The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Was there blood?”

  He shook his head, a sound of disgust coupled with frustration sounding from his throat. When she continued to stare at him, he said, “I only imagined there was, and that was enough.” In fact, it was nearly enough again, for he felt a bit light-headed.

  “I’ll have Alfred send for a physician,” she said as she reached for the bell.

  “No, Mother. Miss Comber insisted she was fine. Her coat protected her.”

  “Not for her,” Adeline countered. “You’re the one who is...” She paused and angled her head to one side. “Different,” she murmured quietly.

  “Different?” Stars no longer danced in front of his eyes.

  “It’s as if you’re back to the way you were before you turned forty,” she said in awe. “You haven’t said or done a pompous thing since you came in here.”

  At once relieved but growing concerned, Christopher wondered just how much of an ass he had been.

  How had he not noticed?

  But worse, who besides his mother and George Bennett-Jones had taken note?

  Did the entire ton think he was a pompous ass?

  As if his mother could read his mind, she said, “If you’re intent on changing the poor opinion of you amongst the ton, you’ve a good deal of raven to eat. The entire ton thinks you’re an ass.”

  His brows once again furrowing, Christopher allowed a grunt and said, “Crow, Mother. I’ve a lot of crow to eat.”

  His hand absently moved to his belly. Hard or not, he was sure he was in for a bout of indigestion.

  One that might last a very long time.

  Chapter 13

  Friends Unite

  Tuesday, January 8, 1839 at Fairmont Park

  Juliet Comber stepped out of the town coach and regarded the manor house at Fairmont Park with a huge grin. The first time she had seen the Portland stone pile, she had been a young girl hanging onto her father’s hand as he paid a call on Jeremy, Duke of Somerset. A call that no doubt had to do with horses.

  The only reason Juliet had been allowed to come along was because the duke specifically invited her. His youngest daughter, Victoria, had joined him at the estate for his short stay and was in need of company.

  The three-year age difference between Victoria and Juliet didn’t seem to matter. The two became fast friends due to their mutual love of horses, and every time Victoria returned to Fairmont Park, Juliet was invited for an afternoon of riding followed by tea and cakes.

  Today was no different, and because Victoria had now taken up residence in Fairmont Park—perhaps for the rest of her life—Juliet paid calls every Tuesday and sometimes one other day of the week. To reciprocate, Juliet brought along invitations from her mother requesting Victoria join the Combers for dinner in their Mayfair townhouse. Although she didn’t accept every invitation, Victoria could be expected for dinner at least once a week.

  The driver held her valise until a footman hurried out to retrieve it. “I’ll return to collect you at five o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” he said as he gave the valise to the liveried servant.

  “If you are late, I will not mind,” Juliet replied with a smirk.

  “If I am late returning you to your mother, she will mind,” he countered, his brow raised in warning.

  Juliet sighed and gave a wave as she followed the footman to the front door.

  She wasn’t even over the threshold when Victoria reached out and pulled her into a hug. “I am so glad you are here,” Victoria gushed. “I have much to tell.”

  “As do I,” Juliet replied. “I cannot tell you how excited I was when I received your request that I spend the night.” Her gaze took in the deep scarlet gown her hostess was wearing and she lifted a brow. “I thought I would find you in riding clothes.”

  “I be shortly,” Victoria said as she led Juliet to the stairs. “I had a meeting with the colorman and two carpenters today.”

  “What are you painting now?”

  “I’m not painting anything,” Victoria replied quickly. “But it’s for a bedchamber. The master suite,” she explained as they reached the landing and turned to continue up the next flight of stairs. “I thought I would surprise my father and have it redone before his next trip here. If I’m satisfied, I might do Mother’s bedchamber next.”

  “For her? Or for you?” Juliet asked softly. “I thought you were going to be the mistress of Fairmont Park.”

  Victoria dipped her head. “I am already sleeping in the mistress suite. In fact, that’s part of why I asked you to come stay with me for more than just a few hours. I finally have a guest bedchamber restored to its former glory,” she explained as they headed down a corridor.

  “How many rooms do you have left to do?” Juliet asked as they paused before the third carved wooden door down the corridor.

  “Twenty, I think,” Victoria replied as she opened the door.

  Juliet inhaled softly. “Oh, Vicky, it’s beautiful,” she breathed as she entered the guest bedchamber. Garbed in pink and magenta fabrics—the counterpane, canopy, a pair of upholstered chairs, drapes and the walls—the room was feminine and elegant.

  “Do you think it’s too pink?” Victoria asked as she winced.

  “Not at all. In fact, I think I shall insist my bedchamber be decorated like this if I’m ever married.”

  “Oh, you’ll be married,” Victoria replied as she waved the footman into the room. He set down the valise and quickly took his leave.

  Victoria and Juliet exchanged knowing looks. “He is handsome,” Juliet whispered.

  “And married with two children,” Victoria countered. “His wife is my lady’s maid.”

  Juliet rolled her eyes. “For a moment yesterday, I thought I might be forced to marry.”

  Boggling at hearing the comment, Victoria motioned Juliet to join her on the bed and then said, “What happened?”

  Settling her hip on the edge of the velvet counterpane, Juliet repeated the story of what had occurred with Christopher, Earl of Haddon, the afternoon prior.

  Covering her mouth with a hand, Victoria’s mirth was evident when Juliet described her punch to his gut. “There was a time not so long ago that Mother said she would have welcomed him as a son,” Victoria said in a whisper.

  “He is so vain,” Juliet whispered, as if someone might be listening at the door.

  “Pompous is how Father has described him of late,” Victoria said before she allowed a long sigh.

  “What?”

  Victoria’s green eyes darted to one side. “Haddon used to be so pleasant. He was a very agreeable gentleman,” she insisted when Juliet huffed in disbelief. “He was a flirt, of course, but he’s heir to a marquessate.”

  “He behaves as if he’s heir to a king,” Juliet countered in disgust. Then her blonde brows furrowed. “I wonder what happened to him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said he was a pleasant gentleman. What happened to change him?”

  Victoria gave the query some thought. “I know he has passed forty years in age,” she murmured.

  “My Mother is his age, and she has not grown full of herself.”

  Victoria arched a brow. “Nor has your father.”

  “But they are married to one another. Happily, I might add,” Juliet claimed.

  “Why would a gentleman change his manner to one so reviled just because he’s past forty?” Victoria asked in a whisper. “It almost sounds as if he doesn’t want a wife. For how does he expect to marry if he’s not agreeable?”

  “Doesn’t need to be since he’s rich,” Juliet argued. Then she allowed a shrug. “Perhaps he doesn’t wish to marry.”

  “He has no choice,” Victoria replied, remembering the last time she was in the earl’s company. “Haddon is heir to a marquessate. He has no younger brother. He must marry and sire an heir, or the Morganfield marquessate will go to... to a cousin, or back to the Crown.”

  “Spoken like a true duke’s daughter,” Juliet accused with a grin
.

  Victoria’s expression darkened. “When it comes to Somerset, I am glad it has to be my oldest brother and not me,” she murmured. “I could not abide living in Wiltshire for the rest of my life.”

  “Because of what you told me?”

  Victoria winced. “You haven’t told anyone, I pray?”

  Juliet shook her head. “I have not. But I’m sure your brother will have his affairs well in hand before he inherits.”

  “He has to,” Victoria replied quietly. “Which is why I want to be sure my inheritance will be tied up in an investment for at least a decade. I cannot take the chance he will attempt to gain it for himself.”

  “Has your sister protected hers?”

  Victoria nodded. “She married just before I returned here. Her dowry is now part of the Rockford viscountcy, soon to be part of the Eversham earldom.”

  Juliet furrowed a brow. “How is it a duke’s daughter could marry an earl’s son and there be no mention of it in Mayfair parlors?”

  “Because they married in the chapel at the ducal estate with only our parents and me in attendance as witnesses,” Victoria explained. “Violet and Robert are on their wedding trip to the Continent now, though, so I expect an announcement to be in the papers any day.” She inhaled and added, “Which is why I met with Mr. Grandby this Saturday past. Are you familiar with him?”

  Juliet’s tentative smile widened. “I am. He’s a friend of my father’s.” When Victoria didn’t say anything right away, she prompted, “And?”

  Victoria explained what she and Tom Grandby had discussed.

  “What was his reaction when you told him you wanted to invest in steam buses?”

  Leaning in close, Victoria replied, “I think... I think he was aroused. You would have thought we were speaking of a brothel or... or a gentleman’s club staffed with courtesans—”

  “Vicky!” Juliet said in protest. “I’m quite sure Mr. Grandby is not like that.”

  Victoria gave a start at hearing her friend’s comment. “Do you know him? Personally?”

  Juliet lifted a shoulder. “I think my father has his investments with him. Or Mr. Grandby’s father, probably. Thomas has been at the house several times. Even had dinner with us on occasion.”

  “Was he... is he courting you?”

  Juliet’s eyes widened. “Heavens, no! He’s far too old for me, although...”

  “What?” Victoria prompted.

  She seemed to hesitate before she said, “He would make an excellent catch for anyone, except for the fact I hear he practically lives at his office.”

  Victoria pondered the comment a moment, deciding she rather liked that about a gentleman. If Mr. Grandby spent so much time at his office, then he wasn’t a man of leisure. He was less likely to be like her brother, frittering away a fortune on gaming hells and mistresses.

  And bad investments.

  “For an investor, that would be considered an admirable trait,” Victoria finally replied.

  “Was he here long?”

  “We talked for nearly two hours.”

  Juliet tittered. “So Mr. Burroughs was right.”

  Victoria nodded. “I owe him much for giving me the idea, and for providing me with all the supporting information,” she said. “I feel as if I should compensate him for the time he spent with me.”

  “I still cannot believe you would do such a thing as give your fortune to someone you do not know in order to keep it from your brother.”

  “I am not giving it to anyone. I am investing it with an expectation that in ten or twenty years, I shall have far more of it.”

  “And then? What will you do?”

  Victoria directed her gaze to the foot that barely touched the carpet. Hitched up as it was, her gown’s hem only reached her calf, exposing the odd shape of her slipper. Although her boot maker could construct a sole that made up for her missing arch and the wider foot, the shoemaker she had gone to in Bond Street didn’t seem to have those same skills. At least this slipper hid the worst of the damage. The foot encased in it appeared far more mangled when it was bare. “I’d buy a new foot if I could, but I think I shall use the funds to continue restoring the house. Enlarge the stables. Add some more horses. Maybe go to the Continent for a Grand Tour.”

  “You could do that now,” Juliet suggested.

  Shaking her head, Victoria said, “I have horses to train. And speaking of the beasts, would you like to ride with me? It’s time I go back out.”

  “I brought my riding habit, of course,” Juliet replied happily. “Perhaps you’d let me ride Sam?”

  Victoria considered the request a moment. “Depends on his foreleg. He’s been favoring it a bit these past two days, so I had Jemmy wrap it yesterday.”

  “I’ll take a look at it,” Juliet said as she stood and moved to her valise. “He might just be imitating your walk,” she added in a tease. “Horses have been known to mimic their owners.”

  “Juliet.” Victoria stared at her friend a moment but quickly determined no harm was meant by the comment. Still, the thought that the animal would do such a thing rankled. “He’d better not be. If he doesn’t increase his speed over the short course, he’ll be sent back to his owner with my recommendation that he only be used for steeple chases.”

  Wincing, Juliet gave her a quelling glance. “Sam is too good for that, and you know it.” Remembering her father’s comment about the horse when she departed their house not two hours before, she asked, “When did you have occasion to speak of his limp with my father?”

  Victoria shook her head. “I have not yet had the opportunity. I haven’t seen Mr. Comber in a couple of weeks,” she replied as she made her way to the door. “Would you like me to send my lady’s maid?”

  Juliet regarded her with a curious expression. “Oh, no need. I’ll meet you out at the stables.”

  Nodding, Victoria left the bedchamber, closing the door behind her.

  Shaking out her riding habit and pulling her boots from the valise, Juliet was left wondering how it was her father knew of the horse favoring his foreleg if Victoria hadn’t spoken to him in a fortnight.

  She would have to ask him about it when she returned home the following day.

  Chapter 14

  Reflections on Age and Women

  Meanwhile, at Carlington House

  Christopher regarded his image in the shaving mirror and then turned in an attempt to see his profile.

  “Damn nose,” he muttered, sure it had grown longer in the past year. He smoothed a hand over his face, the overnight growth of his blond beard no longer apparent now that his valet had seen to his morning shave. Christopher pulled his face back from the mirror and frowned.

  Were those lines always there? The ones between his brows and at the edges of his eyes? Damn, but where had the time gone?

  He thought of the other sons of aristocrats who had married when they were in their twenties, those who had married in their thirties. They already had their heirs and spares, daughters and little dogs.

  Did he even know anyone who had waited until his forties to marry?

  Try as he might, he could only think of the Earl of Torrington and of widowers who had married for the second time. The widowers already had their heirs when they took their second wives, though, and Torrington had managed to father a set of twins that included his heir.

  Perhaps he would be as lucky as Torrington.

  What had happened to prevent him from taking a bride? Why hadn’t he simply chosen from the hundreds of young women who had been paraded past him for the past two decades?

  Reasons started coming to mind.

  Too tall, too short, too fat, too thin, too giggly, too dour, too happy, too sad, too rich, too poor, too sweet, too bitter.

  So what of the other ten or twenty left after that?

  Too quiet, too talkative, too loud, too proud. Already married.

  Why couldn’t he have found one that was just right?

  Because she doesn’t exist
.

  The thought brought him up short. There had to be someone who met his criteria. Someone who would appreciate her future as a marchioness. Appreciate the wealth that went along with his title. Someone who wouldn’t be tempted to cuckold him.

  “I’ve been waiting for the perfect wife.”

  He wasn’t even aware he said the words aloud until his valet said, “Did you say something, my lord?”

  Christopher whirled around to discover the servant had emerged from the dressing room with that day’s clothes. “I need a wife, Parker.”

  The valet lifted a white shirt from the collection spread out on the counterpane and said, “Do you wish for me to send a note to a matchmaking service on your behalf?”

  Not expecting such a response, Christopher said, “No.”

  “Perhaps an advertisement in The Times?”

  “No.”

  “A tip to the editor of The Tattler then?”

  “Most definitely not.”

  The earl furrowed his brows but then caught his expression in the shaving mirror and grimaced. Furrowing his brows only made him look worse. He tried a slight smile and noted how the lines were lessened. “I’m quite sure you’ve missed my point. I was merely making a comment.”

  “It’s interesting you should bring it up now, sir.”

  “Why is that?”

  “As opposed to ten years ago, when you might have had a better chance of marrying well,” Parker remarked, his tone rather peckish.

  “I’m not going to get any sympathy from you, am I?”

  “No, sir.” At seeing the earl’s frown, he added, “You might want to avoid displaying that expression, sir. It makes you look old. And mayhap a bit fearsome.”

  Annoyed as he was, Christopher struggled to make his expression less fearsome.

  Parker held open a white shirt, and Christopher pulled it on in a huff. “Have you considered Juliet?” the valet asked.

  Christopher’s eyes widened. “How do you know about Juliet?”