The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (9 page)

Chapter 17

Rain, Rain, Come Again Any Day

At precisely eleven o’ five in the morning, Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, jumped down from his less-than sporty phaeton (it was black rather than the more coveted red in color), handed the reins to a stableboy who had hurried out from the carriage house, and climbed the steps to the front door of Rosemount House. A bit nervous, he straightened his waistcoat before lifting the lion-head knocker, and then, just as he was about to release it, the door suddenly opened.

A portly butler regarded him with a raised brow.

“Lord Sommers to see Lady Evangeline,” he said in an even tenor, hoping the nervousness in his voice couldn’t be heard. Or the pounding of his heart against his rib cage. When the butler continued to regard him without stepping aside, he added, “I have a ... a reading engagement with her.”

Jones nodded and stepped back, opening the door wider as he did so. He took the baron’s hat and placed in on a shelf in the vestibule before hanging the baron’s coat on a hook. He nodded again. “One moment whilst I announce you,” he said, his deep baritone a bit of a surprise to Jeffrey.

The baron used his few moments alone in the entry to study the exquisite embroideries that decorated the watered silk covered walls. He wondered who might have done them; they appeared too new to have been done by Evangeline’s grandmother – or mother – and they weren’t the typical samplers he’d seen in his own mother’s parlor. A pair of the stitcheries featured single stems of plants with their leaves, as if they were botanical studies. Another pair of stitcheries looked as if it were part of the same series – it was similar in appearance but instead featured flowers, one of which Jeffrey recognized as some type of rose. Before he could study the second flower, the butler returned to the vestibule.

“Lady Evangeline has asked that I escort you to the library,” Jones stated, apparently not too happy about the arrangement.

Jeffrey wondered at the butler’s reticence as he followed the man and then remembered Lord Every hadn’t yet returned from his travels. A man calling on an unmarried woman was rather unseemly, he supposed, causing another wave of nervousness to take hold.

He checked his reflection in a mirror as they passed through the great hall. At least he didn’t appear too wind blown from his quick drive from Cavendish Square. The baron would have ridden his horse, but given the impending rain, he didn’t wish to arrive splashed with mud.

Despite knowing the Earl of Everly for several years, Jeffrey hadn’t been in the house but one other time, and that was when the earl had unveiled his prized tank of tropical fish. The brightly colored beasties didn’t seem particularly interested in the parade of humans that stopped to admire them, but Jeffrey remembered how they seemed to take particular exception to David Fitzwilliam, Earl of Norwick. Every time the tall man was near the tank, the fish would swim about until a wave of water would crest over the top edge and splash onto the earl. The resulting water stains ruined his favorite topcoat. “Those fish will be the death of me,” he was fond of saying, and not because he was fond of the fish.

Jones suddenly turned and waved a hand into the double-wide doorway of the library. Jeffrey gave him a nod and turned his attention to the elegant room, but not before he noticed another pair of embroideries on the hall walls – embroideries so vivid, the subjects appeared as if they were real.

Jeffrey tore his gaze away and instead looked into the library. Aubusson carpet covered the entire floor. Dark green upholstered furnishings carved from cherry wood were arranged for the specific purpose of reading. And shelves and shelves of books lined the walls all the way up to the coffered ceiling. Two large windows provided most of the light in the room whilst a massive chandelier, hung directly over the seating area, gave off a warm glow. Although not lit, several floor lamps were positioned next to nearly every chair in the room.

Stilling himself, Jeffrey took a sniff and was rewarded with the scents of wood, leather and vanilla tinged with lemon. He inhaled and smiled, feeling suddenly at home in a room he had only been in the one other time.

As Jeffrey quickly scanned the collection of books, he remembered thinking that Evangeline had probably read every one of them.

Poor girl!

“Good morning, Lord Sommers,” Evangeline said from behind him. He turned to find her framed in the doorway, her blonde hair swept up in a simple chignon and her willowy frame ensconced in a light coral round gown. With her hands clasped together in front of her, she looked like an angel. Her curtsy was simple but deep.

Jeffrey hurried up to her, giving her a bow before taking her bare hand to kiss the back of it. He wished he could instead take her in his arms and kiss her on the lips.
What a pleasant way to start the day, if only it could be so
, he thought as he reluctantly released her hand. “Good day, Lady Evangeline,” he replied. “I trust you are well today,” he said, noting how she seemed to glow under the gaslight of the chandelier.

“I am. And I do hope you weren’t caught in the rain as you made your way here?” she countered as she entered the room. She moved to the only piece of furniture that would accommodate two people – a leather upholstered sofa fronted by a low table.
The Story of a Baron
lay open to the fourth chapter of the book.

Jeffrey glanced at one of the windows, where rivulets of water traced their way down the glass pane. “I was not,” Jeffrey replied as he moved to the sofa. Had he waited just one more minute to leave Sommers Place, he would have been as drenched as he was the day before when he took his leave of Grosvenor Square.

“Jones, could you please see to tea and biscuits?” Evangeline called out, knowing the butler was hovering just outside the door. He had warned her he would do so when she told him of her plan to host the baron. “We’ll only be reading,” she’d said in her most proper manner, all the while wishing they could be doing something far more illicit. Like holding hands or kissing. Or ...

“Yes, milady,” could be heard in the man’s distinctive baritone.

Smiling coyly, Evangeline joined Jeffrey and took a seat. The baron followed her, quick to flip his coattails behind him as he did so. For a brief moment, she was blessed with the sight of Jeffrey’s rather well-sculpted bottom as it made its way down to sit next to hers. A shiver of excitement shot through her entire body, leaving behind a series of delightful tingles.

As they had been on park benches for the past two days, his muscular thighs were suddenly next to hers, straining the leather of his doeskin breeches.

“Would milady like to wait for tea before we begin? Or shall we get started?” Jeffrey wondered as he moved to reach for the book.

Evangeline had a passing thought of what else they could be starting.
A kiss, perhaps
. Giving her head a quick shake, as if to clear it of the inappropriate image, she replied, “Yes, let’s. It may be awhile before the tea tray arrives.”

Nodding, Jeffrey pulled the open book onto their laps, positioning it much as it had been whilst they read in the park. Giving each other a quick glance, they began to read Chapter Four.

Chapter 18

Chapter Four: Invitations Arrive

Her maid dispatched to put away her purchases, Lady Geraldine Porterhouse made her way to the parlor and rang for tea. Her spirits still rather low, she was surprised when the butler arrived with a silver salver in one hand and a calling card in the other.

She helped herself to the only missive on the salver and stared at the masculine script.
Miss Geraldine Porterhouse
. Her brother’s writing was nothing this neat, nor was she expecting news from him – he was already home. Curious, she broke the seal, scattering bits of wax in all directions.

Dear Miss Porterhouse, May I request the honor of your presence on a ride in Hyde Park at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon? I have something of great importance I wish to discuss with you. Yours, Lord Barrick.

Geraldine glanced up to find Smithton staring at her. He still held the calling card, but finally offered it to her when he realized she wasn’t going to ask for it. The card belonged to Harold Timmons, Viscount Barrick, which meant the viscount had delivered the missive himself. “How long ago was Lord Barrick here?” she wondered as she set aside the note and read the card.

The butler glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle. “No more than twenty minutes ago, my lady,” he said with a nod. “Will there be anything else?”

Glancing at the card again, Geraldine shook her head. “No, thank you, Smithton.” She continued to stare at the card until the butler had taken his leave of the parlor.

Damn the viscount!

What was the man thinking? Inviting her to go for a ride in the park, and not during the fashionable hour? Of course, he shouldn’t do such a thing no matter what the hour! He couldn’t. The man was married!

What did he think to accomplish?

Geraldine took a breath and held it a moment.
Good God, did the man intend to ask that she be his mistress?
What else could it be?

She thought a moment, her mind a jumble until she remembered she had attended finishing school with the man’s viscountess.

Daisy McGowan had been a close friend during their last year at Warbuck’s Finishing School. After classes, they spent their time shopping and reading
La Belle Assembée
and dreaming of possible matches in the Marriage Mart. And before they had even completed that year, Daisy had an offer from Harold Timmons, Viscount Barrick. She was married six months later in St. George’s and pregnant before nightfall. Now, having already bestowed an heir and a spare on the viscountcy, perhaps Lady Barrick was enjoying someone else’s bed and Lord Barrick was wont to do the same.

Or perhaps the man simply wanted some company during a ride.

Oh, the horrors!
Why me?
she wondered suddenly. She hardly knew the viscount. Furrowing her eyebrows, she reread the note. The man would be expecting an answer, she realized. She couldn’t exactly write one and have Smithton see to its delivery – the butler would suspect her of consorting with a married man! Unless ...

She intended to respond with a firm, “No, I will not join you, and how dare you?” but gave the query another thought.

Hurrying to the escritoire, she seated herself and opened an ink bottle. Pulling a sheet of her brother’s stationery from the top drawer, she wrote her response.
Dear Lord Barrick, I cannot tell you how happy I was to receive your invitation. So happy, in fact, that I immediately penned a note to Daisy to let her know how excited I was to be joining the two of you on your ride to Hyde Park tomorrow. I’ll expect you at two o’clock. Sincerely yours, Miss Porterhouse.

Sitting back for a moment, Geraldine regarded her carefully scripted letter, smiling as she considered how the viscount would react when he read it.
If only I could be a fly on the wall of the Timmons’ dining room this evening
, she thought with a bit of spite.

Sprinkling some sand on the parchment, she shook the sheet and curled it, dumping the sand back into its glass container. With a great deal of satisfaction, she folded the note, dipped her sealing wax into the flame of the nearest lamp and applied her ‘GAP’ seal into the shiny pool. She considered actually writing a note to Lady Barrick, but thought better of it. No need to make poor Daisy more aware of what she probably already knew her husband was doing behind her back.

Geraldine was on her way to give the note to a footman to deliver when Smithton appeared with the silver salver again. He took the missive from her, one eyebrow cocked as if he found the folded paper repulsive. “Lord Barrick merely wondered what to buy for his wife. Her birthday is this week,” Geraldine said with a wave of her hand, amazed she could lie so easily.

And then it dawned on her.

Daisy McGowan Timmons’ birthday was this week. Tomorrow, in fact.

Poor girl.

Geraldine plucked the new missive from the salver, just as Smithton left the parlor with her note, apparently in no hurry to see to its delivery. She studied the new note, relieved to see the script was different from Lord Barrick’s. Geraldine opened the missive and read half of it before before she realized something of great importance.

Lady Barrick’s birthday was tomorrow.

As was the birthday party Lord Barrick was hosting on her behalf.

A surprise party.

In Hyde Park.

At three o’clock.

Geraldine threw her head back and stared at the coffered ceiling, suddenly wondering how long it had been since it had been dusted. Goodness! The cobwebs looked positively ghoulish. Then she returned her attention to the note, scanning to the end to discover who had written the invitation.

She gasped, one hand going to her bosom.
Lord Ballantine
. Matthew Winters. The baron was requesting the honor of her company on a ride to Hyde Park for the surprise birthday party of Lady Barrick.

Although Lord Barrick said he will be delivering invitations this afternoon, I do not think he realizes his carriage will not accommodate everyone he intends to bring to the park. As one of Lady Barrick’s friends, I expect you’ll be in attendance. I would be happy to give you a ride to the park. The courtesy of your reply is requested. Yours in service, Ballantine.

Ballantine.

Just
Ballantine
.

Not ‘Lord Ballantine’ or his full name and title, Geraldine realized as she reviewed the signature.

She wondered when he’d had a chance to pen the note. Was it before their meeting today? Or after she had watched him from the hackney as she and her maid left New Bond Street? The man looked ... determined, perhaps. Or maybe resigned. Or ... besotted?

Geraldine shook her head.
He was probably just woolgathering
, she reasoned. He may not even have known about the birthday party when he saw her in New Bond Street. Or ... perhaps he had known, and had already dispatched the note and wondered why she didn’t tell him in person her decision to accept his offer of a ride to the park.
But we hadn’t yet renewed our acquaintance until this morning at the Palace of Prose,
she remembered, so he had to have written the note since their time in New Bond Street.

Well, no matter. She would simply reply to the missive as if she had just received the invitation this very moment.
Which I did!

Hurrying back to the escritoire, Geraldine was about to write a reply to Ballantine’s note when she remembered the awful missive she’d written to Lord Barrick. She rang the bell, thinking to catch Smithton before he dispatched a footman with her note.

The butler appeared so quickly, she wondered if he was standing just outside the parlor door. “The note I just gave you? I’d like it back, please,” she said before returning her attention to the desktop.

Clearing his throat, Smithton suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “I ... I haven’t got it, my lady,” he answered finally.

Geraldine looked up, stunned. “Well, where is it?” she asked, her pen poised to begin her reply to Lord Ballantine.

“I sent a footman with it as soon as I left the parlor. Foyles has no doubt delivered it by now,” he said with a shake of his head.

Geraldine blinked. Goodness! The Rosehill House footmen were certainly fast if they could deliver a note that quickly!

“Lord Barrick’s house is just a couple of blocks down the street,” he added with a shrug.

Oh, damnation
, Geraldine thought with a sigh. “Well, you’ll need to send him back there to retrieve it, then,” she replied, turning back to the desk to begin her response to Lord Ballantine. “And hope that Lord Barrick hasn’t yet had an opportunity to read it.” Which reminded her that she would have to pen
another
note to the viscount to decline his invitation for a ride. She had half a mind to simply walk down to the viscount’s home and deliver the message in person, but if Lady Barrick was in residence and discovered she was there, Geraldine would probably have to stay and socialize with her.
Not today,
she thought with a shake of her head.

Smithton gave a nod to her back and hurried from the room, intent on finding a footman who might be faster than Foyles.

Geraldine regarded the blank sheet before her.
Lord Ballantine.
A shiver coursed through her entire body, not unlike the one she’d felt earlier when she’d watched the baron from the hackney.
Did the man have any inkling he could have her whenever he wished?

Geraldine gasped.

Had she really just thought that? Had she really just imagined joining the baron in his bed, in the middle of the day, for a tumble and a bit of tea ...

Shaking her head as if to clear it, Geraldine quickly put pen to paper and replied that she would be honored to join the baron for the trip to Hyde Park. She almost added, “And wherever else you wish to take me,” but thought better of it. They would probably end up at the theater, or shopping in New Bond Street when she secretly hoped they would end up in his bed.

A girl was entitled to her fantasies.

Having proofread the note for the third time, Geraldine finally folded it. Dripping wax onto the seams, she pressed her seal into the red puddle. After waiting a moment, she pulled it away. Satisfied with her GAP, she took the missive to the butler and asked that it be delivered with all due haste.

Smithton regarded the white note for a long time before deciding it could wait an hour or so before being dispatched. After all, what if Miss Porterhouse changed her mind and wanted it back?

And so it was that Geraldine’s reply to Matthew Winters’ missive didn’t arrive at Ballantine House until nearly eight o’clock that evening, just minutes after Lord Ballantine had taken his leave to play cards at Black’s.

Twelve houses down the street from Rosehill House, Lord Barrick’s butler regarded the breathless footman who stood at the back door. He recognized the livery the thin man wore – he’d seen it twice before in the past hour. “Yes?” he questioned with a good deal of trepidation.

“A message for Lord Barrick, sir,” the footman said between gasps for air as he held out Lady Geraldine’s amended response. “I’m told this will be the last. At least, the last from Rosehill House.”

The butler sighed. He wasn’t exactly sure what his master had written in the many notes he had penned earlier that day. And he wasn’t sure why the man insisted on delivering them himself. But given the number of notes that had arrived in return and the cook’s sudden displeasure, it could not have been good. Not good at all.