“Comfort, be a good chap and find me a chair. Damn gout is paining me something dreadful.”
Chapter Eleven
Joia and her new fiancé watched her parents climb slowly up the staircase after the last guests had left or retired to their rooms. The ball had been an unqualified success, especially once the champagne started flowing, but now they were all weary. The earl was leaning on his walking stick between stairsteps, and the countess had a handkerchief pressed to her forehead to stop the pounding there.
“Do you think they are happy about the wedding?” Joia asked, taking a step closer to Craighton’s side now that her parents’ backs were turned.
He smiled down at her and put an arm around her waist. “I think your father is in alt, except for the London trip, and your mother will have the affair organized down to the last flower by tomorrow afternoon. She’ll be even more resigned as soon as she has a grandchild to spoil.”
“So long as that happy event comes none too soon,” Joia added, showing her dimples. “Poor Mama couldn’t take another shock to her notions of propriety.”
“Little chance of that happening,” Comfort noted dryly, nodding toward where Bartholemew was fussing over a stain on the Queen Anne table in the hall. They were out of the old retainer’s hearing but in his sight, along with the tall pendulum clock he kept glancing at, none too subtly.
Barty would just have to give them a few minutes more, Comfort decided. A fellow didn’t get betrothed every day. It appeared, however, he would be going to bed unfulfilled every night until that blasted wedding. “Most of all, they want your happiness. Does a December wedding please you?”
He was hoping she’d say no, they should marry as soon as the banns could be read, but of course, his decorous darling would never entertain such forward thoughts.
“I suppose Mama would have kitten-fits if we ran off to Gretna Green tomorrow. Two months seem such a long time to wait.”
He chuckled. “Elopements are not at all the thing, my sweet, but definitely tempting. Speaking of tempting, you’d best begone before I forget myself.”
Comfort thought he heard Bartholemew sigh in relief, but he was too busy kissing his newly betrothed good night to chide the old man for listening. Then he didn’t care who was listening, or what he heard.
The kiss left both Joia and her viscount so unsatisfied, so yearningly hungry for more, that sleep would be elusive. So they shared another embrace, to dream on. And another, because it was going to be a long night apart.
Bartholemew stifled a yawn. It was going to be a very long two months.
* * * *
“Do you think they’ll be happy?” The Earl and Countess of Carroll were having their ritual last sip of wine in the sitting room between their chambers. With few exceptions, they’d shared this moment for over twenty years, speaking of their daily joys and sorrows, their plans for tomorrow, without interruptions by servants or children. Ready for bed in robes and nightgowns, they sat side by side on the sofa in front of the dying fire. Lord Carroll’s foot propped on a stool in front of them.
Lady Carroll was sipping tea instead of wine, and she was frowning. “Neither can back out after tonight, Bradford, you know, not without bringing disgrace to both of them. Joia would be labeled a flirt and a jilt, in addition to being hard to please, and Comfort would be so dishonored, no respectable female would welcome his addresses. Except for fortune hunters, of course, or mushrooms.”
The earl patted his wife’s hand. “Don’t get in a fidge, Bess, they suit to a cow’s thumb. They couldn’t be a better match than if I’d planned it myself.”
“You did plan it, shameless conniver that you are. I saw all those worthless suitors you trotted out for Joia’s inspection. Dear Comfort had no competition.”
The earl laughed, caught out. “The lad would have shone no matter who else was in the running. Breeding, don’t you know.”
“Charm, more like it. But two months to plan a wedding, Bradford! It will be a skimble-skamble affair, to be sure. Why, the church in Carrolton cannot seat half our friends and relatives, as is, to say nothing of Comfort’s family. And you know the duke and duchess have to be seated in separate pews.”
“It’s winter, Bess, not everyone will come. You can pray for snow,” the earl said, showing complete lack of consideration for how that would throw off all his wife’s plans and calculations. “Besides, my love, isn’t it more important that Joia and Comfort be together?”
“I simply wish they’d known each other longer before making the announcement,” she insisted, sipping at her tea.
“I knew you were the one for me the first moment I laid eyes on you, Bess. Do you remember? ‘Twas at Lady Skippington’s ball. You were all in white, with acres of skirts, and your hair was powdered and piled on top of your head.”
“I was so terrified, I must have looked like a ghost in all that white! I was afraid that my father would force me to marry you because you were such an advantageous match.” She studied the inside of her cup. “I didn’t love you at first, you know.”
“No?” He’d heard the tale before.
“But then you smiled.”
“And you smiled back. You were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. You had a rose in your hair that perfectly matched the color of your lips. I wanted to kiss them right then, when your father introduced us. So I kissed your hand instead.”
“I was petrified of doing something schoolgirlish and giving you a disgust of me. You were so elegant by comparison, so sophisticated.”
“So old, you mean. What had I, a thorny old bachelor at six and thirty, to do with such a tender bud?”
“Everything, dearest, for you know I never wanted any other beau but you after that night.”
“And we’ve been happy, even without that spring circus of a wedding.”
Lady Carroll had to acknowledge that no, the size of the wedding was no reflection on the strength of the marriage. Their Graces of Carlisle’s wedding was more like a coronation, and they’d lived apart since the birth of the heir. “Somehow we’ve managed, despite such a hole-in-corner affair.”
“That still cost your father an abbey. We were lucky, weren’t we?”
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, thinking of the past twenty years they’d had together, and their three daughters. So many couples had so much less. “Very lucky.”
“But I’m getting old, Bess.”
“Never say it, Bradford. Your foot is just paining you. I told you to stay away from those lobster patties.”
“No, my love, it’s true. More of my schoolmates have their names in the obituaries than in the on dits. You’re as beautiful as ever, Bess, and I’m an old man.”
“Nonsense, you’re still elegant and sophisticated, more so, in fact, now that your hair has become such a distinguished silver. Why, I thought you the most handsome gentleman at the ball tonight.”
“Doing it too brown, my dear, but thank you.” He carried her hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on the palm. “And you were the most beautiful lady there. Did I tell you how becoming you looked in that claret color? It’s quite my favorite on you, you know, except when you wear blue, to match your bonny blue eyes. Or pink like this gown you have on”—he touched the silk at her neck—”that makes you look eighteen again. Ah, Bess, I should have let you marry a younger man so you wouldn’t be alone, but I was too selfish. I cannot regret that.”
“I am not alone, Bradford.”
“Of course not, Bess, and I don’t intend to stick my spoon in the wall any time soon. When I’m gone you’ll have the girls, and a fine son-in-law, too. Perhaps grandchildren.”
She rubbed his cheek with the back of her hand. “You’re all I want, Bradford. And you mustn’t worry about me.”
“But I do. Your settlements are secure and I’ve made investments in your name, but Oliver—”
Putting her fingers over his lips, Bess said, “Oliver is your heir, and there is naught you
can do about it. Talking yourself into the blue devils is foolish, especially on such a happy occasion as this.”
“But what if there were something that I—that we—could do about Oliver?”
The countess laughed. “We would have done it years ago. It’s not as if we didn’t try, my love, or have you grown too old to remember?” she teased.
“I’ll show you how much I’ve forgotten in a minute, you saucy wench, but first I want to have my say. It’s about the boy.”
“What ... ? Oh, that boy.” The countess put her teacup down and moved to the end of the sofa. “You swore we need never discuss that again, Bradford.”
“But things are different now, Bess. Oliver knows, and Comfort. And all the girls, I suppose. Nothing stays secret in a place like this, by Jupiter.”
“And who will broadcast our shame, now that Oliver has been silenced? No one will wash our dirty linen in public, Bradford, so there is no need for you to concern yourself. Or me. Do not, I beg of you, mention that... that child again.”
He leaned over, but she was out of reach, stiff and unyielding. “Ah, Bess, I thought you forgave me.”
“I did, Bradford, I forgave you then, and I forgive you now for letting that... that affair almost ruin Joia’s life, and all of our reputations. But I cannot forget, my lord, and you must not remind me. For that matter, I do not need to be reminded that you are left with your cousin’s boy as heir because I did not manage to provide you with a son. I tried, my lord, so help me I did. I wanted more than anything in this world to give you what you wanted.”
“Now, Bess, I never held you responsible for that!” he exclaimed, dismayed to see tears in his beloved’s eyes again that night. “May as well blame my brother Jack for dying before he left an heir, or my father, for not having more than the two sons to carry on the title. I never, ever blamed you.” He held his arms out, but she did not return to his embrace.
“No, you never said anything.” The countess spoke softly, remembering old pain. “But I could tell how discouraged you were each time I presented you with a daughter.”
“Deuce take it, I’d not trade a one of my angels for any number of bothersome boys, and you know it.”
“I also know how disappointed you were when the doctor said he didn’t think there’d be any more children after Meredyth. And when he was proved right. I know you despise Oliver, Bradford, and would do anything to cut him out of the succession. I don’t even blame you, after what he’s done. But you cannot! Certainly not with ... with that woman’s son, so please do not speak of him to me again.” She stood and gathered her robe more closely around her, pretending there weren’t tearstains on her cheeks. “And now I have the headache, my lord. I know you will understand and excuse me. It has been a long day.”
The earl understood all too well: he’d be sleeping alone tonight, confound it. Lord Carroll had a few good years left in him, and by George, he meant to spend a goodly portion of them in his wife’s bed.
She’d come around soon enough, he knew. Bess’s tempests blew themselves out quickly. By tomorrow she’d be rapt in her lists of what to purchase in London, what to have refurbished at home, consulting with him when they all knew Bartholemew made all the decisions. The hidden hurt would remain forever, he supposed in regret, but she’d bury tonight’s anger in the depths of tomorrow’s details.
But the earl couldn’t forget about the child, or his plan to bring him home. His Bess had a warm heart, he knew she did, and big enough for one little boy, if only he could reach it. Meantime, his own bed loomed all too big, and all too cold.
Part Two
Beaux of Holly
Chapter Twelve
Holly pushed the spectacles farther up her nose. Joia might be correct that her sister looked better without them, but Holly definitely saw better with them, especially nearby things like the chess set. Besides, no one was here to notice her looks one way or the other except Papa. Usually Holly needed every advantage she could find when playing against her father, but today the earl did not seem to be concentrating. “What is it, Papa? Is your foot bothering you again?”
“What’s that, poppet, my foot? No, no, just wool-gathering. I expect we should have stayed on in London.”
“You’re missing Mama, is all. You know she had to stay in Town for the final fittings of Joia’s wedding gown and to purchase the rest of her trousseau. There is the party at Princess Lieven’s, also. Mama couldn’t very well slight the Russian ambassador, could she?”
“Of course not, when the do’s in Joia’s honor. Still, I hadn’t ought to have dragged you back to Winterpark two weeks early, just because my gout was plaguing me.”
“What, I should have stayed for yet another affair where one waits an hour to make one’s curtsy, then spends an hour trying to leave the premises through the hordes of other guests? Two weeks of that was enough to last a lifetime, though I suspect Mama will have us all back in Town in the spring.”
They both sighed.
“But all females love shopping,” the earl said, moving to protect his queen. “I shouldn’t have taken you away from all that.”
“You didn’t abduct me so you’d have a chess partner, Papa. I begged Mama to let me accompany you. Since Madame Celeste already has my measurements, even she agreed there was no call for me to spend endless hours being poked and prodded. No, thank you. Papa, I’d much rather be in the country with you, overseeing some of Mama’s projects for the wedding.”
“What, instead of dancing with all the young bucks at Almack’s or riding out in the park?”
“You know I don’t care much for that kind of thing, Papa. The haut monde is Joia’s milieu, not mine.”
“No, you’d rather be in the lending library or attending a dry-as-dust lecture.”
“Actually,” she said with a smile, easily countering his move, “I’d rather be at university, but I am resigned to my lot. I did get to visit some of the museums and such, showing Merry about, to her dismay, I might add. I’m sure she wasn’t sorry to see me go. But are you sorry we were forced to come home early without Mama and the others?”
“Lud, no. One more afternoon sitting around drinking catlap with all those old biddies and I’d have driven Joia and Comfort over the border myself.”
“That wouldn’t be how you happened to trip over Merry’s dog, would it?”
The earl studied the board more carefully. “Fool animal shouldn’t have been in London in the first place.”
“And you shouldn’t have been feeding him scraps of bacon on the sly to keep him underfoot. But don’t worry, I won’t tell Mama.”
“Your mother always knows everything there is to know, young lady, and it’s only two weeks before she returns. We might have some company before then anyway, so we won’t be rattling around by ourselves. I invited young Rendell to bring some friends for the hunting. Someone might as well be enjoying my horses while I can’t.”
“What, did you see Evan in London? I never did. Is he down from university, then?”
“Never saw the boy. Saw his father, though, extended the invite through him.”
“I didn’t know Mr. Rendell was back in this country. Evan’s last letter never mentioned it.”
“He is, saw him at m’club. Chap’s as brown as those coffee beans he’s been importing.” He brushed that aside, with one of her pawns, to get to the meat of the matter. “But about Evan. Seems he and Cambridge have finally convinced Rendell that his son is no scholar, so the lad will be in Berkshire within the month.”
“Then we’re sure to see him, if you’ve offered to mount him and his friends. You know our stables are far superior to his grandfather Blakely’s. Check.”
“Fustian, poppet. Young Rendell always spent more time here than at his grandparents’ house when he wasn’t at school, and it’s not because of my cattle.” He studied the board a minute. “Nor because our cook is finer than Squire Blakely’s, either.”
Holly tried not to blush. “He’s always fou
nd companionship at Winterpark. There were no children near the Manor for him to play with.”
Lord Carroll snorted. “You’re not children anymore, my girl.” He put down the knight he was thinking of moving, to stare at his middle daughter. “Fact is, I’ve been thinking it’s time for you and young Rendell to announce your engagement. We could do it at the Christmas ball, don’t you know, and let your mother start planning for that June wedding she wants so badly.”
Holly took her glasses off to polish. “Papa, you know nothing is definite between Evan and myself.”
“Gammon, my dear. It’s been understood between our family and the Blakelys since the two of you were in leading strings. I’m sure the servants have been making book on the match ever since your come-out.”
“But Evan won’t want to get married so young, Papa. You know all he wants to do is join the army.”
“Which old man Blakely ain’t about to permit, him with no better heir than his eldest daughter’s cub. There’s Rendell’s fortune, too, bigger than Golden Ball’s, they say, and growing faster than his shipping lines. With no entailment there either, who else will the nabob leave the whole to except his son?”
“Not that I’m wishing any ill to befall Evan, but Mr. Rendell is young enough to start another family.”
“After what the Blakely chit did to him? Not likely, though he’s got enough blunt for as many families as he wants. Deuce take it, poppet, why are we talking about Rendell Senior, when it’s Junior who matters? Evan’s father is practically in Trade. ‘Sides, he’ll be off on his travels again before you can say jackrabbit. It’s the Blakelys who have guardianship of Evan, and Squire is as anxious as I am to see our families joined. Theirs is a fine old family in the landed gentry, and you’d be right here, near your mother.”
“But Evan never wanted to be a gentleman farmer.”
“Young Rendell will do what his grandfather says. Squire’s had the raising of the nipper, hasn’t he? Trust me, poppet, one word from you and we’ll have Rendell up to scratch, I swear it.”
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