Louise M. Gouge (15 page)

Thank the Lord for the footman. He was an older man, bewigged and liveried, who doubtless felt a fatherly concern for the young lady. Winston would have to make certain every servant in his own house watched over Sophia with the same care.

Arriving at home to find two grand carriages in front of his town house, he exhaled a sigh of frustration as he stepped down from his own. The unfortunate end to his visit with Miss Hart made him consider whether he had chosen the wrong way to spend the afternoon. One of the conveyances belonged to Blakemore, who would laugh away any such concerns. But the other much grander landau bore the crest of Lord Bennington, another very important earl whose favor Winston had long sought. That gentleman would surely be displeased over having to wait for him to return home.

Llewellyn met him at the door and took his hat, gloves and cane. “Lords Bennington and Blakemore are in the drawing room with Lady Winston, my lord.”

His cold tone echoed with a rebuke that raked over Winston’s nerves. He would have to resolve things with the butler soon. For now he settled for returning ice for ice and gave the man no answer as he strode to the drawing room to meet his guests. He first saw Bennington, whose cross, almost surly countenance reminded him of Father.

Then Blakemore bustled toward him. “Ah, there you are, my boy.” The earl shook his hand as if welcoming him into his own abode. “Your charming mother has been entertaining us while we waited. Where have you been? We have news, great news, my boy.”

Chapter Fifteen

“D
id you have a pleasant visit with Winston, my dear?” Lady Blakemore sailed back into the drawing room not thirty seconds after the baron departed. Had she been waiting outside to pounce upon Catherine the instant he left?

Still seated where he left her, her face continuing to burn with anger over his hypocritical pronouncement about not tolerating liars, she nonetheless managed to give the countess a wavering smile. “Why, yes. Quite pleasant.”

“He is an engaging young gentleman, do you not agree?” The countess took the chair he had recently vacated. “With such a promising future.”

“How fortunate for him.”

“Hmm.” Lady Blakemore eyed her quizzically, and then her eyes narrowed. “My dear, I do believe it is time for you to have a lady’s maid of your own instead of borrowing mine all the time.”

Catherine gasped. “My own lady’s maid? But madam, I am only your companion.” Never mind that she had a lady’s maid at home in Norfolk. Poor Abigail would be deeply hurt if anyone else attended her. She had, in fact, begged to accompany Catherine to London. Of course, that would have ruined all of Catherine’s plans, for the girl chattered as much as Miss Beaumont and would surely have betrayed her identity. “I could never manage such an expenditure.”

“That will be my responsibility.” Lady Blakemore stood and started toward the door. “If you are to continue accompanying me out in Society, you must look your best.” She paused at the door. “I do not mean to say your appearance has disappointed me, only that you would do well to have some finer clothes and a few more adornments. And your lovely hair should be coiffed by someone with skill. I shall begin the search early tomorrow morning. You will have the final say on whom we hire, of course.”

Not waiting for a reply, she walked out the door, leaving Catherine to wonder why the countess would be so extravagant on her account.

* * *

“Oh, James, I am so proud of you.” Mother crossed the drawing room to embrace Winston. “You continue to honor your family name.” She laughed. Giggled, actually. “Though that name will soon be changed.”

Cringing at her girlish glee, he gently removed himself from her grasp. Had she forgotten all her manners? One would think Sophia was speaking, not a mature lady. Yet when he offered an apologetic grimace to the two earls, neither indicated they had noticed anything amiss.

“Now, Lady Winston.” Standing beside Winston, Blakemore playfully waggled a finger at Mother. “Do permit me to give the boy our news.”

“Of course, sir—” Winston began.

“Indeed not.” Bennington strode over to them, his firm gait belying his many years. “I am responsible for this, and I demand the right to tell him.” Although he was of medium height, he was almost a head taller than Blakemore, and he bent over him in a domineering pose.

“Well!” Blakemore puffed up to his full short stature. “I have been his mentor and sponsor, and—” He stopped and stared at Winston, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what we are going on about, do you?”

“Well, I—” Winston felt as he had under Father’s frequent questioning, as if he could do nothing right. But what did these gentlemen expect of him?

“Did you not read those letters I gave you last Saturday?” His tone held all the loftiness of a scolding tutor, although his eyes exuded nothing but merriment.

“Letters?” Winston now cringed at his own failure. In his eagerness to read the novel so that he could discuss it with Miss Hart, he had completely forgotten Blakemore’s charge that he should read the letters entrusted to him. Neither had Edgar hinted at their contents, although Winston had no doubt his cousin knew what they said. In fact, since Mother’s arrival, Edgar had ceased to visit the town house. “You must forgive me, sir. I put them in a safe place and forgot to read them.”

“Forgot?” Blakemore shouted, but his indignation seemed artificial.

“Forgot?” Bennington’s growling tone caused the hair on Winston’s neck to stand on end.

“Oh, do be quiet, you two old bears.” Mother grasped Winston’s arm and dragged him toward the nearest settee and sat beside him. “My darling son, these good gentlemen have sponsored a petition to the Prince Regent requesting that you be granted the title your father was unable to claim due to his failing health.”

“Indeed we have.” Blakemore scurried after them and sat in a facing chair. “The letters I gave you were copies of ours recommending that His Royal Highness elevate you to an earldom.”

Clearly not wishing to be left out, Bennington planted his fists at his waist. “
I
recommended the title Lord Dearbourn.”

“Dearbourn?” Winston searched his mind for some connection to the name, but found none.

“’Tis a title from the last century that fell into abeyance,” Bennington said. “No taint is attached to it, only glory. The last Lord Dearbourn perished in 1743 at the Battle of Dettingen fighting beside George II...
and
my father.” He lifted his chin, and his chest puffed out with pride as though he himself had joined the fray. “Of course, if you prefer another name—”

“Oh, James, I adore the name Dearbourn.” Mother fairly bounced on the settee, just as Sophia would. “Do say you will choose it.”

Winston sat back and looked around at the others, all of whom stared back at him expectantly. As eager as he was to please them, he could not come up with a single sensible response. “I beg you, do give me some time to consider—”

“Ah, so you do not care for the name.” Blakemore cast a triumphant glance at Bennington. “
I
suggested Lord Hartley.”

“But who has ever heard of a Lord Hartley?” Bennington pulled out his gold-and-black enamel snuffbox and proceeded to partake of its contents.

While the older gentlemen bickered back and forth, Mother leaned over and whispered, “You will make the wisest decision, my son. I am confident of it.”

“I thank you, Mother dear.” Suddenly ashamed of the way he had regarded her, he placed a kiss on her unlined cheek and was rewarded with a blush and a smile. “Did you know about this? Is this why you came to London?”

Her lovely face grew pinker. “Yes, I confess it. But Sophia knows nothing about it.”

An odd, giddy sensation tickled his insides at the prospect of delivering this remarkable news to his sister. “We shall surprise her at supper tonight.” He noticed that the two earls had ceased their quarrel, which clearly held not a whit of enmity. “Gentlemen, I beg you to tell me how this has all come about.” In truth, he had planned to wait to petition for the advancement until he felt more worthy. But if they regarded him so highly, how could he refuse the honor?

“We wrote the letters,” Bennington said, “and the Prince Regent, remembering your father’s service to His Majesty, was more than pleased to order the college of arms to have the patent drawn up.”

“Now that His Royal Highness has signed it,” Blakemore added, “the official investiture will take place at a levee at St. James’s Palace. When you make your first appearance under your new title in the House of Lords, Bennington and I will stand with you, of course, and—”

“And,”
Bennington hastened to put in, “your only cost will be the levee itself and the new fees for recording the honor in the House of Lords, and of course, you will require new robes.”

“And a coronet.” Blakemore shot a cross look at the older earl. “And
of course,
Lady Blakemore will insist upon giving a ball in your honor.”

“Ah, there you have trumped me, Blakemore.” Bennington bowed to his rival. “Lady Bennington no longer entertains.”

While the others discussed the elderly countess’s health and other matters, Winston battled a flurry of conflicting thoughts. He truly had not expected this elevation, and the news left him stunned. What would Miss Hart think of it? Would she regard his new title as reason enough to confide in him, to trust him as these older, wiser peers did? On the other hand, he must consider whether or not to continue his pursuit of the young lady. An earl must have a wife of the proper pedigree. If Miss Hart was a gentlewoman instead of an aristocrat, some in Society might continue to snub her, even if she became his countess.

Yet if he refused to pursue her simply because of her rank, a lady who was growing dearer to his heart day by day, was he any better than Willoughby, the scoundrel of
Sense and Sensibility,
who chose to wed a wealthy lady for her money instead of the poor lady he loved? Winston could even excuse Willoughby for marrying to secure a substantial living, while he himself had more wealth than any gentleman could spend in a lifetime—wealth enough to bring Society to his door even if he married a gentlewoman.

If only Father were here to advise him so that he did not fail to do the right thing.

* * *

“Lord Winston must be very proud of his coming advancement.” Catherine had spent the hours before supper in her bedchamber practicing with her sword, and the exercise had done much to control her anger at the baron. Now at the supper table with Lord and Lady Blakemore, she managed to eat her roast duck without being afflicted with indigestion. Not that the fowl lacked flavor, for the earl’s cook excelled in his art. But since coming to London, especially since meeting Lord Winston, Catherine’s stomach often felt tied in knots.

“I would not say he is proud.” Lord Blakemore gazed off thoughtfully. “Humbled is more like it.” He frowned briefly, shrugged and plunged his fork into his food. “Not at all like his father.”

“Indeed not.” Lady Blakemore’s tone held a modicum of indignation.

Neither explained further, and Catherine could hardly ask them to. Yet somehow she could not believe their account of the baron’s humility, not even with the evidence of her own eyes and experience and heart in agreement. For only a prideful man like the present Lord Winston could deliberately forge letters to destroy a good Christian gentleman like Papa, and she would not rest until she saw him pay for it, no matter what position he attained.

With no little difficulty, she silenced the quiet voice that whispered deep within her,
Lord Winston is an upright gentleman worthy of your highest regard.

* * *

“Oh, James, you look so grand in your father’s regalia.” Mother fluffed the three-tiered white ermine cape while Winston’s valet, Dudley, applied a brush to the red velvet robe.

Still overwhelmed by the good earls’ revelation, Winston studied the exquisite garment reflected in the long mirror in his bedchamber. “I thank you for bringing it to London, Mother. When Father ordered this new robe, I doubt he knew he would never wear it.”

“No, I do not think so.” She shook her head, but did not seem overly sad. “When he accepted His Majesty’s offer of advancement, he did not expect to become ill. And of course he would think it foolish of you not to spare yourself the cost of several hundred pounds to purchase another one when this will do quite well.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Dudley had not ceased to grin since hearing of Winston’s upcoming elevation. “No one will ever know that it has been packed away and carefully preserved these past six years. It will do quite nicely for your investiture.”

The valet spoke freely, as Winston had always encouraged him to do when they were alone, but Mother’s eyes widened briefly as he spoke.

“I thank you, Dudley. What would I ever do without you?” This was their usual signal that the valet could consider himself dismissed.

“Do permit me to tend the robe, my lord.” Ever jealous of his duties, he untied the white satin ribbons at the neck and removed it from Winston’s shoulders. After carefully draping it over the mahogany valet stand and giving it a final swipe with the brush, he bowed out of the room.

Once he left, Mother walked around the room studying drapes, paintings and furniture. “Goodness, James, this is such a dreary room. You must redecorate.”

“Sophia would agree with you.” He gestured to a chair and sat beside her. “But if it was good enough for Father, I cannot see the necessity.”

“Good enough. Humph.” Her hand flew to cover her lips, and she inhaled sharply, as if surprised by her own reaction to his words. Then she bit her lip. “If you wish to economize, I shall not disapprove.”

“Nor approve.” He gave her a teasing smile that seemed to please her. “I cannot understand why Father did not assign you the task of decorating this entire town house. Is that not the office of a peer’s wife? When I marry, I shall certainly permit my countess to make any changes she deems necessary. Within reason, of course.” To his shock, Mother’s eyes misted over, and she seemed unable to speak. He gently touched her arm. “What is it, dearest?”

She shook her head and pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve. “Oh, nothing.” She wrung her hands for a moment. “No, it is not
nothing
. I did wish to make this house more appealing, but Lord Winston would not permit it.”

Lord Winston?
Now that he thought of it, he had never heard Mother speak of Father in any other way, and certainly she had never used a fond byname for him. Nor had Father ever addressed her as anything less than Lady Winston, not even on the last day of his life.

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Dear one, you may take the house in hand straightaway. Do as you wish.” He offered a smile, but it seemed to increase her silent tears. “Of course, you may have to contend with Sophia for all of your decisions. Or should I say Lady Sophia?”

Mother rewarded his attempt to cheer her with a teary laugh. “Oh, how she did go on and on when you made your announcement. I was concerned that she might faint from joy.”

“Hmm. I was a bit worried myself.” Winston took her handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. “Mother, you know I adore my sister, but we must persuade her to not be so impulsive, dare I say
imprudent,
when she is talking with anyone outside of our family. I do not worry about myself, for as you saw this evening, I have influential friends. But even an earl’s sister will not be welcomed into Society’s drawing rooms if she does not know how to guard her tongue.”

To his chagrin, Mother began to sob. “Oh, my darling, how can she help it? She is my daughter, and I have ever struggled to control my own behavior. Why, had I been half as wise as a goose, Lord Winston never would have banished me to the country.”