“Bless you,” Thomas said with more gratitude than he could ever express.
***
“I do not know that he seems that interested.” Anne smoothed out the piece of fabric she was currently labouring to embroider. A gentle breeze brushed a strand of Anne’s blonde hair against her cheek as it came meandering into her mother’s sitting room through an open window.
Her mother placed her own work in progress aside and reached for her tea. “He reminds me much of his mother. She was adamant that people would just have to like her for herself, but she eventually saw the merit of having some coaching.”
“But the Duke is a man and a man’s ego, as you often say, can lead them to do some troublesome things.” Anne was not entirely sure that she wanted to help the man who seemed to completely ignore her presence. Let him go bumbling into the Season and find out how unforgiving the English really were.
Baroness Moore sank back into her chair. “Well, we shall just have to pray for Sarah’s sake that her son is a bit more reasonable than most men.”
Anne frowned. She did not remember Sarah. She had heard her mother talk of her friend, but she had not been born until after Sarah had already left to go home to America. “Yes, I do hope so for his mother’s sake.”
“I have cajoled your father into lending his aid as well. He shall take the young man under his wings as much as possible. Which, knowing your father and his schedule will likely be very little.”
Anne did not see what she could really do to help the man. Perhaps he would listen to her father. Certainly, he had seemed a bit hesitant about her mother’s suggestions.
Anne’s father had a loud booming voice that tended to make people take notice. Never had Anne thought that it would be a good thing, but it might be the only thing that could get Duke Somerset’s attention. Perhaps if that did not work, they would call in her uncle the Earl of Chatham. The booming voice was a hereditary trait that all the Seymour men shared, and it was a daunting thing when witnessed in groups.
“Anne, are you listening?”
Anne blinked and looked at her mother. “I am so sorry. My mind must have wandered off somewhere.”
“I had hoped you would outgrow that old daydreaming habit of yours.” Baroness Moore’s eyes narrowed as if she were searching for a way to stamp out Anne’s daydreams once and for all.
Anne smiled. “I was actually thinking of how to help with getting His Grace to come around. Perhaps Father can make him see sense. It is in the man’s best interest, after all, and I dare say that I cannot believe anyone would go against their own best interest.”
“Who knows what goes through the mind of an American,” Baroness Moore whispered. “They are all brash and bravado, the ones I have met. That sort of nonsense is not going to win him any favours at society functions.”
Anne had to admit that her mother was right on that score. Speaking of society functions made Anne remember her own plans for the Season, and she grew excited. “That reminds me that I need to check on the progress of my dresses.”
“Oh, yes,” Baroness Moore remarked as if she had forgotten the dresses that she and Anne had ordered to be made.
Anne clapped her hands together. “I am ever so excited to see them finished. I have a good feeling about this season, American men aside.”
“I just hope that you have given up those designs of yours. You know that your father and I only want what is best for you.” Baroness Moore took a dainty sip of her tea. “This wind keeps pulling my curls out of the pins.”
Anne watched her mother with outward amusement as she sat her teacup down in disgust. “Well, the breeze is nice barring hair woes.”
“I shall look like I just came in from the fields before long,” Baroness Moore complained loudly.
Anne stood up with a sigh. She went over and closed the window. “Better?”
“I already look preposterous.” Anne’s mother patted her head as if trying to locate loose strands.
Anne rolled her eyes where her mother could not see her. “That is not true. Besides no one goes into the fields wearing a dress like that.”
“I pray that the Lord gives you children who mock you so. You got that from your father, that much I know,” Baroness Moore grumbled as she pinned a wayward strand back to her head.
Anne came to her mother’s aid, and Baroness Moore let Anne find and pin her hair back the way it should be. “Good as new,” Anne proclaimed as she proudly sat back down.
Baroness Moore looked over at her daughter. “You never said if you had given up your schemes.”
“I suppose I did not,” Anne said with a smile playing on her lips. She relented at the look her mother shot her. “I will admit that I still do wish you and Father would give Lord Belmont a chance.”
There was a long pause before Anne’s mother closed her eyes. Her voice was soft, and that was not a tone her mother was known for using. “Please, try to understand, Anne. Not everyone is going to see the same thing in a person.” She opened her eyes and looked at Anne. “Trust that your parents see truthfully.”
“But if it is true that not every person sees the same thing, then how can I not try to get you to see what I see.” Anne could no more give up this fight than stop breathing. She just felt like she owed it to Lord Belmont to try. He seemed so set on their match, and he was so kind.
Baroness Moore dusted her skirt as if some imaginary dirt had settled there. “I was like you once. I was enamoured with this Marquis, and I swore that he was the man for me against all advice that I was given.”
Anne gave her mother a curious look. “I have never heard this story before.”
“That is because you have never needed to hear it before. It is not something I would normally share, but if my folly can aid you, then I consider it my duty as a mother.” Baroness Moore sat up straight in a way that made Anne wonder if she truly wanted to hear her mother’s story.
“The Marquis, who I will not name, was a polite and quiet man who was given to lapses of poetry at times. I thought him splendid. He was just like the gentlemen in the romances that my sister and I had read often. He just needed someone to encourage him.” Baroness Moore laughed at her past self. “Truth is I would not listen to anyone. I thought I knew better.”
Anne protested, “It is not that I know better, Mother—”
“You simply feel as if you have to make sure you do not make a mistake,” her mother finished for her. “I know. I felt that way. I also know that no matter what I say, you will carry on because I did the same thing.”
Anne leaned forward, her elbows braced on her knees. “But you married Father.”
“Oh, yes,” Baroness Moore said with a sigh of affection. “I met your father after declaring that I would never marry. Men were vile things.”
With a giggle, Anne asked, “Was Father a vile thing?”
“The vilest of all,” Baroness Moore declared with a laugh. “Why he made me forget my own thoughts, and instead, I was suddenly marrying him.”
Anne covered her mouth to attempt to quell the laughter that her mother’s words brought out of her. She could see the love visible on her face. That was what she wanted. The story of her mother’s marquis hardly mattered because love had brought her mother here.
“There see, he has done it again.” Baroness Moore tapped her knee almost in disbelief. “I was here telling you a story, and now we are talking of him. He is jealous even when he is not here.”
Anne chided her mother. “That is not true. I have never seen Father show much jealousy.”
“That is true, but do you know why that is so?” Her mother raised her eyebrow curiously at Anne.
Anne thought about it and then shook her head. “Why?”
Baroness Moore patted Anne’s hand. “It is simply because he knows that there is no need for him to be. Love knows when it is true. Jealousy is there when love still has to question.”
Chapter 2
The house was bustling with new acti
vity and new faces by the week’s end. It hardly seemed to Thomas as if the household ever stopped moving. There was always something underway.
“Gerald,” Thomas called as he caught the man in the hallway. “I cannot find anything in my room. Has someone been in there?”
Gerald turned toward Thomas and gave him a quizzical look as if he did not quite understand what he was asking. Finally, Gerald nodded his head. “I should hope the maid has been in to clean. Did you find the valet that I sent to the adjoining rooms?” Gerald asked as his eyes lifted up to look at Thomas’ messy locks.
“I was only in my room long enough to discover that things have been moved.” Thomas did not know if he liked the idea of having a live-in valet, let alone one who stayed in the rooms nearby to simply wait upon him.
Gerald nodded as he looked back at the paper he was holding. “I shall warn the maids in the future not to move things around without permission, but if you left items out… then I would assume they are in the wardrobe or dresser one?”
“Right.” Thomas sighed as he turned on his heel and headed back upstairs. In his room, he quickly pulled open the wardrobe and peered in. Sure enough, someone had stacked his books neatly to one side under his jackets.
He had just straightened up with his books in hand when someone knocked on the door to his room, not the hallway door, but the door that joined another room. “Hello?” Thomas did not know if that was the proper thing to say, but he also did not want to throw out a welcome to just anybody.
“Your Grace, I wanted to introduce myself. I was hired to be your valet.” The man’s voice sounded deeply uncomfortable, and Thomas supposed he had every right to be a bit put out to be talking to a door.
Thomas bit down on his annoyance at the interruption. “Come in then.”
The door cracked open, and a young man who looked to be around Thomas’ age came in. Thomas had not really thought about it being someone his own age. Thomas thought about how his stepfather conducted business and decided he might need to start modelling that here. “What’s your name then?”
“Harold, Your Grace,” the young man responded quickly.
Thomas frowned. “Mind if I call you Harry?”
“Not at all, Your Grace.” Harold aka Harry stood watching him with his hands behind his back in much the same way Gerald held himself.
Thomas motioned for the man to relax. “You make me tired. So what does a valet do exactly?”
“I function as a barber when needed, help you get your attire on, and just get you ready for looking your best, Your Grace.” Clearly, Harry had not expected to be asked that question as his answer seemed a bit dumbfounded and thick on his tongue.
Thomas took pity on the man. It was tough to be a valet to one of the least functional Dukes around, and Thomas was certain he was top on that list. “Did you know my brother?”
“Only by reputation,” Harry admitted.
He figured it would be pretty hard not to hear of a Duke by reputation in England. They were not exactly standing on each street corner, so they would be quite the news story. “Fair enough; I really only heard of him that way myself,” Thomas said. He slapped Harry on the shoulder. “So, do you think you can do something with this hair of mine?”
Harry’s eyes went to the unruly crown of curls that Thomas sported. “Of course, Your Grace. I think your hair would be finely suited to the popular styles this year.”
“If so, then I shall declare you a finer man than Washington himself.” Thomas plopped down in the chair in front of the vanity.
Harry looked a little perplexed as he turned and followed Thomas. “You really are from America, aren’t you?”
“What gave it away?” Thomas asked with a grin on his face.
Harry reached for a brush. “Well, that you think Washington a fine man for one.”
Thomas supposed that was fair. The side of a battle often changed the perspectives a good bit. “You all can’t be sore still about the revolution?”
“What aren’t stinging from that are probably a teensy bit irritated about the war of 1812,” Harry bantered back with amusement.
Thomas conceded, “We did not exactly come out on top in all of that last one. We take our licks like everyone else.”
Harry gave Thomas a smile. “See now that is something I have never seen in an American.”
“What?” Thomas frowned at Harry in the vanity’s mirror.
Harry started brushing out Thomas’ hair. “Humility.”
“Met many Americans?” Thomas did not think Harry meant offence, but the young Englishman offered a unique perspective into the way that regular folks and not high ranking English saw the United States.
Harry shrugged, and Thomas was sure the pull on his hair was unintentional, even if it did smart. “I have only met a passing few. Most are so full of their own voice that they can’t even hear the wind.”
“Ouch.” Thomas laughed.
Harry cringed. “I meant no disrespect, Your Grace. I thought you wanted candour.”
“There is no need for all that. I don’t know enough about ceremony here to stand on it, so just set aside your hat and speak your piece.” Thomas gave Harry an encouraging smile, and the man seemed to relax.
Despite what Thomas said, Harry did not speak much after that. He simply set about in earnest fixing Thomas’ hair. Thomas did not know all the right words to put the man at ease, so he just let it lie.
When Harry had fixed Thomas’ hair, even Thomas had to admit that he looked markedly better. “I look like a newly minted coin. Thank you, Harry.”
Harry smiled and dipped his head in acceptance. “Just doing my duties, Your Grace. Would you like me to help you get dressed?”
Thomas looked down at his clothing. He looked fine to himself, but sooner or later he was going to have someone explain to him what exactly he was supposed to wear. “I think I shall do.”
Harry’s eyes looked like he might disagree, but the man simply gave his head a sharp nod. “Very well then, Your Grace. I shall bring you your food.”
“I can go down and get it,” Thomas told Harry. He stood up and gave himself another look in the mirror.
The valet did not seem to know quite what to do. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Thomas gave Harry a pat on the shoulder before he left the room. He had a lot on his plate and too much to sit around mulling over what exactly he was supposed to do with a valet. He had always thought being a Duke was like being royalty in some sense, but it seemed to be more rules than anything else.
“Ah, there you are, Your Grace. Looking very well!” Gerald had appeared at his shoulder causing Thomas to startle.
Thomas declared, “You should wear a bell. I have never seen a man with such a soft-footed walk.”
“I shall endeavor to stomp about more, Your Grace,” Gerald said. For the life of him, Thomas could not tell if the man were joking or not.
Thomas straightened his jacket and took a deep breath. “I need to go over to Baron Moore’s estate. I don’t suppose you know where that is.”
“Simon can take you. I shall go and tell them to bring the carriage around.” Gerald looked at Thomas for approval. Thomas gave the man a nod.
Gerald set off towards the front door and Thomas towards the kitchen. He burst through the doors, and Ellie waved him over to a table. “Your Grace, your coffee is ready.”
“Blessings on you, Ellie,” Thomas said reverently as he sank down in front of the fragrant cup of coffee.
The Way to Capture a Marquess's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 30