by Wendy Vella
Thank the gods the position at the Harrington House stables included working during the summer months. Year-round employment was necessary if he had any hope of funding the widow and her children beyond the first few years of her widowhood.
Shrugging, Alistair returned his attentions to Thunderbolt’s hooves. He took a moment to trace the edge of the horseshoe with one fingernail, marveling at the workmanship of the blacksmith who had forged it.
“Best you’ve seen, I bet,” a deep voice intoned from the other side of the horse.
Alistair managed to keep from visibly starting at the sound of the head groom’s comment. How had the man managed to sneak up on him? Especially when he’d just been so aware of two chits watching him from above? The head groom must have just returned from escorting Lady Mayfield, he realized.
“Indeed,” Alistair responded as he lowered the horse’s leg. He moved to look at the shoe on the front hoof. The workmanship was atypical of a London smithy, the iron smooth along the edges and the nail holes perfectly spaced, as if the shoe had been molded rather than pounded into shape on an anvil and drilled on a pritchell. Looking closely, he noted small initials pounded into the arch. MI. “I wasn’t aware London could boast such a good blacksmith,” he added as he noted the same perfect shape and finish on the hoof he now held. Thunderbolt lifted his head as if he was about to protest, but Alistair leaned his shoulder against the horse’s before lowering the hoof. “Steady, boy,” he whispered before giving his complete attention to Mr. Grimes.
“Doubt it could,” the groomsman responded. “Lord Mayfield has a smithy over in Germany who makes them special.”
Nodding, Alistair afforded the man a smile. “Isenhour, no doubt,” he replied, resting his forearms on Thunderbolt’s back. Grimes gave him a raised eyebrow in reply, as if he was impressed that Alistair knew of the best blacksmith in Europe.
Perhaps gaining the trust of the head groomsman wouldn’t be as difficult as Alistair supposed when he first approached the man, hat in hand and in need of a source of income.
The argument he’d had with his father played back in his mind for at least the fourth time that day. How could he have allowed the blasted earl to get to him so? As the second son, he’d dutifully done three years in the British Army as an officer, the commission purchased on his behalf by his father.
After the debacle of Quatre Bas and the costly victory at Waterloo, though, he could not stomach the thought of remaining in the army. He’d promised one of his enlisted men, Michael Regan, he would see to his widow and children if he should come to his death on the battlefield. Regan did, meaning Alistair had an obligation to fulfill, perhaps for the rest of his life. Widows and children of enlisted men received nothing in the way of pensions; if not for the fifteen pounds he would deliver to that family each month, they would be at the mercy of a relative or its parish to cover living expenses. Certainly his father would agree to help with the obligation.
That was where he had been mistaken.
For when he explained his promise to the Earl of Aimsley, the man had shaken his head, crossed his arms, and denied his request. When Alistair threatened to sell his commission to cover the obligation, his father had made his disapproval quite apparent in the choice of his words as well as their volume. Everyone in residence at their country estate, Aimsley Park in East Grinstead, was well aware of the earl’s displeasure that day, just a fortnight ago.
No one besides the earl heard Alistair’s reply, however. His simple vow that he would be forced to leave his father’s house should the earldom fail to help in funding the small obligation was spoken in a voice not much louder than a whisper. His father’s response was much louder, ordering his son out of the house and denouncing his status as the second son.
Stunned by the earl’s words—he’d never thought his father a tightwad when it came to the earldom’s funds—Alistair took his leave of his father’s study, packed what he could carry on horseback, and left the estate. He hadn’t even stopped for supper at the White Lion, the coaching inn in Warlingham, deciding instead to get to London and use the family townhouse for a few nights until he could line up a position.
Selling his commission had been easy, and he’d been able to invest the eight hundred pounds in a five-percenter. But it wouldn’t be long before the principle and interest were spent.
Having only been an army officer and not having had to earn a living during his five-and-twenty years, Alistair wondered at what he might be able to do in London. The idea of working indoors all day, such as clerking in an office or working for a shopkeeper, held little appeal. A few discrete queries made at Boodles on behalf of a fictitious friend and his talk with Wellingham had yielded the lead on an opening for a groom at Harrington House.
Horses, he knew. He’d spent enough afternoons at Tattersall’s reviewing horseflesh and enough time on horseback and driving various kinds of equipage to have the knowledge to work with them.
Landing the job at Mayfield House had been much easier than he expected. The head groom took one look, nodded, and led him to Thunderbolt’s stall, saying if he could manage the beast for the rest of the day, he had a position and a small room above the stables in which to live.
Alistair had proven himself with the large Thoroughbred, keeping it calm as he brushed it and seeing to his feed and stall. Now that he had cared for the horse and several others for nearly a week, he had to consider his future. He should get word to his mother to let her know he was in London and gainfully employed. And before long, he would be forced to show himself in public—not as a second son of an earl, but as a servant.
Would someone recognize him? Did the chits who spied him from the window above know his true identity? Or was it as he suspected—people only saw what they expected to see?
“Do you ... know the smithy?” Mr. Grimes asked, interrupting Alistair’s reverie.
Straightening, Alistair shook his head, just then remembering their conversation about the German blacksmith. “No. Never met the man. Just know him by reputation,” he replied, deciding not to mention that the blacksmith had distant relatives in Sussex.
Mr. Grimes nodded and then seemed to remember why he had joined Alistair in the yard. “I have to get you some livery to wear tomorrow afternoon. You’ll be escorting Lady Julia to Hyde Park for the fashionable hour.”
Alistair had to fight to keep his face impassive. “It would be my honor,” he answered, not quite sure what the proper response should be to such a statement.
Lady Julia? She had to be the daughter. He resisted the urge to cast a glance at the window where he’d seen the two young ladies watching him.
“She can be rather headstrong,” Mr. Grimes warned, his serious nature apparent in how his eyebrows seemed to come together. “You’ll have to keep her in your sights at all times. Can’t have the other riders thinking she’s without an escort.”
“Of course not,” Alistair agreed with a nod. Headstrong, huh? Probably spoiled, too. Well, he would find out for himself the next day.
And the ride in Hyde Park would be a true test of his theory. Would the members of the aristocracy that toured Rotten Row during the fashionable hour truly only see what they expected to see? Or would someone recognize him?
The supposed groom was about to find out.
Chapter Four
Meeting a Sister for the First Time
Sitting atop his favorite Thoroughbred, Gabriel Wellingham regarded the mansion in Park Lane for a long time before finally entering the half-circle pavement. He thought at first he should inquire at the servant’s entrance at the back of the house, but the butler opened the front door before he could change his mind. He tossed the reins around a post near the steps leading up to the front door of the Palladian mansion before taking them two at a time.
“Gabriel Wellingham, Earl of Trenton,” he stated once he had reached the landing. He held out a calling card.
The butler’s eyebrows disappeared into his periwig. “My lord,�
�� he answered, obviously surprised. “Lord Chamberlain is not in residence today.”
Breathing a sigh of relief at hearing Matthew Fitzsimmons was away, no doubt at the house party in Kent so many were attending that week, Gabriel gave the butler a nod. “I seek another. I am in search of a young girl by the name of Lily Harkins. Would she be in residence?”
His eyes wide, the butler seemed to take a moment before finally saying, “She is, but ...”
“Is there a parlor we might be allowed to use?” Gabriel wondered, realizing there should be someone else present in the room. “And someone who could act as a ... chaperone?” he added, remembering how some of the scandal of what had happened with Lady Elizabeth Carlington had been because he met with her in a parlor without so much as a footman present. With the door closed.
“Right this way,” the butler said as he motioned for Gabriel to enter the home’s vestibule. Despite the outside of the home suggesting a modern residence, its columns and stone pediments Greek in design, the inside made the house look as if it was still mired in the pre-Georgian era.
Leaving his hat with a footman, Gabriel followed the butler to a brightly-lit parlor near the front of the house.
“I will summon Miss Harkins,” the butler said as he bowed and started to take his leave.
“Could you see to some tea as well?” Gabriel wondered, realizing his request was probably gauche considering he wasn’t an invited guest.
“Of course, my lord,” the butler said, his face reddening when he realized he should have probably offered the hospitality.
Gabriel nodded and turned his attention to the parlor. Typical in its furnishings and floral patterns, it was a bit different in that most of the woods were very dark and the fabrics were various shades of blue. He dared a glance in a mirror positioned above an escritoire, relieved to see his short curls weren’t too unruly but shocked that his cheekbones seemed more pronounced than usual. Finally losing the baby fat, he thought with a bit of satisfaction. He was about to lean in to check his teeth when he realized he was no longer alone in the room. Pretending to study the frame of the mirror, he reached out to touch the plaster and instead allowed his finger to drop to the desktop as he saw the reflection of the newcomer in the mirror.
Turning slowly, he regarded Lily Harkins with an expression of wonder. There could be no doubt she was related to him. Her blond hair, cropped short in the current style favored by so many of the young matrons of the ton, framed a face that could have been painted by Gainesborough. Blue eyes were a perfect copy of his own, and her nose mirrored his. Cupid’s sister, Gabriel thought before he shook his head and bowed. “Miss Harkins?” he spoke finally.
Lily Harkins regarded the young man for a moment before remembering her manners. “Yes, my lord,” she said in a breathy voice, curtsying as she did so. “At your service.”
Gabriel shook his head as he approached her, saying, “It is I who is at your service, my lady.” He reached down and took her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. Her fingers were long and slender, but a bit chapped, indicating she was probably a maid or worked in the kitchen. And at her reflexive jerk to pull her hand away, Gabriel raised his eyes to hers. “Gabriel Wellingham,” he said as he straightened. “It’s very good to finally meet you.”
The young woman’s eyes widened, a hint of fear appearing in their cornflower blue irises. “It is?” she whispered, swallowing as her gaze darted about the room, as if she were looking for a way to escape.
A maid appeared at the parlor door, pausing and nearly gasping as she carried the tea tray. She hurried into the room, placing the tray on the low table in front of the settee before making a hasty curtsy and an even hastier retreat.
“Will you do me the honor of having tea with me?” Gabriel wondered as he waved toward the table.
Lily nodded, not trusting her voice to answer. Moving to the table, she took a seat in the settee and busied herself with pouring the tea. “Would you like sugar? Or cream?” she asked as her free hand hovered over the bowls.
“A bit of cream, please,” Gabriel replied as he took the chair to her left. “I am calling on you because, until a few days ago, I didn’t know I had a sister,” he said as he took the cup and saucer from Lily’s trembling hands, wanting to get right to the point when he realized she obviously knew his identity. The butler, he thought, realizing the man would have told her who called on her. But did she know they were related? He saw her eyes widen again before she turned to pour her own tea. “Did you know that I am your brother?” he wondered in a quiet voice.
She nodded. “I did. I ... I have known for several years, in fact,” Lily replied, finally taking a sip of her tea. Her posture made her appear much taller than her five-and-a-half feet— her back was ramrod straight and her shoulders were pulled back as if she had been raised as an aristocrat’s daughter.
Gabriel wished the girl would relax. Not having considered how she might react to meeting him, he wasn’t sure what to do to put her at ease. “We have a couple of brothers, as well,” he offered. That news seemed to take her by surprise.
“We do?” she replied, her eyes still wide. “I ... I did not know that.” She took another sip of her tea. “Have ... Have you met them, my lord?” she wondered, realizing she needed to keep up her end of the conversation.
Shaking his head, Gabriel leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Not yet. I thought to start with you, since you are apparently the eldest,” he explained, wondering at her apparent calm. Good grief! He’d just acknowledged she was the daughter of an earl. Why didn’t she seem ... happy? Or at least intrigued. “And do call me ‘Gabriel’, won’t you?” he insisted. “You are my sister, after all.”
Nodding, Lily put her saucer down. “You say you only learned of me a few days ago. May I inquire as to ... how?” she asked in a quiet voice.
Gabriel straightened, putting his own cup and saucer on the table next to hers. “My secretary, Heatherton, informed me. I’ve suspected for several years that I might have ... siblings, but I had no details, so I had him make arrangements with an investigator.”
Lily’s eyes widened again. “Surely you didn’t need to go to the expense, given the gossip at the time of my birth,” she said in surprise. Lily knew she’d been a source of parlor room talk way back when—her mother told her the circumstances of her birth when she was old enough to ask. “Mum was released from service at the Trenton townhouse in London when she was increasing with child. It’s a wonder she was able to find a position in this household,” she explained. “Although I suspect Lady Trenton might have had something to do with the placement.”
Gabriel shrugged, not surprised his mother would have seen to removal of a maid from the London townhouse, but a bit surprised she would have helped with placing the maid in another household. Charity Wellingham could abide her husband’s infidelities if they occurred at one of their country estates; a pregnant maid in London would not have been tolerated, however. His mother despised gossip if it had anything to do with the Trentons. “No doubt,” Gabriel replied with a nod, deciding not to defend his mother. “As to your other concern, I wanted to find you, and hiring someone to do so seemed the most expeditious course.”
Leaning forward on the settee, Lily’s face visibly reddened. “And why would you wish to find me?” she wondered, almost adding ‘my lord’ to the question, but catching herself at the last moment.
Gabriel regarded the lady’s maid as if she was daft. “You’re my sister.”
“I was your father’s daughter, and he made no attempt to find me,” she countered, a hint of ire in her voice.
This is not going well, Gabriel realized, sensing Lily’s anger. “’Tis true my father had no regard for his by-blows ...” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them, and he couldn’t help but notice Lily’s wince. “... But I am not my father’s son, and I have every intention of setting things right.”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “You are a bas
tard as well?” she whispered.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “No. Of course not. I just meant that I am not like my father when it comes to dealing with ... with my half-siblings. I wish to ... know you. To have you be part of my life. And I of yours.”
Slumping in her chair, Lily stared at Gabriel. “I am a lady’s maid. Nothing more,” she said in a whisper.
“But you can be so much more. If you’d like,” Gabriel countered. “And you’re of an age to make your come-out. To be courted. I can provide a very good dowry.” Gabriel nearly grinned at her look of shock as her eyes widened.
“I am in service as a lady’s maid, my lo ... Gabriel,” she protested. “Lady Samantha is very fair and a pleasure to work for, the Fitzsimmons are kind ...”
Shaking his head, Gabriel said, “But you needn’t be, my lady. I am ... I don’t wish to sound pompous, but I have a great deal of money at my disposal. It is my intention to find you a townhouse and a companion and pay for a modiste to outfit you in the latest fashion so that you can make your come-out this Season.”
Lily stared at the earl, stunned by his words. The life of a lady? With servants of my own? In a London townhouse? “May I remind you that I am ... illegitimate?” She said the last in a whisper, as if she were concerned that an eavesdropper might hear her. “However could I make a come-out? One would need ...” She paused as she considered what Lady Samantha was undergoing in her preparations for her third Season as an unmarried lady. Besides the frequent visits to a modiste for fittings, she’d been taking more dance lessons and practicing elocution and French. And then there were the daily deliveries of hand-written notes from households all over the West End, invitations to balls and musicales and soirées. “One would need to be invited to balls and musicales and such,” she argued.
Smiling, Gabriel clasped his hands together. “I would see to those, of course,” he replied, wondering at her hesitance. But he considered what it must be like for the illegitimate children of the aristocracy. Lily would be a topic of gossip wherever she appeared in public. Until she was settled with a husband, Gabriel would have to act as her protector. At some point, she would be accepted or rejected according to the whims of the fickle ton.