The owner appeared through the curtain. “Ah! Lord Miles, you have arrived. I thought I heard the bell. Good. Good. All is in readiness in our private viewing room. Whenever you are ready, my lord.”
Miles tipped his hat at the proprietor. “Indeed, yes. Lady Miles, Lady Florence, after you.”
Lady Florence stepped forward and followed the proprietor through the red damask curtains, but Eleanor hung back. Slipping her arm through Miles’, she leaned forward so that she could whisper. “Miles, have you brought me here to examine books about debauching?”
“I have.”
Eleanor pursed her mouth. “Would you be disappointed if, after all, I decided I did not want to see such literature?”
Miles straightened and gazed at her, a question on his face. “Not disappointed, no, but curious as to what brought about your change of heart? Is it the presence of Lady Florence?”
She gazed into his grey eyes and with a faint smile on her mouth, murmured as she steered them toward the door, “Not her presence as much as something she said. I still wish to be skilled at debauching, but I have decided I would rather you teach me—time spent in the saddle as it were—and I do so enjoy your lessons. I’m certain you will be more entertaining than the dry pages of a book, even if it does have illustrations. Would you mind, terribly, being my tutor?”
His eyes crinkled in a smile and he drawled, “I will be delighted to be your instructor, Lady Miles.” He gazed at her thoughtfully, then asked her in a level, matter-of-fact voice—the kind one would use if inquiring whether a guest took one or two lumps of sugar in their tea, “Would you like to begin your lessons immediately?”
A thrill of delight bubbled up her spine. She tilted her head and gazed at him considering. “I believe I would.”
The bell above the door jingled as he opened it and escorted her out. They stopped briefly to send Lady Florence’s groom to her to inform her of their departure, and then Lady Florence was quite forgotten until the hour was exceptionally advanced.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“F
ather, may I please have a word with you and Mother in private?”
“Certainly, my dear. We always have time for you.” The Earl nodded at his nurse. “Will you leave us, please.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Eleanor waited until the door closed behind the young woman before coming to sit on the bed beside her father. Her mother put down the book she’d been reading and looked on with bright curiosity.
“I have been home from Epsom Downs for going on six weeks and in that time, I have done a vast amount of soul-searching. I think I finally have my thoughts in order and I want to put something before you.”
The Earl raised his eyebrows. “Does this have anything to do with your floating about three feet off the ground with an ever-present smile?”
Eleanor hummed with joy and stroked her fingers across the sheer linen fabric of her skirt, suddenly shy. “I never realized what joy could be found in the love of a husband; how it could alter one’s priorities; how it could overshadow everything that once felt important.”
“I am glad you have found such joy in your marriage. It is what your mother and I have always wished for you.”
Eleanor reached for his hand and held it in her lap. “Father, I have always been devoted to Rutledge to the exclusion of all else. This manor, the estates, its horses, have been the center, the driving purpose of my life.” She paused and looked away, suddenly reticent to bare her heart to her father, as if speaking aloud of her stunning happiness would tempt fate into snatching it away. She shook off such silly apprehension. “While I still love them dearly, since my marriage, I have found a new center with a husband who is my partner and my friend. I have discovered the thought of returning to my day to day life independent of him holds little appeal.” Her mouth twisted in a sad smile. “And above all things, I would detest it should society consider Lord Miles the lackey of his rich, eccentric wife. He has endured enough of those contemptuous insults to his honor already, and I cannot help but worry that a steady meal of such slanderous remarks would poison his feelings toward me.” She straightened and regarded her father. “He and I have not spoken of what I am about to ask of you. Miles would never encroach in such a common fashion. Please be assured, I have arrived at my request without influence and quite independent of him.” She held her father’s gaze steadily until he snorted and patted her hand.
“Continue, Eleanor. You have always known your own mind to the point of obstinacy. I am confident that has not changed. What is it you wish of me?”
“I don’t know what is possible with the laws of inheritance, but could it be arranged, somehow, to have Rutledge pass to Lord Miles? He would make an excellent steward, and I know he would not discourage but rather, welcome and solicit my continued involvement.”
Her father and mother exchanged a quick glance, before her father replied, “Do I understand you to say that you wish him to inherit Rutledge?”
“Yes.”
“Go to my desk. The top drawer. Bring the papers to me.”
Eleanor did as he asked and returned, handing him a sheaf of papers.
He flipped through them until he scanned one and grunted in satisfaction before handing it to Eleanor.
As she read, Eleanor’s eyes widened.
Concerning a Petition for Adoption
&
Exception to the Laws of Inheritance
as submitted by the 10th Earl of Rutledge
on the fourteenth day of March in the one thousand eight hundred and fourteenth year of our Lord
Be it known to all men:
It is herewith declared by majority vote of
the House of Lords that
an exception shall be made to wit:
Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh shall be designated
the true and rightful heir of
Victor Abernathy Russell,
being himself the 10th of his line to hold the title of
The Right Honorable, The Earl of Rutledge
as if he, Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh,
were the legitimate offspring of such legal union between
Victor Abernathy Russell and Amelia Constance Russell, though he, Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh bears
no consanguinity, nor affinity to Victor Abernathy Russell or Amelia Constance Russell.
As such sole heir,
Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh
is due all titles and properties, real or otherwise attendant,
as would legally and naturally convey at the death of
Victor Abernathy Russell
and upon the passing of
Victor Abernathy Russell,
Lord Miles Wrotham Everleigh shall accede to the title of
The Right Honorable, The Earl of Rutledge,
being the 11th of this line.
So say we, this the
twenty-eighth day of May
in the one thousand, eight hundred and
fourteenth year of our Lord.
She hugged the paper to her, her eyes finding her father and mother, for whatever actions her father had taken, if it concerned her, her mother would have been intimately involved. “This is everything I could want.” Her incredulous gaze returned to the page, and she read aloud the words that firmly fixed her future with Miles at Rutledge. “I can scarce believe it. It is really going to happen.”
A weight she was not even aware she bore suddenly lifted from her shoulders, and she was almost giddy with joy. Her gaze studied the glorious words on the document before her, and she frowned. Her brow wrinkled, and she cocked her head, puzzled, for when she considered the date of her marriage—a marriage of which her parents had no knowledge—the date on the petition by her father seemed…premature. “But, this submission predates…”
Her father eyed her sharply, and her mother sat more erect against her pillows.
No. Eleanor decided on the instant; she did not want to examine this discrepa
ncy too closely. She would adhere to the words of the proverb, “No man ought to look a gift horse in the mouth,” and silenced her question. “Never mind. Whenever you did this, for whatever reason you decided to take such an action, I thank you. You have made me immensely happy. A woman could not ask for better parents.”
Her mother, who’d remained silent during their entire discussion, regarded her with a hesitant smile. “My dearest child, we acted only to secure your future and your happiness.”
Notes of apology threaded her voice, and Eleanor wondered what it was her mother thought to apologize for. But, while she wondered, her happiness on this day, at this moment, was impenetrable. Leaning forward, Eleanor kissed her father’s cheek. “Does Lord Miles know of this?”
Her mother cleared her throat, but her father glanced at his wife with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and responded, “He has not seen this document, no.”
Eleanor again dismissed the thought that there was more left unsaid than said in this interchange, but she would leave them to their secrets. She did not want to know. A heady feeling of anticipation built in her breast. “May I be the first to tell him?”
The old gentleman leaned back into his pillows and closed his eyes. A slight smile lingered on his mouth. “Be off with you, girl. Go find your lord and master and give him your news. Though I caution you, he may not greet such a burden—and Rutledge is a burden—with the enthusiasm with which you embrace it.”
Heart brimming with excitement and joy, Eleanor flew out the door, only pausing to close it gently. She trotted down the stairs with unseemly haste and chirped a greeting at Walters who bore a tray of luncheon up the stairs to her father and mother. He paused, and his head followed her as she flew down the remaining steps. She reached the card room where she knew Miles to be engaged with Baron Stanton. Both men stood when she entered the room, and she made haste to Miles, placing a hand in the crook of his elbow. She smiled across the card table at Baron Stanton. “Please forgive me for interrupting your play, but I must speak with my husband on a matter of some import.”
“Of course, Lady Miles. Perhaps this interruption will change my luck. As usual, your husband’s skill at cards far exceeds mine.”
“You are too kind, Baron Stanton.”
Meeting all Miles’ inquiries with mischievous silence, Eleanor led her mystified husband to their apartments. Vibrating with excitement, she thrust the legal document into his hands. “Read this,” and then studied his face diligently for his reaction.
He flicked a glance at her, a frown creasing his brow before his gaze fell to the paper. His eyebrows rose and a look she could not interpret crossed his face. When finished, he rolled the document tightly and tapped it against his muscled thigh, all the while studying her with an inscrutable expression. He said nothing, nor gave any indication words would ever be forthcoming.
It was hardly the reaction she’d expected, and after waiting what she considered an inordinate amount of time, at least thirty seconds, she demanded, “Well? What do you think?”
A hint of caution tinted his slow words. “That depends entirely upon how you feel about it.”
She beamed. “I could not be happier.”
His eyes warmed, and he pulled her into his arms. “Then you don’t mind that I will become the Eleventh Earl of Rutledge…that the governance of this vast estate will not come to you? You don’t fear I will become autocratic, dictatorial, and render your life one of suppression and misery?”
She shook her head. “I would never have inherited. My previous hope was to keep Rutledge intact during my lifetime, and that was chancy, at best. Now, my soul can truly be at ease for I will never have to leave my beloved home, and I cannot think of a man more fitting to be the master of Rutledge than the master of my heart.”
“And the other?”
Her face softened with love. “I have every confidence you will remain the man you have repeatedly demonstrated you are.” She grinned. “I will revel in my unwomanly independence and behave with scandalous freedom secure in the knowledge I have your loving support.”
The paper fell to the floor, and with an inarticulate sound, he cupped her head in his hands and kissed her. Taking a deep breath, he drew back a hand’s width. “Dearest, I have something I wish to give you. This seems as propitious a time as any.”
She wrinkled her forehead in question as he dropped his hands.
“Stand here and don’t move.” He crossed the room to an escritoire. From one of the drawers, he removed something from a small, black box. He turned and approached her, the object concealed in his closed hand.
She watched with puzzlement as he dropped to one knee before her.
“Lady Eleanor Constance, will you be my future countess? Will you marry me?”
Bemused and baffled, Eleanor murmured with a soft laugh. “I have already married you.”
“Too many tender milestones that should mark a woman’s life are sorely lacking from yours, but a proposal of marriage will not be one of them. Should our children ever ask, I want you to be able to freely respond that their besotted father proposed to their mother on bended knee and begged for the honor of her hand. Please, my dearest heart, I beg you. Will you marry me?”
Her smile wobbled. “Then, yes…of course, yes.” She quite spoiled the solemnity of the occasion by sniffling and dabbing at her eyes with the back of her wrist.
Miles rose to his feet and placed a gold ring with a large central ruby surrounded by sapphires and diamonds on her finger. “My father gave this ring to my mother on the occasion of their marriage.”
“Oh, Miles... it is stunning, but I cannot accept your mother’s wedding ring. It must hold such cherished memories for her.”
“Mother is the one who gave it to me and expressed the desire that I give it to the woman I loved, specifically, that I give it to you. She knew my heart long before I did.”
“You have a very wise mother.”
“Agreed.”
“Almost as wise as my father.”
“Hmm.” Miles considered her with an unfathomable expression, a faint smile pulling up one corner of his mouth. His enigmatic examination was protracted as if some debate occurred within him and her curiosity stirred.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
He shook his head with a rueful snort then his mouth distracted her with a tender kiss that, in her opinion, was far too brief.
When he pulled back, she made a sound of complaint. “I want a more lengthy kiss...” She sighed. “…but I suppose we must get back to our guests. Lady Florence and Lady Stanton will tease that I’ve abandoned them again.”
With a quiet chuckle, Miles continued to undo the small buttons at the top of her bodice. “I want far more from you than simple kisses...and our guests can wait.”
His nurse excused herself from the Earl’s room with a comment about getting another bottle of his tonic. The door closed with a quiet click as she exited.
From a freshly plumped pillow, the Countess of Rutledge gazed with jubilation at her earl who lay beside her in his bed. “We’ve done it, Rutledge. I believe we have secured Eleanor’s happiness.”
Her beloved opened one eye and peered at her before he grunted and settled more deeply into his covers.
“Do you suppose Lord Miles will ever tell her about our part—our plots and schemes?”
“He said he would not. I judge him a man of his word.”
“Good, though I would not put it past Eleanor to winkle it out for herself. She is quite clever that way, a trait inherited from her sire, no doubt.” She lay her head back into her pillow and closed her eyes with a happy sigh. Silence fell in the room. Briefly. “Rutledge?”
A delayed grunt sounded from the other bed.
She wiggled upright and peered in the direction of her husband. “I have it in mind to see our first grandchild into the world. It would cast a pall over my happiness were you not at my side for this auspicious event. Will you please try not to d
ie just yet?”
“As much as I like to make you happy, Lady Rutledge, while my spirit is willing, this mortal flesh grows weary and longs for its maker.”
“You shouldn’t have to wait terribly long,” she pleaded softly.
A lengthy silence followed her statement broken by a long-suffering sigh.
“Would you like to share the source of your prognostication with your ignorant spouse?”
“I initiated an enlightening conversation with Conway…you know, Eleanor’s personal maid, wherein I asked her some specific, intimate questions regarding Eleanor.” Lady Rutledge settled into her pillows with a happy hum. “I doubt even Eleanor realizes, but if all goes well, our first grandchild should arrive sometime next April. I must pen a note to Julia and advise her of our good news. Just seven more months, Rutledge. Oh, and do act surprised when Eleanor tells us.”
A prolonged, weary sigh followed her imperative. “As I have ever done, my Countess, I will strive to please you in all things.”
“Thank you, Rutledge.”
“You are welcome, my love.”
The End
Epilogue
T
he entire house party from Rutledge, Baron Stanton and his wife, Lady Florence Lloyd-Smythe, Lord Edmund and she and Miles, had traveled to Fairwood so that Miles could show the baron his estate. Several days after their arrival, very early on a soft, sun-kissed, late-summer morning—far too early to expect their guests to arise, Eleanor stood next to her husband, their arms crossed on the top rail of the pasture fence and watched the young horses gamboling in the green field beside their mothers. Some of the mares were already heavy with their next foal. She considered the mares with a particular sense of fondness, feeling some kinship with them as she, too, shared their condition. Initially, she’d put her queasy stomach and dragging fatigue down to over-exertion and too much rich food, but lately, she’d begun to suspect another reason altogether. Her last monthly had never arrived—nor the one before that—though she’d not taken note of their absence until recently. She’d been…preoccupied.
A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Page 24
