Tales of a Viscount_Heirs of High Society

by Eleanor Meyers

  His brother didn’t hesitate to act, and then crossed to sit by Reuben. “What’s going on?”

  Reuben decided that if there was anyone he could share this information with, it was Chris, because Chris was the only man in the world who knew everything about him, and Reuben knew Chris could say the same about him. They were the eldest in the Smith family, had both witnessed one another at their worst, and seen each other out of it.

  Reuben took a breath. “The Duke of Yall hired me to find a man who may be out to assassinate the king. I’ve just been informed that the assassin could very well be Lord Castell.”

  Chris did react, then. He stood, but didn’t walk away. Instead, he stared at the door, mute. Then he looked down at Reuben. “Could this be a set-up? Is it possible that you are walking into a trap?”

  “To what gain?” Reuben asked.

  “To have your title removed from you?” Chris asked. “To see you hanged for treason? This could be the way the Blue Blood Coalition ensures that no one but the blue-blooded ever hold a title.”

  “It’s possible,” Reuben confessed. Which meant he’d have to be very careful.

  “Does anyone know?” Chris asked.

  Reuben didn’t need to inquire on what the question was about. “No one knows that the Duke of Yall is my father, besides you and me. Not even Yall, himself.”

  * * *

  19

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  “Are you sure Yall doesn’t know that you’re his son?” Chris asked.

  Reuben nodded. This was a subject they hadn’t spoken of in years. A subject each had found taboo.

  Until Mary Elizabeth Best’s letters had started to be released all over London.

  Chris sat down again, and spoke so low that Reuben had to strain to hear. “But what if he does know?”

  “He doesn’t,” Reuben wouldn’t allow himself to think that. He didn’t want to face the reality that Yall hated him, not only because he was a bastard who’d gained the title, but also because he was his bastard. Reuben wasn’t sure he could survive that.

  It would shame him. Already, he angered and hurt whenever he had to stand in his father’s presence, and pretend to not see the similarities, pretend that he wasn’t glimpsing what he would look like thirty years from now. His father hated him, and he didn’t even know him.

  How could Reuben expect any other aristocrat to accept him, if he couldn’t even gain his own father’s acceptance? How could be ever deserve a woman like Rachel, on his arm?

  The truth was, he wouldn’t. Ever. He’d never deserve her, or any other titled lady. He was worthless. Nothing he’d achieved meant anything.

  Chris’ hand landed on his shoulder. “Don’t go there,” he whispered, as though he could read Reuben’s mind as his thoughts were created. “Don’t let that man destroy everything you’ve worked for.”

  “What do I do?” Reuben asked as he hung his head. “I pray he never finds out the truth.”

  “He won’t,” Chris reassured him. “We destroyed the entries about our birth when we found Miss Elizabeth Best’s book sixteen years ago. Do you remember that? We ripped those pages right out and burned them right after…”

  Right after Christmas had made the mistake of visiting his own father.

  Reuben and Christmas had found the books when they’d been sixteen. It had been three years after Elizabeth Best’s death, and they’d been asked to move crates to the attic. The book had been at the top of the stack.

  Reuben and Chris had known about Rose’s and Alexandra’s parents long before the letters had been read by the masses. They even knew Nash’s parents. They knew who Nash really was.

  And then, they’d found their own entries. At first, they’d been surprised, but then Christmas had gone to his father, and afterward, he’d never been the same. The event, whatever Chris’ father had said to him, had changed him, and Reuben had been so full of fear, that he’d never visited his own. Instead, the boys had burned their entries so that no one else would ever read them.

  Reuben asked, “Do you think we should have destroyed Alexandra and Rose’s entries?”

  Chris shook his head. “No. Look at them. Their letters helped. Ours won’t do the same. Why do you ask?”

  “I just recall how we’d sat at dinner together on the day of Elizabeth Best’s commemoration, and how we told everyone there was no royal blood in any of us.” They’d had everyone fooled. They still did.

  “We need to destroy Nash’s entry from her journal,” Chris said. “That’s why we have to find whoever has the books.”

  Reuben agreed. Nash could never know how he was related to the Wolfgang family. It was why Reuben didn’t want them at his party. The more distance he and Chris could keep between Nash and that maddened bunch, the better.

  “I think Alicia has the letters,” Chris said. “I don’t care what she says. I still think it’s her.”

  “I’ve never known Alicia to lie,” Reuben said.

  “Yes, but she enjoys setting things right.” Chris leaned his arms on his knees and let his hands hang. His eyes remained forward. “She’s always been about making things fair and just.”

  Reuben thought for a moment. “Throwing the brick through the window was a fine way to stop her, if you believe that.” He waited patiently for his friend’s response.

  Chris sighed, and leaned back onto the couch. “I didn’t have the brick thrown through the window, if that’s your worry. I would have told you, if I were to plan something like that.” He looked at the window that was overlaid with wood. “Now, we’ll have to fix it.”

  “You’ve more than enough funds for it,” Reuben looked over to find Chris’ eyes narrowed, and grinned.

  But then his brother’s expression became innocent. “I seem to recall you saying something about Lord Castell seeming quite interested in Rachel. It would be terrible if you left her to marry an assassin.” His eyes remained steady, but Reuben could almost see the grin being held back.

  He cursed. Reuben had told Chris about Lord Castell, but only because he knew Frederick to be annoying. It was almost as though Frederick knew Reuben was his elder brother, and had made it his duty to irritate him.

  Yet now, he had reason to believe his brother— blood brother— an assassin. He should feel glad about that, and yet he didn’t. It all just made him ill. He was too close to the matter to continue this investigation, and yet he knew he couldn’t stop.

  “What do I do?” Reuben asked.

  “Protect her,” Chris said. “Just as you always have.”

  “How?” Reuben looked at him. “I told her to stay away from me. She won’t come near me now.”

  Chris shrugged and stood. “You’ll have to change her mind, then.”

  “And what?” Reuben asked, gaining his feet. “Just follow her around, like I’m her footman once more?”

  Chris crossed his arms. “You know there is only one way a gentleman can be around a lady for a good portion of the day, while keeping her from other lords.”

  Reuben’s heart skipped a beat. “No. I can’t court her.”

  “I didn’t say propose,” Chris said. “Just… court her. Courtships end.”

  They did, but Reuben didn’t think it wise to tangle himself with Rachel once more. She was finally free of him, free to go marry a worthy man, someone whose father wasn’t a member of a club that had been designed to destroy him. “There has to be another way. She’s angry with me, and I can’t tell her the truth of the matter. I can’t tell anyone else. I shouldn’t have even told you.”

  And yet, he knew that the next words out of Chris’ mouth were the truth. “There is no other way, Reuben. If she’s angry and you warn her against Castell, it will only make her go after him more. If he’s an assassin, it will ruin her and any children they have. You have to court her if you wish to protect her.”
>
  Reuben closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The thought of Rachel having children with Castell made him see double. “There really is no other way, is there?”

  Chris didn’t answer, because there was no other answer to give.

  He’d have to court Rachel.

  He kept in mind that courtships ended, he simply didn’t know if he’d survive it.

  THE SHOUT make her jump, and Rachel spun around to look at her father.

  “What are you wearing?” The Earl of Woodley stormed in her direction from the hall. A newspaper was rolled in his hand, and if Rachel didn’t know her father, she’d have thought his rage would make him lift it against her.

  But she did know her father, so she stood her ground as he approached her in the foyer. “Hello, Father.”

  “Don’t you ‘father’ me.” He looked her over and then cut his eyes to the butler. “Don’t just stand there! Give her your coat! Give her all the coats you can find!”

  The man leaped to do his master’s bidding.

  Rachel glared and shouted to the butler. “Don’t!” Then she turned to her father. “Don’t I look pretty?”

  Woodley’s eyes widened. “Pretty? You were pretty when you were wearing clothes!” His face had grown red. “This?” He looked her over again. “When I first saw you, I thought my Florentia had come back from the dead. Where is Lady Esther?” He spun around the room, looking for someone else to yell at, though since everyone yelled at Aunt Esther, Rachel didn’t think the woman would be that offended.

  The compliment about looking like her mother warmed her, and added fuel to her resolve. “Father, I’m twenty-two. I should be able to wear whatever I want.”

  He looked at her again with a stern eye. “You can. Once you’re married and out of my house.”

  She’d never heard her father speak this way, never seen him this upset. It made it hard for Rachel to think. “How… did… mother look when you first met her?”

  The earl straightened. “That was a different time, Rachel.”

  She crossed her arms. “In what way, Father?”

  He frowned. “In the way where Florentia didn’t have a father who would shout at you, as I am now. Go change.”

  Rachel sighed. She’d just spent the afternoon with Rose and Alexandra talking about how they could be effective against the attacks from the Blue Blood Coalition, but they’d came up with nothing. And since Alexandra liked to cook when she was frustrated, Rachel had also been on her feet, helping to bake tarts, and then eating far too many of them before leaving.

  Now it was evening, and she had a dinner to go to in a few hours, but was sure she’d not be hungry in time.

  Her father leaned in close. “What did you do to your eyes?” he asked, with soft curiosity.

  Rachel sighed. “Father, I like the way I’m dressed.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t matter. Go and do as I have said.”

  Rachel bit her lip and said, “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he narrowed his eyes.

  Rachel looked down at her fingers as she crossed them over her stomach. “Do you remember when you told me I could donate my old dresses to the dress making apprentices?” She looked up at her father again, and saw that his face had grown more red. She reached for his arm to keep him steady, but he didn’t really need her aid. “Father, I’m sorry. I simply wanted to do something different.”

  “For Reuben,” he accused.

  “No, for me.” She let him go and sighed. “The way I used to dress reminded me of Stacy, but I’m no longer in love with Stacy, or anything that he was. My memories of him are sweet, but I was a different woman, then.” Shy, either haughty, or scared of Society, depending on if you asked Susanna or Reuben. “I’ve clung to the walls all my life. I’m ready to dance and step out into the world.” She smiled.

  Her father didn’t, but his expression did soften, but not by any great measure, to be sure. “Couldn’t you have stepped out wearing clothes?” he asked earnestly.

  Rachel thinned her lips and told herself not to smile.

  Her father sighed. “You’ll have to be above reproach. It wasn’t easy being Florentia.” Something passed in his eyes that looked close to fear. “Swear to me you’ll not put yourself in a situation where gossip grows.” And then a second later, he added, “And you’ll take a footman with you wherever you go.”

  “All right.” She gently placed a kiss on her father’s cheek. “I’ll take a footman with me.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” a deep voice said from the door. “You already have a man who’ve quite experienced in the field.”

  Rachel knew who she expected to be standing in her doorway when she turned around, and yet she was still surprised.

  He was staring at her in a way that had Rachel’s heart stuttering. His focus was sure, as it held her eyes. He was still dressed the same as he had been, earlier that morning. His hair returned to order, his injured hand hidden behind his back.

  Woodley moved to greet him with a smile. “My lord, whatever are you doing here?”

  Reuben turned to the earl and bowed. “I was hoping to have a moment with Rachel, if I could.”

  Her father opened his mouth— sure to be the midst of giving Reuben exactly what he’d asked for, but Rachel jumped in before he could. “You can’t.”

  Reuben seemed unsurprised by her outburst. Her father had an entirely different reaction.

  “What?” Woodley narrowed his eyes.

  Rachel turned back to Reuben. “I believe I made myself very clear, earlier today. I’m not speaking to you.” Then she turned on her heels and left the room.

  * * *

  20

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  Reuben sighed at Rachel’s departing back, a woman who’d just weeks ago, would have come willingly into his arms. Now, it seemed he would have to gain her favor the hard way.

  “Is there something I should know, going on between you and my daughter?” Woodley asked. He stood at an average height, which made him shorter than Reuben, yet still the man was intimidating, to be sure. Cool hazel eyes watched him under fluffy white brows.

  “I wronged her,” Reuben admitted. “I only wish to make it right.”

  “Well then, come in. If she won’t speak to you, I will.” Woodley patted his shoulder, and the butler closed the door behind Reuben. He noticed the man grinning as he did so, and a few other maids he’d known in the past — and just so happened to have witnessed his rejection— were grinning, with their heads pointed down.

  Reuben said nothing until he was alone with Woodley, in his office.

  Woodley moved to his desk. “I could force her to speak to you, if you wish.”

  Reuben thought about how that would go over, but then shook his head. “No. It’s best you not get involved. It’ll only make her angrier if she’s forced.”

  “Have you set your sights on gaining my daughter’s hand?” the earl asked with a straight face, as he took his seat.

  Reuben knew how he should answer the question, and he knew the answer, deep within his heart, would be the truth. “I have.”

  The earl’s smile set Reuben back a pace. “Good.”

  Reuben was surprised. He hadn’t truly known how Woodley would feel to have his former footman for a son-in-law. Reuben had suspected that with his new title, Woodley wouldn’t mind the match, but he hadn’t expected to see the open acceptance.

  It was the acceptance that hit him the most. Here was a man of considerable power, who didn’t look at Reuben as though he were nothing more than a pile of dirt wrapped in ribbons. Woodley knew the man he was, and yet there was no coldness or revulsion in his eyes.

  “You approve?” Reuben slowly took his own chair.

  Instead of answering, Woodley asked, “Do you know why I selected you for my footman?”

  Reub
en didn’t know the answer to that question. He recalled being part of the apprenticeship at Woodley’s agency. He assumed in the end, that it was his height and better than average looks, and an understanding of the position that got him the job. Was he wrong?

  Woodley answered, “I came to the shop one day, and saw you playing with your sister, Lady Rose, who of course, wasn’t a lady at the time. She’d come to the shop to deliver with your brother Mr. Christmas, and I watched the way you interacted with her. That was when I knew you were the one. That you’d protect Rachel.”

  He wanted to ask what Rachel needed protection from, but wasn’t allowed the question, because Woodley was already speaking again.

  “It’s because of you, that Susanna and Rachel became friends at all. She was so afraid.” Woodley frowned, and then smiled again. “You woke my girl up with your kindness. I’ll always be thankful for that.”

  The information was entirely new to Reuben, He recalled Rachel’s closed nature, and then recalled watching her bloom. Had he done that for her? It seemed such a profound thing, that he didn’t feel comfortable taking the credit for it, and yet Woodley wanted to give it to him.

  He spent another few minutes speaking with Woodley about nothing in particular, and then left preparing himself for two battles: the first against an assassin, and the other, with a woman with red hair.

  RACHEL WALKED into Lady Royle’s music room and stopped. She blinked to make sure what she was seeing was real, while praying that her mind was deceiving her. When Reuben didn’t vanish from her sight, she knew then that he was very much real, and couldn’t stop herself from marching across the room in his direction. She was nearly surprised when no one stopped her. She’d arrived at Lady Royle’s house half an hour ago, and had been on her feet since. She was pulled into one conversation after another, both the men and women of the ton finding everything about her fascinating. For the first time, the wallflower was given center stage, and Rachel was nervous. She needed her aunt, and when a lull in conversation had finally come, she’d set out to find her.