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

by Linda Rae Sande

  The sound of a clearing throat had him stepping back in an instant, his attention—and Juliet’s—turning to discover her father standing in the hall with his hands on his hips.

  “I’m hardly a wild animal,” Alistair said, barely able to suppress a grin at the expense of his future son-in-law. Then he gave a bow. “Haddon,” he said, his gaze on Juliet.

  Christopher gave him a bow. “Mr. Comber. Your daughter has graciously accepted my offer to be my countess.”

  “Your wife, actually,” Juliet whispered.

  “That, too,” he replied with a dimple.

  “Best wishes to you both,” Alistair replied, apparently resigned to his daughter’s fate. “Join me in my study, my lord, and we can go over the settlement and the dowry.”

  “Haddon, please.” Christopher said as he dared a glance at Juliet.

  “I’ll order tea,” Juliet said. “You two won’t be long, I hope.” She was about to head to the front salon to ring the bell, but Williamson motioned for her.

  “What is it?”

  “Tea has been ordered by Mrs. Comber. She’s been in there for at least a half-hour,” he replied, indicating the salon.

  “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nerves, perhaps?”

  Juliet had never had the impression her mother was nervous about a possible marriage proposal from the Earl of Haddon, but now she was left wondering if the woman had only been putting on a show of confidence for her sake.

  She found her mother sitting in the middle of the room’s only settee, staring into a cup as if she was reading the tea leaves at the bottom of the porcelain bowl.

  “Good afternoon, Mother. May I join you for a cup?”

  Julia very nearly sent the remains of her tea onto her peach day gown. “Oh, you scared me,” she accused.

  “You did look as if you were far away,” Juliet said as she sat down next to her mother.

  The older woman turned in her direction. “I fear I was entirely too familiar with the earl this afternoon,” she whispered. “I warned him he couldn’t behave badly with you. That he had to allow you to set him straight should he do anything... untoward. Has he... has he begged off?”

  Juliet gave as start. “Hardly,” she replied as she held up her left hand. When she saw that the horseshoe of sapphires was upside down, she quickly re-angled her hand so the ends of the horseshoe were pointed up. “I accepted his offer.”

  Julia blinked and then leaned in closer to the ring. She angled her head first one way and then the other to confirm it was the ring he had shown her earlier. “It’s much lovelier on your finger than it was when he was holding it in his thumb,” she murmured.

  “You already saw it?” Juliet asked in dismay.

  Her mother nodded. “He has an entire set of jewels under construction for you,” she warned.

  “A parure?” Juliet asked in a whisper.

  Julia nodded. “I was quite excited about the prospect of you marrying an earl,” she admitted. “About you becoming a marchioness someday. But now—”

  “You’re having second thoughts? Mother!”

  “I know. Your father reminded me that you’ll be moving out soon—”

  “Oh, I’ll just be down the street.”

  “What?”

  “Christopher is purchasing a townhouse right where South Audley meets Curzon Street. He pointed it out to me as we were on our way to the park.”

  “Oh, well. That makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” Julia replied, looking as if she was trying hard to stave off tears.

  “Oh, Mother,” Juliet sighed. “I thought you would be happy for me.”

  “I am,” Julia sniffled, her expression the exact opposite of happy. “By the way, what have you done with him?” she asked as she glanced toward the hall.

  Juliet was tempted to tease her by telling her she had relegated the earl to the dungeon for having taken liberties with her in the park, but she had enjoyed his kisses and thought better of it. “He’s in the study with Father.”

  Her mother sighed. “The settlement papers.”

  “The dowry,” Juliet murmured. “Can Father afford it?”

  Julia’s eyes widened. “Of course, he can. Your grandfather Aimsley was quite generous with his inheritance, and my father pays him for running the Harrington House stables. Then he earns consultancy fees at Tattersall’s, and—”

  “Which you’re not supposed to know anything about.”

  The two looked up to discover Alistair regarding them from the doorway, a smirk lifting the edges of his lips.

  “Then you shouldn’t mention it as the reason when you’re giving me a new bauble every now and then,” his wife replied with a smirk of her own. She leaned forward on the settee and glanced past her husband. “Oh, dear. What have you done with the earl?”

  “Well, I haven’t relegated him to the dungeon, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Alistair replied.

  “We don’t have a dungeon,” Julia said, her eyes widening in alarm. She turned her attention to Juliet. “Did he do something... naughty?”

  From the way her mother said the word, Juliet thought she meant something far worse than a kiss. “Mother, it’s cold outside. We were on horseback. It’s snowing. Hard. Whatever could he do that would be considered naughty?”

  Julia could think of a dozen things a man might do to keep himself warm with a woman. She knew because her husband had taken such liberties with her in the past. And just that morning when they woke up in a cold bedchamber.

  “Don’t answer that, darling,” Alistair said before he turned his attention on his daughter. “Could you join the earl and me in the study?”

  Juliet exchanged a quick glance with her mother and stood. “Yes, of course.” When she was alone with her father in the hall, she asked, “Is there something wrong?”

  He paused when they were halfway to the study. “No, but I don’t want there to be, either.”

  Alarmed, Juliet fairly tiptoed into the study, her intended quickly coming to his feet and hurrying to kiss her hand.

  “My sweet Juliet. Your Father wishes for us to wait a bit before we marry. I have secured a special license that would allow us to wed on the morrow—”

  “Oh. But I don’t yet have a gown.”

  “—or anytime we wish.”

  Juliet turned to her Father, her brows furrowed. “How long must we wait?”

  Alistair crossed his arms over his chest. “A week?” he suggested, a bit surprised Juliet seemed so eager. He had thought that by making the two wait to wed, they might reconsider their decision.

  “What if Vicky is getting married, too? And what if she does so sooner than a week? I should like for her to be my witness,” Juliet countered.

  Her father gave a start. “You have reason to believe Lady Victoria is being courted?” Then he remembered his afternoon spent at Brook’s with Tom Grandby. Remembered how he accused Tom of being in love with Lady Victoria.

  Had Tom already proposed to the duke’s daughter?

  Christopher straightened and said, “Mr. Tom Grandby has been doing so under the guise of business meetings. Vicky is one of his clients, you see.”

  “I’m well aware,” Alistair replied, a grin slowly appearing. “Let us discover if he and Vicky are betrothed before we discuss a date, shall we? Once we know their plans, then perhaps you two can arrange a wedding on the same day.”

  Juliet beamed in delight. “Oh, that would be perfect, Father. Don’t you think so, Christopher?” she asked as she turned her brilliant smile on the earl.

  “More than you might realize,” he murmured, deciding it best he not share what he and the investment advisor had been doing these past few days. Then he allowed a guffaw. “My sweet, we must hire London’t best modiste on the morrow to make you a splendid gown,” he stated. “Mother will wish to host us for a dinner party so that the announcement can be made formerly. I expect that will probably happen the day after tomorrow, given how quickly she
can manage such entertainments.”

  “That soon?” Juliet’s eyes widened in wonder.

  “My mother is an efficient woman.” He turned to Alistair. “You and Lady Julia really must attend, of course.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Alistair replied. He took a deep breath. “Well, then, I suppose this is when I say my best wishes.”

  “Oh, Father, you needn’t look so glum,” Juliet murmured. “I’ll just be down the street, and I’ll still pay calls on Fairmont Park every week.”

  “I already told him about the townhouse,” Christopher said as he leaned toward Juliet.

  She sighed. “Then I do believe it’s time for tea,” she said as she reached for the bell.

  Alistair glanced over at Christopher. “We can certainly imbibe in something a bit stronger,” he suggested. “Brandy?”

  Julia appeared on the threshold. “I cannot help but feel as if I’m being left out of important decisions,” she complained. Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed a recent cry, but her expression suggested she had recovered.

  “My lady,” Christopher replied as he moved to take her hand. “Your words of earlier have not been forgotten. In fact, I have taken them to heart—”

  “Oh, Haddon, I feel awful about what I said,” Julia said as her hands crossed over her chest.

  “You needn’t, my lady.”

  “Bodily harm is the very last condition I should wish on the man who is marrying my daughter.”

  “We have sorted what it is she must do,” he replied, his face taking on a reddish cast as he dared a glance in Juliet’s direction.

  Juliet’s face pinkened. “He’s right, Mother. I know exactly what to do,” she claimed, not having the foggiest idea.

  But she would learn. Probably in a week’s time.

  Williamson appeared behind Julia, burdened with a tea tray that seemed to display every variety of biscuit and cake.

  “We’ll take tea in here,” Alistair said as he indicated his desk and the leather sofas and chairs near the fireplace.

  The butler hesitated, but an encouraging nod from the lady of the house had him doing Alistair’s bidding. Once he took his leave, Juliet stepped up to the desk and began preparing the cups for tea. “I’ve got this,” she said when she saw her mother’s startled look. “Please, do be seated, and I’ll see to the brandy for the gentlemen and tea for us.”

  Julia exchanged glances with her husband as Christopher stared at his betrothed with eyes that might have belonged to a love-sick puppy. “I love you,” he whispered.

  A blush once again colored Juliet’s cheeks. “Toadie,” she replied before blowing him a kiss.

  Chapter 35

  Dressing for Dinner and a Dance

  Meanwhile, at Fairmont Park

  Tom stared down into the bathtub as his betrothed stared up at him, her arms crossed over her breasts. The bubbles had long since dissipated, and the water was cool to the touch.

  Although he had already wrapped a linen around her wet hair and held another for her to wrap herself in once he had her out of the tub, she refused his assistance.

  “Please let me help, my sweet. I’ll close my eyes, I promise.”

  “Then close them now.”

  “But, how am I supposed to—?”

  “Thomas,” she scolded.

  “They’re closed,” he said, clamping his eyes shut. He swept a hand down and out in front of his thighs until he felt her hand grasp it. “Do you wish me to...?” But he couldn’t complete the sentence when she pulled on his hand in an effort to hoist herself up to stand on only one foot.

  For a moment, Tom thought he might be joining her in the tub, but he managed to right himself at the same time she grabbed for the linen. A moment later, and he wrapped both arms around her as the front of her body collided with his. “Can I open them now?” he asked as his hands skimmed down her uncovered back and over the globes of her bare bottom.

  The bottom he had found rather fetching when it was clad in riding breeches. ‘Fetching’ didn’t really apply now.

  ‘Arousing’ was a far better term.

  “Bounder,” she murmured.

  Tom opened one eye. “I’m quite sure there would have been a more elegant means of lifting you from the tub,” he claimed with a grin. “Had I been able to see what I was doing.” He kissed her forehead. “Why so modest?”

  “Contrary to what you seem to think, we’re not married.”

  “Yet,” he replied defensively. “Could we pretend we are?”

  “Besides, it’s too light in here with the lamp lit,” she argued, ignoring his query.

  “Noted. Next time I’ll turn down the lamp, and we can do this in the dark.”

  “You would do this again?” she countered, still leaning against him for support as she wrapped the damp linen around her body.

  “Of course. I rather like washing your hair. It’s a bit like taking a shower bath with my clothes on.” He had shed his waistcoat once he had begun rinsing her hair and she had flung water at him from her wet fingertips. “Next time I’ll get into the tub with you.”

  Despite the protest she was about to make, a frisson shot through Victoria, and she could only continue to stare up at him. “You’re terribly tall,” she murmured. “I don’t think the tub would be large enough.”

  “You’re not so short yourself, thank the gods, but I think we could manage,” he countered playfully. “Come. Let’s get you dried off and into a gown before you catch your death.” He bent down and lifted her into his arms.

  “I can dress myself.”

  “Oh.”

  The word was said with such sadness, Victoria was forced to add, “But you can help with the fastenings, and the gloves and the shoes.”

  Tom immediately brightened. He set her on the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment and came out with the orchid gown. “I’d love to see you in this.”

  She inhaled softly, remembering her thought about that exact gown when she had spied the silver slippers. “Very well. Then I’ll need the petticoats. All of them,” she added when he held out only one set. “And a pair of stockings. They’re in the top drawer, and there’s a corset—”

  “You don’t need one of those. Not tonight.” At her look of shock, he added, “I think a sprained ankle is quite enough discomfort already. No need compounding it with a garment that restricts your breathing, too.” He moved to the dresser and pulled a pair of light hose from the top drawer, their ribbon ties fluttering as he unrolled them. “Do you require assistance with these?”

  She shook her head as she took them and began pulling them on, struggling to keep the linen from slipping from her body. “Perhaps you could comb out my hair while I do this?” she suggested, knowing if she didn’t give him something to do, he would merely hover about much like her lady’s maid.

  Grinning, she watched as he disappeared into the bathing chamber. Wearing only a shirt and trousers, and given his height, she could easily imagine the shape of his body beneath the clothes—broad shoulders, thin hips, and thighs that were probably larger than his waist.

  Wanting to be sure her crushed foot was covered before he returned, she concentrated on its stocking first. When he climbed onto the bed behind her, Tom removed the linen turban he had wrapped about her head and began combing out her hair.

  “I don’t suppose you would know how to pin it up,” she teased as she pulled on her other stocking.

  “I could probably do a manageable job, but I would prefer you leave it down.” At her over-the-shoulder look of surprise, he added, “Just for tonight,” in a whisper. “And maybe a few nights in the future?”

  Victoria swallowed, the strange frisson once again shooting through her body. “If that’s what you wish.”

  “Then I won’t have to fish about looking for all the pins later tonight.” When she turned around on the bed to stare at him, he added, “I’ll have to help you get ready for bed.” When he saw how nervous she suddenly looked, he leaned over and kissed
her on the temple. “I should bring you over by the fire. I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

  Tying the ribbons at the top of her stockings, Victoria wasn’t about to tell him she wasn’t the least bit cold. Her entire body felt as if there had been a fire inside, smoldering, ever since his arrival. “Then could you bring my dressing gown?” she asked. Although she would have been fine with him seeing her in a corset and her petticoats, she wasn’t comfortable wearing only her chemise and petticoats. The silk fabric of her chemise was nearly translucent.

  He was quick to do her bidding, helping her into the garment and then taking the damp linen from her when she wriggled out of it from beneath the dressing gown. A moment later, and she was sitting before the fire.

  “Tell me, did you often see your sisters in their undergarments?” Victoria asked as Tom went about pulling on his waistcoat.

  “All the time,” he replied, rolling his eyes in mock dismay. “Such drama over what to wear.”

  “You men have it so easy,” she complained.

  “I’ll not argue with that,” he said as he finished buttoning his waistcoat. He rolled down his sleeves. “I just have to decide which color waistcoat to wear. Now, do you think you’ll be able to stand? To pull on your undergarments?” He lifted the chemise and petticoats from the bed. “I’m happy to help,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows.

  Victoria was about to claim she could do it herself, but she remembered the feel of his hands as they skimmed down her bare back. “Perhaps if you just allow me to lean on you,” she said. She gripped his arm and pulled herself up and then turned so her back rested against his chest.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around her waist, the chemise dangling from his fist.

  The dressing gown slid from her shoulders, and Tom let go his hold until the satin fabric slipped down her body and ended up as a puddle on the floor at her feet. “Does it hurt for you to put weight on your foot?” he asked, his warm breath washing over her shoulder. He kissed the top of it, his eyes closed lest she scold him for peeking.