The Romantical Groom: Being a Satyre
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The Romantical Groom
Being a Satyre
by Sue Swift
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What others have said about Sue Swift and her books:
Sue Swift…is an author to watch.
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Sue Swift just gets better and better with each book.
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I look forward to many more books from the pen of this very talented lady.
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Swift has become a master at her craft
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The Romantical Groom
Copyright 2011 by Sue Swift
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Find other books by Sue Swift at https://www.sue-swift.com
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The Romantical Groom, Being a Satyre
Marlene, Earl of Maybegood, looked down the country lane to the spectacle presenting itself to her interested eyes. "By George," she exclaimed to her companion, "I do see the most priceless piece of manflesh thither on yon nag!"
Carolina d'Arvon, her friend from Eton and Oxford, brought her mare alongside Marlene's. "You name your quarry aright, Maybegood," she said. "'Tis Georgie, the gentleboy and heir of the local squire, Longjohn. The laddie is quite admired hereabouts, not only for his form and grace, but for his five thousand pounds per year."
Maybegood scowled. "I'll teach those country bumpkins a lesson!" she declared. "I'll have him before his first come-out."
George, quite unaware of their distant scrutiny, serenely rode on, accompanied by his father and a groom. As befitted a gentleboy, he was securely mounted on his sweet old gelding, Muffin. He rode side-saddle, his skirts gracefully arrayed around him; gentleboys ride side-saddle to protect their tender parts from the chafing of the leathern seat.
He was eighteen years old and perfect, from the top of his guinea-gold curls to the bottom of his superbly fitted boots. The zephyr blue of his graceful, skirted riding habit complemented his celestial eyes. The low-cut jacket accentuated without revealing his lovely form.
Marlene turned to d'Arvon. "Caro, introduce me to the laddie," she wheedled.
"'Tis naught to me, Marlene, but you might wish to wait until you are not so rough from riding," she pointed out. "The gentleboy might want grace and deportment…in short, a dandy."
Maybegood snorted. A noted sportswoman, she wore riding breeches and a fitted hacking jacket. Her topboots were muddy. The raiment was suitable for her current activity but not for a drawing room or even for an informal introduction to a gentleboy. However, Maybegood was known for her carelessness in the matter of fashion, avoiding fancy dress whenever possible and never, ever sullying the Queen's Court or any ballroom with her graceless presence.
Nevertheless she was desired, courted, and invited. The Earl of Maybegood owned and managed several estates of prime, productive land; as a very wealthy member of the peerage, Marlene was considered to be a Catch, and scores of scheming daddies dreamed of marrying off their sons to her. From her graduation from Oxford four years earlier, and her entry into the Polite World, Marlene had been the target of considerable masculine interest. The experience had left her somewhat arrogant in regard to the gentler sex.
"Believe me, Caro, he'll take me as I am," Marlene growled. "Come, he looks to be heading to town for market day. Let's contrive to encounter him there. 'Tis a proper setting for a casual meeting."
"Oh, aye," agreed Caro. "Plus, we can find a bite to eat. Riding has given me an appetite."
The two young women followed George down the same dusty track that took them all into the town of Welbeck. They were greeted with friendliness at the market. Carolina d'Arvon, the eldest daughter and heiress of the local Lady, was a welcome sight to the townspeople. So was her friend, the Earl of Maybegood, since Marlene had tarried at Arvon Towers for some days. Caro d'Arvon's prodigious appetite was well known; although it was only mid-morning, and she had partaken of a hearty breakfast before riding, she nevertheless stopped at the stall of the first vendor of the hot, tasty pasties that were the regional specialty. Marlene smiled as she watched her friend good-humoredly endure the teasing of the pretty cook who sold Caro two pasties; the young man, whom Caro called "Freddie," seemed to know Caro well. Another peach perfect for plucking, thought Marlene. What a delightful town this is!
Welbeck was truly a delightful town, not only because of its more attractive inhabitants, but because it was a happy and prosperous village. On market day all the local merchants decorated their stores with bright banners and sigils denoting their trades, and did a lively business. The farmers from roundabout brought in their finest produce and livestock for sale. Market day in Welbeck was a weekly fair, complete with tumblers, jugglers, lively children and stock auctions.
Maybegood and d'Arvon caught up with George as he stood at a booth displaying fabrics. George was completely absorbed in an internal debate over the relative merits of sarcenet and silk. Deciding upon a pink satiny silk, which greatly flattered his complexion, he made his purchase and turned away from the booth. He was blocked by the pair of young noblewomen, only one of whom he recognized.
"My dear ma'am," George addressed d'Arvon, "how very pleasant to see you again! I had not realized you were down from Oxford."
"Sir," Caro said, giving George her most graceful leg, "the pleasure is entirely mine."
As George and Caro exchanged these civilities, George was aware of Caro's companion, a darkly handsome woman of commanding, almost arrogant attitude. Controlling his blushes (George was uncomfortably aware of the stranger's gaze resting upon the low neckline of his riding habit), he rose from his curtsey and said, "d'Arvon, may I be known to your friend?"
"Of course, do forgive me. George Longjohn, Marlene, Earl Maybegood."
Marlene bowed and swept her cloak extravagantly, impressed by the grace of the lovely gentleboy. "I am delighted, sir. Welbeck village is enhanced by your presence."
"We are p-pleased to see such a notable in our small town. Do you often visit the country, milady?"
Introductions performed, Caro stood back and watched this very odd pair stumble to communicate. Caro was already aware of Marlene's attraction and noted George's response with glee. Caro and George knew, though Marlene did not, that George's father was determined to see his beautiful oldest son have a Season in London society. The last event Cricket Longjohn wanted was to see poor George buried in the country, as he, Cricket, had been by his marriage to Emmeline Longjohn. Cricket, noting Marlene's interest, moved in to protect his cub.
"Earl Maybegood, what a distinct pleasure," he declared. "Even here in the country, we have heard so much about you." Though his tone was pleasant, the words stung; Marlene was quite aware of her reputation as comfortable only at the racetrack or the stables. Cricket moved in to snare his prey: "We would so like to see the both of you for a light repast, en famille, just. Perhaps Saturday night?"
The engagement made, the participants parted; two, at least, in restless anticipation of the following Saturday evening. Cricket himself felt nothing but smug pleasure at capturing two of the most eligible noblewomen in England for his dinner table. Caro anticipated a good dinner.