by Wendy Vella
“Julia’s mother, Temperance Harrington, is my mother’s cousin,” Gabriel continued the explanation. He turned his attention back to Julia. “My sister seems to be doing quite well with her come-out. How is your come-out going? I saw you conversing with Aimsley earlier,” he said with a cocked eyebrow. “You two looked rather cozy. I do hope he’s being a perfect gentleman.”
Julia’s brow furrowed. “Aimsley?” she repeated. She’d met Lady Aimsley when she first entered the ballroom ...
“Alistair,” Gabriel clarified. “His father is around here somewhere. Probably in the card room,” he said as he glanced around the crowded ballroom. “Is Alistair still pretending to be a groom?” he wondered, one eyebrow lifted with his look of amusement.
Julia stared at Gabriel for several seconds, struggling to keep an impassive expression on her face. Pretending to be a groom? Mr. Comber?
If he wasn’t a groom, then what was he?
“Yes. Yes, he is,” she answered with a slight smile. “And doing a fine job of it. My father is quite happy with his work in the stables,” she went on, hoping she didn’t sound like a ninny.
Gabriel’s expression wavered. “His situation is rather unfortunate,” he allowed, turning to include Sarah in his remarks. “His father cut him off when he sold his commission,” he said to his wife. “He was an officer in the British Army. Served on the Continent for three years.”
Sarah nodded, a look of recognition crossing her face. “He is the one that made the promise to a fellow soldier’s widow?” she wondered, remembering Gabriel’s talk of his friend when they were on their way to London.
“He’s the one,” Gabriel agreed, turning to regard his cousin. Julia stood staring into space, one gloved hand pressed against her chest, her breaths shallow. “Julia?” he spoke in a concerned voice.
Moving to take Julia’s other hand, Sarah realized their discussion about Alistair Comber had the young lady off-kilter. “I think it’s time for a moment in the retiring room,” Sarah said in a quiet voice, giving her husband a raised eyebrow.
“Of course,” Gabriel agreed, his face still showing concern. “I’ll escort you there and wait for you outside,” he said, leading the way through the crush toward the lady’s retiring room.
Chapter Forty-One
Two Chits in the Retiring Room
Sarah found a chair and saw to it Julia was seated before she knelt on the Aubusson carpet in front of her. “I apologize if I assume too much, but I believe my husband must have said something that did not abide well with you,” she whispered, hoping Gabriel’s cousin wouldn’t faint.
Julia raised her eyes to regard her new relation. She’s a countess, and yet she’s kneeling on the floor! “I ... I feel like such a fool,” she whispered back, tears collecting in her eyes.
Frowning, Sarah shook her head. “But, why?” she wondered.
Julia sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I accepted a challenge from my best friend. I claimed I could make our new groom into a gentleman, and ... and I have,” she said, one tear escaping to leave a wet trail on her cheek. “But, he ...” She stopped to swallow and lifted a hand to her cheek.
“He already is,” Sarah finished for her, realizing just then why the poor girl was so upset. “You are speaking of Mr. Comber, are you not?” she asked in a quiet voice. She glanced about, hoping their conversation wasn’t being overheard by any of the other women who lounged about. A few were looking in their direction, but none seemed to take a keen interest in them.
Julia nodded. “No wonder he didn’t require elocution lessons,” she murmured, remembering how she feared he might be from one of the northern counties. “He’s an Aimsley.” She closed her eyes as she remembered when they spoke of names. He had even suggested the name ‘Aimsley’ when they were trying to invent one for him! “And I didn’t recognize the name as that of an earldom,” Julia whispered, her gaze directed toward the carpet below.
But, what did that make him? The son of an earl?
Having spent some of the coach ride to London reading deBrett’s The New Peerage, Sarah could understand how difficult it would be to know all of the aristocratic family names. Certainly Julia could be excused for not knowing the Aimsley name. “Gabriel said that Mr. Comber has been away—as an officer in the British Army,” Sarah said with a shake of her head. “He has not been seen as a gentleman on these shores for several years.”
Julia’s eyes widened. “True,” she acknowledged, allowing a small sob as she remembered what he’d said the day they practiced the Cotillion.
I have something I need to tell you, he’d said when they met in the hall earlier this evening. And then they’d been interrupted.
“And he seems rather ... taken with you,” Sarah went on, remembering seeing the two of them in the ballroom before most of the guests arrived.
“Do you think so?” Julia wondered, her face suddenly brightening. She remembered him introducing her to Lady Aimsley earlier in the evening. She is my ... he started to say, and then they were once again interrupted.
Mother! He had introduced her to his mother!
Sarah nodded. “He is rather handsome,” she stated with a shrug, “If you have an attraction to men who are tall and dark-haired and have those very blue eyes.”
“Oh, he is,” Julia nodded, sniffling. “And I do. I think him the most handsome man in all of London,” she whispered, her head continuing to nod.
Frowning, Sarah angled her head to one side. “I find I cannot agree, as I am of the opinion that my husband is the most handsome man in all of England,” she countered, allowing a bit of humor to color her voice. “Although, I must admit I have not seen all of the men in England ... and I do admit to a preference for men who have blond hair.”
Julia allowed a smile. “May I ask a rather ... personal question,” she wondered, her manner suddenly timid.
Sarah shrugged. “Of course.”
Taking a deep breath, Julia whispered, “Is he truly a horrible kisser?”
Covering her mouth with a hand, Sarah had to suppress the laughter she felt was about to burst out. “He was, it’s true. But he is not any longer,” she whispered happily. “I was his ... tutor, in fact,” she admitted, her face pinking up in a most becoming blush. Sarah was stunned when Julia suddenly wrapped both of her arms around her shoulders. “Oh!”
“Thank you for marrying him,” Julia said, her voice muffled in her hug. “I ... I do not believe he would have found a woman in London worthy of him.”
Sarah pulled away from Julia, giving the younger woman a look of puzzlement. “In time, I’m sure ...”
“None like you,” Julia replied with a shake of her head. “I am glad to claim you as a cousin now,” she whispered. “If no one else has said it to you this evening, then let me be the first to welcome you to the family.”
Staring at Julia as if she’d been slapped silly, Sarah finally nodded.
Family.
She had that now, she realized. A husband, a son, a sister, cousins ... “Thank you,” she replied, tears collecting in her own eyes. “Oh, dear, now look at us,” she said suddenly, rising from her knees in order to search for a handkerchief.
Julia held out hers. “Thank you,” she responded as Sarah took the proffered hanky. After a moment, she stood up from the chair. “I do believe we have left our handsome gentlemen unchaperoned for too long,” Julia said suddenly. “And the next dance is about to begin,” she added as she heard the faint strains of instruments being tuned.
Sarah smiled, amazed at her new cousin’s sudden change in mood. “Gabriel has promised me this dance,” she said with a grin. “Although I have danced every dance with him, and I do not believe I am supposed to dance with him more than twice,” she murmured uncertainly.
“And Mr. Comber has promised me this dance,” Julia said, smoothing her skirts and dabbing at her eyes with another hanky she had pulled from a hidden pocket. “And since you are newly married, I think you’re allowed as many dances with
your husband as you wish.” When she noticed Sarah giving her a raised eyebrow at the sudden appearance of another hanky, she said, “My mother warned me that I would probably need to cry at least once tonight.”
Sarah was about to say something but merely nodded her understanding.
The two left the retiring room arm-in-arm, both intent on claiming their gentlemen for the Cotillion.
Chapter Forty-Two
The Cotillion
“So, tell me Lady Julia, how many offers of marriage have you entertained this evening?” Alistair asked with a hint of amusement as they lined up for the Cotillion. Julia had appeared at his side in the company of Trenton and his new bride, the three looking rather ... determined, just as he had completed a conversation with the Cunninghams. And had the girls been crying? he wondered. They both seemed rather happy at the moment despite their slightly reddened eyes.
Julia’s eyes widened, but her blush made it evident he had guessed correctly. “Two, but I am quite sure one was made in jest. And, as for the other, everyone knows Mr. Weston just needs a dowry to pay off gambling debts,” she said lightly, hoping her earlier tears didn’t make her eyes appear reddened.
Alarmed, Alistair stared at Julia. Two proposals? How did a young lady know of such things as dowries to pay off gambling debts? And Samuel Weston was old enough to be her father!
He was about to ask for more details when she leaned in and said, “I know I’m not supposed to know such things, but I overhead my father mention it during a dinner party a few weeks ago,” she explained. “Besides, Mr. Weston is old enough to be my father.”
Suppressing the urge to chuckle, Alistair gave his dance partner a nod. “I am glad to hear you have an understanding of such things,” he said, leading her in a perfect Cotillion. “After this dance, we shall have to take a turn in the gardens,” he added with an arched eyebrow. “I do believe it’s getting rather warm in here.”
A thrill passed through Julia just then. “I would like that,” she replied, giving him a smile. “I would like that very much.”
Alistair might have continued to stare at his partner, but he was forced to break eye contact as the dance continued. Julia had looked at him as if ... well, he was quite sure there would be a kiss in his immediate future.
A kiss, perhaps two.
Chapter Forty-Three
Enlightening the Earls, Part 1
Stanley Harrington, Earl of Mayfield, stood watching his guests from the top of the stairs leading down to the ballroom. Although Porter had asked if he should announce him, Mayfield deferred, saying he only intended to watch his guests for a moment. When he was ready to join the growing crowd, he would do so from an entrance on the ground floor.
From his vantage point, he spotted Lord Trenton dancing with a rather attractive blonde he’d never seen before, and another curly-haired blonde chit who could have been Cupid’s sister was dancing with a young man he thought might be related to the Fitzsimmons. Lord Mayfield’s gaze moved to his own daughter, and he was trying to make out with whom she was dancing when his wife joined him on the landing.
“Not quite a crush, but I am quite satisfied with the turnout,” Lady Mayfield commented lightly as she surveyed the ball goers below.
“As am I, although I must admit to wondering about a few of our guests,” her husband replied with a furrowed brow.
“That’s the downside of not having a receiving line, I suppose, but I certainly prefer how we did it this evening,” Temperance countered with a nod. “Who amongst our guests don’t you know?” she asked then. “Besides my cousin’s new wife?”
Stanley crossed his arms. “So, you already know who she is?” he guessed with an arched eyebrow. “I should have known, since he is part of your family.”
Temperance smiled. “Sarah Cumberbatch. She’s from Stretton,” she stated as she watched the newlyweds dance.
Her husband furrowed his brows. “A baron’s daughter?” he wondered.
His countess shook her head. “Innkeeper, apparently. And for a commoner, she’s doing just fine down there. I hope for her sake,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Who else?”
The earl’s gaze went back to the girl who could have been Cupid’s sister. “That blonde chit who looks like Cupid’s sister,” he said, using his chin to indicate the general direction of where Lady Lily was happily dancing with a young buck.
Temperance giggled. “She looks like Cupid’s sister because she is,” she teased, wrapping an arm around her husband’s elbow. “Lily Harkins is Gabriel’s illegitimate sister. He has recognized her as such and is seeing to her expenses for the Season. And Lady Samantha is seeing to her come-out since Lily was her lady’s maid,” she explained lightly.
Stanley Harrington made a face indicating he was impressed. “And Lady Sam is doing quite well at it, judging from how Lady Lily is doing down there,” he commented as he watched the young lady dance.
“Agreed. Who else?” Temperance wondered, finally spotting her daughter dancing with Alistair Comber. She smiled, her free hand going to her bosom.
“Him!” the earl said, actually pointing towards his daughter’s dance partner. “I could swear that’s my ... my groom,” he said when he finally recognized the man who was leading Julia in the Cotillion. The groom was dancing as if he’d been born to do so!
Temperance Harrington beamed. “He is,” she agreed happily. “Aren’t they just the perfect couple?” she commented as she continued to watch the two dance.
“Temperance!” her husband responded in surprise. “He’s the hired help!” he argued, giving his wife a glance. His eyebrows arced north, nearly making their way into his hairline.
Why was she grinning so?
“Look again, darling,” Temperance said as she turned her attention to the earl. “And pretend you don’t see your groom.”
Stanley Harrington frowned, but he did as he was told. After watching Alistair for a few moments, his eyes widened. “Alistair Aimsley?” he finally guessed. “Good God!” he whispered as his mouth dropped open. “I’ve been employing Aimsley’s son as a ... as a groom? How in the hell did ..?”
“He needed the position, darling,” Temperance explained, ignoring his curse. “It seems Aimsley cut him off when Alistair sold his commission.”
Horrified to hear an officer of the army would do such a thing, Mayfield stared at his wife. “As would I,” he countered with a firm nod.
Temperance gave her husband a quelling look. “Now, dear, don’t be so hasty. He promised to see to the expenses of one of his men’s widows and her children, and Aimsley refused to honor the promise. Alistair simply did what he had to do to keep him promise to a dying soldier,” she explained with a shrug, her manner suggesting she agreed with the young man’s decision to provide support to the widow.
Mayfield regarded his wife for a moment. “Oh,” he finally answered. “And I suppose you expect him to make our daughter an offer of marriage,” he said under his breath.
“Oh, I would,” she replied sadly, shaking her head. “But he won’t. He knows he cannot support her, what with paying another family fifteen pounds a month. But I do so wish he could be my son-in-law,” she sighed, giving her husband a look of pleading.
The earl turned his attention back to Julia and Alistair, realizing almost immediately he was being manipulated. “I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered before leaning over to kiss his wife on the cheek. “But I do hope you realize I will lose my best groom if Aimsley capitulates.”
Temperance arched an elegant eyebrow. “Really, darling, don’t be ridiculous,” she countered. “I’m sure you can negotiate something with the young man. Even if his father renounces his decree, Alistair will still need an occupation.”
Stanley Harrington stared at his wife for a very long time and then finally nodded. “You minx,” he whispered suddenly.
He took his leave of a rather pleased Temperance and disappeared in the direction of the card room.
Feeling rather
satisfied with herself, Temperance descended the stairs to greet her guests.
Chapter Forty-Four
Enlightening the Earls, Part 2
Mark Comber, Earl of Aimsley, stared at the dealer, trying to decide if he should take another card.
“I wouldn’t,” Lord Mayfield stated as he came up from behind the earl.
Turning his head to regard the evening’s host, Aimsley dropped his cards in disgust. “I fold,” he announced, frowning as he did so. The earl stood up, giving Stanley Harrington a scowl. “I should probably thank you, Mayfield. I’m down nearly fifty pounds,” he complained as he headed toward a footman bearing a tray of glasses half-filled with scotch. He helped himself to two, giving one to Mayfield.
“Fifty pounds is more than three months of support for a widow and her children,” Mayfield stated evenly, holding his glass up in a mock salute.
Aimsley’s brows furrowed together into one long, untidy caterpillar. “What are you implying?” he asked, touching the rim of his glass with his host’s.
“Your son made a promise and is apparently keeping it, but at the cost of his commission. Because you refused to honor the promise. Is this true?”
Sighing, Aimsley glanced around, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “It wasn’t a promise he should have made in the first place. He was expecting the earldom to make good on it ...”
“A promise probably made on a battlefield, made to a desperate, dying man with a family. You would begrudge him that, Aimsley?” Mayfield countered, his voice kept low. He was sure his fellow earl wouldn’t miss the menace in his tone.
Aimsley lowered his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said sadly, letting out a long sigh.
The Earl of Mayfield couldn’t help but notice Aimsley’s ready response. “Apparently, I am not the only one who has taken you to task about this,” Mayfield commented.
“The countess is most ... upset with me,” Aimsley admitted with a nod. “But, I’ve no idea where my son is ...”