemence that Mr. Pritchard felt it necessary to take a step back.

  “Well, it was the only copy that made it to the third floor this morning,” Mr. Pritchard answered carefully. The manager waved toward a stack of books to his right. “Until just a few moments ago, I hadn’t had a chance to unpack the rest of the shipment.”

  Jeffrey’s eyes followed to where Mr. Pritchard’s finger pointed. At least ten copies of The Story of a Baron were neatly stacked one atop another. Holding his breath a moment, at once feeling a great deal of pride before suddenly feeling a great deal of panic, Jeffrey shook his head. He could buy a copy, of course. Then he wouldn’t have to read the book with Lady Evangeline.

  A sense of immense disappointment settled over him. He wanted to read the book with her. Wanted her honest opinion. Wanted to have an excuse to sit next to her for a time. Every day, until they finished reading the book.

  If he bought just the one copy, though, that would leave the remaining copies available for sale. Should Lady Evangeline discover someone else had the book, or if she discovered them on the shelves at the Temple of the Muses during her next visit, she might inform him and then rescind her offer of allowing him to read her copy with her.

  “I’ll take all of them,” Jeffrey said as reached into his waist coat pocket for his purse. “And can you pack them up and deliver them to Sommers Place?” he added as he dumped a pile of silver from the purse into his hand and began counting.

  “All of the them, my lord?” Mr. Pritchard asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “But .. But I thought you ...”

  “All of them, Mr. Pritchard,” Jeffrey repeated. “And hide them. I shouldn’t want anyone else getting a hold of a copy until ... until next week at the earliest,” he added as he considered how long it might take him and Evangeline to read the entire book.

  Still a bit surprised by the baron’s request, Mr. Pritchard nodded and took the money from Jeffrey. “Very good, my lord,” he agreed with a bow, thinking perhaps the baron intended to single-handedly make his book a bestseller.

  Having nearly emptied his purse to pay for all the books, Jeffrey felt a pang of panic. He had written the book with the intention of enriching his barony’s coffers, and now he had just spent over five pounds buying up every copy the store had in stock!

  He could only hope Mr. Pritchard would see fit to order more of the books for delivery next week. Many more.

  Chapter 9

  Tea for Two, Tea for Three

  Having walked the perimeter of Finsbury Square three times, the Earl of Torrington was about to begin a fourth revolution when he was suddenly aware that things had changed on the park bench that held Lady Evangeline and Lord Sommers.

  The two had been quiet and motionless for nearly thirty minutes, their heads bent over the book they were apparently reading. And now, suddenly, Lord Sommers was up and on his way toward the Temple of the Muses, no doubt to buy another copy of the book, and Evangeline was up and making her way out of the square and off in the direction of Park Lane – with Lord Sommers’ book!

  Despite the two sitting rather close together on the park bench, Grandby found their time together rather sedate. At no point had the baron attempted to take advantage of the earl’s sister, and neither had Evangeline attempted to make a rake of Jeffrey Althorpe.

  Grandby couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. Then he chided himself. Some godfather I am.

  He lifted an arm to wave at his driver, glad he’d had the black-lacquered coach remain in the square earlier that morning. Checking the time on his Breguet chronometer, he realized if he left the square right away, he could be ho
me in time to have tea with his wife. Still a newlywed, the Earl of Torrington found the thought of having tea with Adele rather exciting.

  And just a bit naughty.

  As Evangeline made her way toward the Fitzsimmons’ house, she couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Sommers was anything like the baron described in the book. Matthew Winters seemed like an honorable man. His reaction to Geraldine could be expected, she supposed, given the woman was described as beautiful. And with her standing in a beam of light in the Palace of Prose, of course she would appear angelic.

  Evangeline had half a mind to revisit the Temple of the Muses, climb to the top level of the shop, and stand under the skylight just to discover if she, too, could appear angelic. But if she did, whom would she query as to her appearance? She had to grin as she imagined her maid rolling her eyes at the odd request. Perhaps if she stood there long enough, a man of Lord Ballantine’s ilk would discover her, fall in love with her, and ask for her hand in marriage.

  The thought brought a sudden catch in her throat, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. How many times had she hoped to be married by this time in her life? To have her own household? To be a wife? A mother? Probably every day for the past couple of years. If her brother didn’t see to a suitable match when he returned to England later that week, or at least arrange for a sponsor or chaperone to accompany her to this Season’s events, she would miss another opportunity to meet the eligible men of the ton – and be met by them. At her age, she simply couldn’t afford another Season lost because she lacked an escort.

  Feeling ever more distressed, Evangeline walked faster whilst Annabelle rushed to keep up. “My lady,” the maid managed to get out before her breath was gone. She inhaled sharply, wishing her mistress would slow down just a bit. A woman of her modest height didn’t have a chance when chasing a woman of Lady Evangeline’s height and long legs.