Any Groom Will Do

by Charis Michaels

  “Castle guard,” scoffed Archibald. “What castle guard?”

  “The tenants. I would not doubt their devotion to protecting the dowager countess and my sisters, if I were you. Since my closure of the Caldera mines, the castle guard is the only paying job on the property. They will take their jobs very seriously.

  “Unless you plan to lay siege to this castle,” Cassin said, “you may put Caldera and the potential of its coal out of your mind. Go sniff around the death-trap operation of someone else. These lands are not for sale at any price. Caldera belongs to me. I am the earl.”

  “Not if you cock up your toes on some God-forsaken island—”

  “I’m an active man in the prime of my life,” Cassin cut in, “and I lift full barrels over my head a hundred times a day. I would put more stock in your own corpulent, brandy-soaked demise than mine, Uncle. This discussion is over. I’ve made myself perfectly clear. There is nothing more to be said.”

  Archibald was breathing heavily now, his wheezy gasps whistling through his thick mustache. He looked around, glaring at Willow, who watched from the bottom step. He looked to Cassin’s sisters and mother, who had collected in the great hall.

  Cassin thought for a moment that he might threaten or refuse him again, but he merely grumbled to himself, threw up his hands, and stomped back up the stairwell, shouting for his valet.

  Cassin watched him go. “I should have done that a long time ago,” he said, clipping down the steps to Willow.

  “He wanted to see how far he could push,” she said. “And now he knows.”

  “I can think of someone else who tested the outer limits of my control. And lost.”

  “Thank God,” she said softly. She reached out one hand and touched him on the chest—a test to see if he was still there. He covered her hand with his own. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

  She beamed at him, her blue-green eyes twinkling. “I’ve had an idea.”

  Cassin cocked his head. “This sounds expensive.”

  “How would you feel about opening up some parts of Caldera to very rich patrons as a beautiful, historic hotel?”

  Words escaped him. Hotel was the last thing he expected her to say.

  “You have ancient ruins and an expert on hand to lecture about them.” She pointed to Ruth. “You have an estate full of tenants who want real work of which they can be proud. And you have a castle”—she gestured at ceiling—“in relatively good repair, with plenty of guest rooms, healing waters in an authentic bathhouse, a showplace garden, and a wife with a million ideas about how to make all of it look beautiful and distinctive. But Cassin, this is what wealthy guests from London want.”

  “How will these wealthy guests discover our lavish, beautiful, and distinctive castle?” he asked, trying to fight back a smile.

  “Advertisements,” she said.

  He laughed. “Bloody hell, not again.”

  “How lucky for you I am an expert at writing the most persuasive adverts, and they have been known to entice the least distractible and most unyielding of men.”

  “Allow me to let you in on a little secret, darling; it was not the writing that did it.”

  Willow laughed. “It brought you to Leland Park, didn’t it?”

  “Oh, you mean the vagueness and half truths? Perhaps. But these are not the reasons I remained.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “We’ll not need any vagueness when we describe Caldera. The authentic beauty of the castle cannot be overstated. The advertisement will practically write itself. Then we’ll print it in the London papers and post it in exclusive districts like Belgravia and Mayfair. We can challenge the city of Bath for its title as England’s premier restorative holiday retreat.” She paused, smiling at her ambition. “Why not?”

  “I can think of a dozen reasons,” he said, but the words came out slowly, haltingly. He took her into his arms. “If I know you, there are answers for them all.” He kissed her deeply while his mothers and sisters looked on.

  In her ear, he whispered, “I’ve done wilder things and won in the end, haven’t I? Why the bloody hell not?”

  EPILOGUE

  Five years later . . .

  In the summer of 1836, Lord Brent and Lady Willow Cassin welcomed the king and queen of England to Caldera Castle.

  His Majesty King William IV and Her Royal Highness Queen Adelaide, along with a retinue of courtiers and five of the king’s illegitimate daughters, made the journey to soothe the king’s troublesome joint pain in Caldera’s Roman baths. After two years of society’s enthusiastic talk about the castle, they also came to see what all the fuss was about.

  Willow could not have been more pleased. Her goal for the refurbished Caldera Castle had been regal and majestic, with a colorful dash of drama and magic thrown in. The result seemed to please even the most discerning guests. Some came to take the waters, others would come to explore the Roman ruins, but still others, she knew, would thrill to simply spend a few nights in a romantic stone castle, with bright pennants snapping from the turrets and a cavernous great hall. Never did she dream that the king and queen, both in full possession of their own romantic castles, would be curious about the stunning but small (if she was honest) Yorkshire estate. But certainly she did not complain.

  The trickle of curious local gentry who patronized the castle in the early days had eventually turned into a steady stream of wealthy patrons from all over England; London especially, with a few guests traveling from the world abroad. Perhaps it was only a matter of time until they were patronized by the king and queen.

  “Willow, Willow, Willow,” called Cassin’s youngest sister Marietta, skidding into the castle library in the family wing. Willow, Ruth, Cassin, and his middle sister, Violet, were bent over a checklist, going over last-minute protocol for the royal visit.

  Willow smiled at her sister-in-law. “Oh, look at you, Marietta; how lovely. Your mother and I were right about the green dress.”

  “The dress is pretty,” conceded Marietta, “but what about my hair?”

  Willow gave her a dismissive wave. “Perry will do everyone’s hair.”

  Marietta looked incredulous and began to tick off Perry’s current burden. “Mama’s headdress, Juliana’s bun, Violet’s chignon, Ruth’s funny hat, and your . . . your . . . ” She crinkled her nose. “It’s far too much, even for Perry,” she exclaimed.

  “No amount of hair is too much for Perry, I assure you. Seek her out upstairs, and ask her to begin.”

  Marietta began backing away. “But when will King William arrive?”

  “We won’t know until the Royal Guard sends a herald ahead,” Cassin sighed, “a condition that has already been explained to you. It’s impossible to say, exactly. Go away before we give you a job to do.”

  Marietta made a face and then darted away.

  The role the family played in Caldera’s new identity had been strange to navigate. Even Cassin complained that he was the only earl in England who also worked as an innkeeper. In truth, the finances of managing the hotel had appealed to him, and inviting curious outsiders into his beloved Caldera was an unexpected source of pride. It did not hurt that Willow’s restoration of the castle took his breath away. The grandeur of the great hall, combined with Willow’s signature dash of whimsy and quirk, made a dazzling impression on every guest. He was eager to share the majestic splendor of his home.

  And while two of his sisters, Marietta and Juliana, showed no particular interest in the day-to-day running of the hotel, his sister Violet had been almost immediately drawn in. Before they could hire a steward to oversee bookings and guest relations, Violet stepped up to prove her own proficiency at soothing rumpled feathers and making certain every guest received unrivaled service.

  This, taken with Ruth’s popular guided tours and lectures about Caldera’s Roman ruins, meant the title of “innkeeper” was well worth any perceived humility. Meanwhile, Cassin’s mother, along with Juliana and Marietta, carried on very much as the
y always had in the family wing, only they enjoyed a steady stream of London visitors, which now included the king and queen.

  “I’ve prepared a brief and lengthy version of all of my lectures and walks,” Ruth said, pulling Cassin’s and Willow’s attention back to the list. “It’s impossible to guess what may interest the king and queen or what their courtiers may want, but I can make changes as needed.” She bit her lip. “I do hope they’ll wish to sit in on at least one lecture.”

  “I will encourage them,” Violet assured her. “His Majesty was a military man before he became king; surely he will be interested in the conquering Romans.”

  “One thing is certain,” Willow cut in. “They will all wish to take the waters. I’ve had the bathhouse cleaned ahead of schedule, so the mosaic and pools will appear second to none.”

  Perhaps the most satisfying part of transforming the castle into a resort was the countless jobs provided for tenants. Mining coal was soon forgotten when Cassin provided steady, well-compensated work for bathhouse attendants and repairmen, farmers to grow food for the lavish resort menu, and kitchen staff to prepare it. The resort required countless footmen, grooms, stable hands, laundresses, maids, porters, and even nursery maids. Instead of risking their lives in the underground danger of damp coal mines, the tenants now worked together to share Caldera with the world.

  “I think that just about covers it,” Cassin said, remounting his pen. “Violet, Ruth, can you excuse Willow and me for a moment?”

  The two women hurried away, invigorated by the task of hosting the monarch. When they were gone, Willow said, “I still can’t believe how well Violet has taken to managing the staff and guests.”

  “I can,” said Cassin, dropping into his chair. He held out his hand to her. “She was always bright and bossy. Not unlike someone else I know.”

  Willow narrowed her eyes playfully and allowed him to tug her into his lap.

  “There are worse qualities in a woman than cleverness and leadership.” She wrapped her hands around his neck and slid her fingers into the back of his cravat.

  “I would not have it any other way,” he said. “But may I ask you something?”

  “No, you may not seek out your uncle and gloat about receiving the king.”

  Cassin made a disgusted sound. “Good lord, it was never that. The less said to him, the better.”

  After the embarrassing work of dismantling the joint-stock company, Archibald had eventually allowed his avarice for Caldera to die away. The tenants were gainfully employed in the castle and no longer listened to his rants, and the success of the hotel could not be denied.

  The estate would still go to one of Archibald’s sons upon Cassin’s death; there was no getting around that fact. But as soon as Cassin saw the potential of Willow’s idea, he made it his goal to build Caldera Castle into the most prestigious, highly coveted resort in all of England. Before his eventual death, Cassin hoped to have built Caldera into such a money-making, world-class institution that no cousin would dare shut it down. Considering its success, he was well on his way. In the meantime, Cassin had used surplus income from the guano venture to develop property elsewhere in Yorkshire that would belong to him, free and clear. After his death, that estate could be a home to any remaining dependent who found fault with the subsequent Earls of Cassin.

  But now Willow stilled her hands on his neck and frowned. “If it’s not Archibald, what do you want to ask?”

  “I’m simply wondering what my diligent wife will do after the royal visit,” he said.

  “Collapse?” Willow laughed. “Take a holiday at someone else’s hotel? What do you mean?”

  “It’s merely that you’ve done everything you set out to do when you redesigned the castle. The property is breathtaking, and the hotel is, obviously, a success. I worry you might grow cagey or bored, now that it’s all finished, without new projects to occupy that clever, bossy mind of yours.”

  “Oh, that . . . ”

  “I’ll not have you hanging new advertisements because you’ve grown weary of redecorating the rooms of Caldera, as you did with Leland Park.”

  Willow chuckled and cinched her arms tightly around his neck, resting her chin on his shoulder. “How could I ever grow bored or weary around this lot?” she whispered into his ear. “Besides, there is always some creative new improvement to be done. You have charged me with maintaining a five-hundred-year-old castle.”

  “I’m serious, Willow,” he said, although his voice broke because she had begun to slowly nibble on his ear.

  “Please don’t worry about me,” she said, snuggling closer. Cassin made a growling noise and scooped her more tightly into his lap. “We are in London often enough that I might find an interesting project to work on here or there. There is one I have been eyeing for quite some time. If only I had a way to introduce myself to the future owners and demonstrate my talents.”

  “Is that right?” he mumbled, seeking out her mouth. “And what project is that?”

  “Just a small residence currently under construction.” She kissed him. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s called Buckingham Palace.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Was guano really a thing in the nineteenth century?

  Yes, in fact it was. As I contemplated the great, unfinanced venture on which the heroes of this series would embark, it was important to me that they not buy or sell any goods that were touched by the slave trade, which was still rampant throughout the world in the mid-nineteenth century.

  This posed a real challenge, as nearly every top import to England in the 1830s was the result, in part or entirely, of slave labor. However, research consistently pointed to the real-life importation of guano—or, as the story describes it, petrified bird droppings that would be harvested and ground into fertilizer. As it turned out, guano was a wildly profitable venture that utilized paid labor.

  The more I looked at this practice, the more I learned about the so-called “guano barons” of the day. These were the enterprising sailors and merchants who moved quickly upon the discovery of guano as fertilizer and made millions of pounds importing it to England and around the world. In fact, the richest non-landed-gentry family in England in the mid-nineteenth century made its fortune importing guano from South America.

  In the end, the history of guano and other elements of guano mining matched the circumstances of my story so well that I was convinced I could find no better endeavor for Cassin and his partners.

  For the purposes of this series, I have put the men’s venture at what would have been the very beginning of the guano boom around the world. Guano mining and exportation would not reach its peak until the 1840s and then, alas, would peter out by the 1870s in favor of the next miracle fertilizer, which was chemically manufactured and borne of the Industrial Revolution.

  I employed dramatic license when Cassin wrote of the men’s hiring practices, which included translators, cooks, and a medic for injuries. As we’re all aware, the notion of healthy food for common laborers and workplace safety is a late-twentieth-century notion. And honestly, most of the real-life guano miners were indentured servants from China or the Philippians. Even so, my sympathetic heroes made a point of hiring diligent, honest, free men and compensating them well.

  ***

  Why has Barbadoes been consistently misspelled?

  The island now known as Barbados, which was a major English stronghold in the British West Indies, was spelled with an extra e in 1831, so I have included that spelling in this book. Although most of the guano islands in the actual guano boom were in the Pacific Ocean or on the Pacific side of South America, some Caribbean islands did boast harvestable guano and were mined for it. I placed New Pixham within the easiest possible reach of the Royal Mail and the men sailing back and forth.

  ***

  Was Belgravia really the up-and-coming ’hood of 1830s London?

  Belgravia, which is still one of London’s most posh addresses today, was constructed as a planned
community from a drained marsh on the southwest corner of London, beginning in the 1820s.

  ***

  Roman baths in Yorkshire?

  Roman conquerors occupied modern England for almost four hundred years, beginning in AD 43. They left behind lasting influences, such as roads that are still used today, as well as sanitation and sewage systems. Also left behind were relics and ruins, such as the ones dear, departed Felix Caulder and his young wife, Ruth, were excavating in Yorkshire, and where Roman ruins can still be found today. Among these ruins, Felix and Ruth would have recovered tools, pottery, and weapons, certainly, but also homes, amphitheaters, and bathhouses like the one in Caldera’s rear garden.

  ***

  Could Caldera really be turned into a hotel?

  The real-life village of Harrogate, in Yorkshire, rose to prominence in the mid-nineteenth century as a popular spa town and vacation spot for well-heeled Londoners. Known for its healing waters, natural hot springs, and Roman-style bathhouses, my research showed that, after the invention of the railroad, multiple trains departed London each day to bring wealthy holiday seekers to take the waters in Harrogate. Willow’s 1831 idea to open a hotel is consistent with the many real-life hotels that existed (and still exist to this day) in Harrogate. Although there is no record of the monarch traveling to Harrogate, King William did holiday in Brighton on occasion, so here I have invoked dramatic license. King William IV died the year after the date of this book’s epilogue, so his health might have compelled him to take the healing waters. His passing, by the way, made way for the crowning of his niece, Queen Victoria, who would move into the newly renovated Buckingham Palace.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Much of the research I do as I write commercial romance does not make it to the page—a trade-off I make for pacing. The background information, however, is in my notes and my consciousness, and I hope a dimensional sense of authenticity can be found in the narrative. I am so grateful for the people who help inform this research with their expertise. In this book, the dazzling design talent of my dear friend Sarah helped shape Lady Willow’s passion for beauty and her discerning eye. My horticulturist father helped me get a handle on how and why guano swept the world as revolutionary fertilizer of the time, and I have the notes on the nitrogen, phosphate, and potassium content of guano to prove it. My doctor friend Barbara helped assign the correct infection that might render a young girl barren in the nineteenth century.