But now his father was ill and he needed to come back to be of as much help to him as he could. Perhaps he could not nurse his father to health but he could take away some stress and worry from him, leaving him free to focus on recovery.
The English shoreline came into view and he smiled. In spite of the circumstances, he was glad to see his homeland again. They came into dock an hour after sunrise and he disembarked just as the mud larks were leaving the shores with their loot for the day.
A carriage was waiting for him, emblazoned with the family crest and he paused when he saw the coachman, and grinned. “Sam Croydon, as I live and breathe.”
The coachman tipped his hat at Hamish. “’ello guvnor. Good trip was it?”
Considering the last time that Sam had seen him, he had been dropping Hamish off at the docks to take a ship to Penang from where he’d traveled to Singapore and Malacca round the Cape of Good Hope before ending up in India. Five long years and countless miles. Yet here they were again.
“The trip was all right. You’ve been keeping well yourself.”
“As well as can be expected.”
“Good. Good. And how is my Father?” Hamish put his small carpet bag into the coach before climbing up to sit beside Sam. He had decided to travel light, being in a hurry, the remainder of his luggage following behind him by freight.
“He is as cantankerous as can be. Just as usual.”
“That’s good to know.”
“He’ll be glad to see you.”
“I look forward to seeing him too.”
Hamish looked around the city, trying to see what had changed and what was the same. They drove down Breton Street and Hamish remembered the particular brand of scotch whisky his father favored.
“Stop here. I have something to pick up.”
Sam obliged and came to a stop. Hamish jumped down. He hurried down the street, eager to get the whisky and get home to his father. He was so intent on his goal that he did not see the young lady leaning against a pole by the seamstress’ shop. He almost knocked her over and only his quick reflexes saved her from a tumble.
He’d looked into her impossibly jade-green eyes, at her auburn hair pulled back tight from her face, and lost his breath. He had become accustomed to the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauties of the East. Her vibrant coloring diverted him for a moment, so much so that he forgot himself. He forgot that one did not speak to a lady unless he had been introduced.
Even as he walked away from her, the scent of her filled his nostrils and his palm tingled with the feel of her soft skin. For a moment, he forgot why he had alighted from the carriage. He was veritably disoriented.
Hamish blamed it on his voyage; long months without laying eyes on a woman.
That must be it.
He still turned around to see if he could glimpse the lady again, but she had disappeared.
Once he got the whisky, he let Sam drive him home. His heart was pounding quite rapidly at the thought of seeing his father again. He stepped down slowly and walked through the front door, noting the difference in the scent of the air. In Kandahar where he’d spent most of his time, the air had been hot and close, humidity so high he sometimes found it difficult to breath.
Here in London, the air was sharp and cold, at the end of spring. He wasn’t sure which he preferred, nonetheless he let himself luxuriate in the sounds and scents of his family home. He spotted his father’s housekeeper, Mrs. Bloom, hurrying toward him, a large smile on her face.
“Lord Newenham, how lovely it is to see you again.” She gathered him into her arms and hugged him hard. Hamish smiled into her shoulder, feeling his heart gladden to see her again.
“Mrs. Bloom. I did not know you were still here. I thought you would have retired by now.”
She hit him lightly on the arm. “Go on with you! Retired? I’m not old.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Bloom.” Hamish grinned, recalling the cakes and other savory treats the housekeeper would ply him with when he was younger. His own mother had relied heavily on Mrs. Bloom to teach her the ways of the English and Hamish had not forgotten that. He regarded her as closer to an aunt than his father’s housekeeper.
“Your Father is waiting for you. He refuses to take a nap before he has seen you. Would you go and greet him so that he can know you’re really here?”
Hamish quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “Right away, Mrs. Bloom. Is he in his rooms?”
“Oh, no. He insisted on getting up today. He is in the library.”
He kissed her forehead knowing that it was she who made sure his father had everything he needed at all times. “Thank you, Mrs. Bloom.”
She just smiled at him, pushing him toward the library as she relieved him of his bag. He knew she would pass it on to his valet who would take care to put everything where it should be.
Hamish would not have to think about any of it again. It was far different from his life in India which, while filled with whatever luxuries he wanted, was simpler and more rustic. He spent the time traveling from place to place, utilizing the services of port men, house servants, and coachmen where available while not retaining any of his own.
More than anything, he had not wanted to be responsible for a single soul. His heart was broken and for a time, he wanted to be able to think of no one but himself. So he hunted wild game as a guest of the Maharajahs, smoked tobacco with Portuguese explorers in Indonesia, and generally lived life as it came with as few encumbrances as possible.
All that is over now.
He lifted his hand and knocked on the library door, waiting for his father to bid him enter before doing so. He could not stop himself from lighting up with pleasure as he spotted him sitting in the blue velvet-lined wingback chair by the window, reading a book by the light streaming in from outside.
“Good morning, Father.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
His father looked up with a smile of his own. “Ah, Hamish, you have arrived. And in a timely fashion too. I suppose the ships are much faster now than the last time I was on the water.”
Hamish walked the few steps to his father’s side and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “I expect so.”
“How was your journey then? Sit and have a brandy. Tell me all about it.”
Hamish’s smile widened even as he took the matching wingback seat across from his father. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for brandy?”
The Earl of Thessawich gave him a naughty wink. “We’ll just put some in your tea then.”
As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door before a footman entered carrying a tray laden with a kettle of tea, and a plate of samosas. He placed them on the table between the Earl and his son before backing out of the room after pouring each a cup of tea. Hamish smiled at the tray.
“I see Mrs. Bloom is keeping up Mother’s recipes.”
“Yes, yes, now and then as a special treat, she has the chef make some delicacy or other,” the Earl grinned, “She really must be glad to see you.”
Hamish understood that to mean the Earl was glad to see him but was much too English to say so aloud. “I am glad to be home as well. I think I will have a nip of brandy in my tea. The journey has been long and I have not gotten my land legs yet.”
The Earl leaned forward and picked up the brandy glass that sat on the table between them, pouring a tot into Hamish’s tea cup. “Bon Appétit, my Son.”
Hamish picked up his tea cup and lifted it in a toast before drinking. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sharp taste of spices mixed in with the tea as well as the smooth after burn of alcohol. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, feeling very good to be home at last.
His father might be in frail health–Hamish had not failed to notice his weakened demeanor nor the bags under his eyes and pasty skin–but he was still here. He opened his eyes and smiled at the Earl. “So, what news of London, Father?”
His father smiled, settling in his chair and prepared to give Hamish a run-
down of all the latest on-dits.
“Nothing much has changed since you left. Society still consists of meddlesome busybodies making everybody’s life twice as difficult as it ought to be.”
Hamish knew his father had never forgiven the Beau Monde for treating his Indian wife with anything less than respect. A few of the ladies had looked down their noses at her despite the fact that she was a Princess and therefore ranked higher than they did.
“Is that so? What have they done now?”
His father shrugged. “I remember two years ago a lady was left at the altar.”
Hamish made a sound of sympathy and distress.
“Yes, it was quite awful for her. Groom had impregnated his mistress you see.” The Earl shook his head. “Very poor form. And then the mistress had the utter nerve to interrupt the wedding with belly on full display. I think they’re still talking about it.”
Hamish made a pained sound and shuddered. “I shouldn’t like to be any of those parties.”
“I happened to be there because the Lady’s Father is a friend. Trust me it was cringe worthy. Felt quite sorry for the old boy.”
“What happened to the bride? Was she banished to a convent?”
The Earl gave him a sidelong grin, “No. She went off to their country seat. I heard she refuses all suitors.”
“Well, and who can blame her? The gentlemen of London have behaved abominably.”
“Indeed. Perhaps you shall come along and save them, eh Hamish? Show them what it means to be a man.”
Hamish grinned at his father before they both burst out laughing. Very familiar with the ton and its antics, Hamish had always tried to steer clear and his father knew that well. He did get invited to the occasional ball or soiree; mostly those thrown by his old school acquaintances or his father’s friends.
“Speaking of the Bon Ton, I have an invitation to a masquerade ball at the residence of the Duke of Apsdin two weeks’ hence. I trust you will join me?”
Hamish shrugged. “I am at your disposal, Father.”
“Good. I shall need you to meet all my business connections if you are to take over for me. That will be a good place to start.”
Hamish nodded, noting that his father had only taken a few sips of his tea and one samosa. “I expect we’ll have plenty of time to discuss that. But first, finish your tea and have another samosa. I feel quite the glutton eating them all myself.”
The Earl’s smile became a bit strained but he did pick up his teacup. “As you wish.” He lifted his cup in toast and drank.
Jack Huxley, Marquess of Dargue alighted his horse, trusting that the footman would take hold of the mare and pass her on to the groomsmen. He took the steps to his front door two at a time, and breezed past the doorman, knowing he was late for dinner–again. His father tended to frown on such behavior and was wont to extend such punishments as withdrawal of membership to his favorite club over it.
He quickened his footsteps and burst into the dining hall just as the soup was served. “Sorry I’m late. The traffic from Trafalgar was unbelievable.”
“Is that so?” his father did not bother to look up. His butter-blond head of hair was all Jack could see.
“Oh, yes. We had the wagons from the market and all the members of Parliament leaving at once. Quite hectic.”
His father, the Duke of Apsdin, looked up, brows beetled. “I wasn’t aware you took your Parliamentary duties so seriously.”
Jack drew in a shaky breath, trying to shake off the nervousness his father always engendered in him. “Well, I do.”
“It’s good to know you take something seriously. I had begun to despair.”
His wife favored him with narrowed eyes. “Paul,” she said softly.
“What? I am only telling it like it is. The man seems to be quite useless. I despair of him daily.”
Jack took his seat quietly while seething inside. His father could not even wait for the servants to leave before laying into him.
“Why, he could not even secure for himself a disgraced bride. That must be the pinnacle of rejection.” His father continued, not even addressing Jack but directing his remarks toward Jack’s mother. A hot spark of humiliation spread through him and he ground his teeth together. Whatever appetite he’d had disappeared.
Her Grace was quick to change the subject however. “Well, he’ll have a chance to try again as Lady Ester, the younger sister will be having her coming out this year. If you are determined for our families to be joined, there you are.”
“I cannot court the elder and then the younger!” Jack blurted in surprise. “That would be beyond the pale.”
His mother laughed. “I did not mean for you to court her. Lady Georgiana will be in attendance at all the balls as well. You will have your chance. She did not give you a chance last year, but I’m sure you will make it this year. Who can resist you?”
He gave his mother a strained smile. “Indeed.”
Chapter 3
Even Georgiana was surprised at the number of invitations they received to balls, Venetian breakfasts, plays, and other soirees. The first assembly of the Season was at Almack’s. Georgiana knew that it would likely be packed with every single debutante and their hopeful suitors.
Feigning a bellyache, she bowed out of that event. She felt a vague regret that she could not do it again as she entered Ester’s chambers and found her lady’s maid sewing black lace onto her mask. She frowned, not at all anxious to attend a masquerade ball at the Duke of Apsdin’s London manor. She had quite hoped not to see the Marquess of Dargue on this trip. She found his pushing demeanor rather off putting and would have preferred to go the whole season without seeing him.
Alas she could not escape him at his own father’s ball.
I’ll just have to make the best of it.
Pasting a smile on her face, she bounced over to her sister and sat by her on the bed. “Are you excited for tonight?”
Ester shrugged. “I’m a bit nervous. I hope my dance card doesn’t remain empty for too long.”
Georgiana studied her sister critically. Ester’s hair was the color of whisky, or fallen leaves turned shades of brown. but still glossy with the first rain of autumn. When she moved, the highlights glinted and reminded Georgiana of looking at sunlight through a glass jar of thick honey.
Her thick waves had been corralled and disciplined into artfully laid curls lying across one shoulder in shining light-brown tresses. She blinked innocent blue eyes at Georgiana, awaiting her verdict. Her purity shone through like a beacon, probably beckoning everyone in her vicinity to dash themselves against her in a bid to be allowed in.
Georgiana smiled. “I expect that it will not stay empty long. Everyone will want to dance with you.”
Ester snorted in a rather unladylike manner. “I doubt that very much if you are next to me.”
Georgiana lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
Ester sighed, rolling her eyes. “I mean, I know that I am…well appointed. But you, Georgiana, are like…a fairy glimpsed in the tall glass, ethereal and forever out of reach. You make people yearn for you from afar and don’t even notice.”
Georgiana laughed. “I told you to stop reading those Scottish fairy tales, Ester. Look now they have filled your head with fancies.”
Ester didn’t smile. “You don’t see yourself so you do not know.” She picked up Georgiana’s hands, running her finger along her the blue vein that ran from wrist to elbow.
“Everything about you is perfect from your perfectly natural curly hair, which glints with every red hue from bright orange to russet dark and yet…is quite inadequately described as auburn. It is so long and thick and surrounds your face like a halo.” She blinked at Georgiana’s wide-eyed surprise, seeming unbothered that her words had come out of nowhere.
“And should one be fortunate enough to be able to tear their eyes away from that mass of flaming magnificence, they meet your eyes, so honestly green they feel like an entire
world you can step into and be lost to this one forever.” Ester sighed, letting Georgiana’s hand go. “I do not know what happened with your first beau, but I do know there is no way he does not regret it. There is nobody else like you.”
Georgiana took a deep steadying breath and blinked at her sister. “Well…if I was inclined toward feeling sorry for myself you have cured me of it.”
Ester giggled.
“Indeed. Now I feel quite underappreciated and will be requiring all my loyal subjects to pay homage to me.” She tossed her head dramatically, making Ester laugh.
“If the Prince Regent was old enough, he would marry you for sure,” Ester assured her.
“That is indeed heartening to know. For now, however…” she got to her feet, patting Ester on the leg, “we must get ready for this masquerade and I fear my mask is nowhere near ready. I must go.”
Ester nodded. “Yes, well, I shall see you later.”
Georgiana left the room smiling; and in a quite different mood than when she came in.
Younger sisters are good for something other than being annoying.
Jack stood on the parapet overlooking the courtyard and watched the guests arrive. He was still in a black mood, his father’s words echoing in his mind.
I am no failure!
He gritted his teeth angrily just as a new carriage–bearing the crest of the Duke of Frashire–came to a stop in front of the great front doors. A footman got down from the bench next to the coachman and opened the door. The duke was first to alight, tall and straight backed, his thick head of butter-yellow hair blowing slightly in the breeze. Truly a man among men with his piercing blue eyes, cheek and jowl always tucked in, paunch tightly concealed in his rich brocade waistcoat.
Next, he saw a hint of pale leg as someone turned in their seat and then Lady Georgiana was descending from the steps, her auburn curls unmistakable even from this distance. She swished this way and that, the very picture of grace before lifting her hand to put on her mask. A matching burgundy concoction of lace and silk that matched exactly the shade of her velvet gown.
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