by Wilma Counts
With Cousin Amabelle planning to accompany Rebecca and Melinda into the country, Retta needed a chaperon. Who better than her beloved Auntie Georgie—if she could be persuaded to perform that task?
Lady Georgiana received her niece in her drawing room and the two of them sat together on one of two couches upholstered in deep gold. “Oh, my dear girl, what sort of scrape have you got yourself into now?” her aunt asked rhetorically when Retta, after first swearing her aunt to secrecy, had explained not only that she needed a chaperon, but also the particulars of the wager with Rebecca. Retta had always confided in her aunt, who had been far more of a mother than the countess had proved to be. “I suppose if I refused, you would be required to give up the scheme and join your sisters in the country.”
“Possibly . . .” Retta conceded. “I had thought of having Miss Pringle suggest someone, but I am sure you recognize the delicacy of this matter and the need for utmost discretion.”
“Yes, I do.” She gripped her niece’s hand briefly. “And I am glad to see that you recognize that need too. This could well blow up in your face, my dear, but, frankly, I should like to see you succeed. It promises to be very entertaining—and just the sort of come-uppance some of those society cats have coming to them. And your sisters could use a life lesson or two as well.”
“You will do it then? Remove to Blakemoor House?”
“You must give me a few days to arrange matters, but yes, when Amabelle and the girls leave, I will remove to Blakemoor House and try to lend some semblance of propriety to your residing in that mausoleum with only your brothers and Alfred and some strange man.”
“I assume Madame Laurent will accompany you,” Retta said. “With Rebecca and Melinda both in the country, you may have their rooms next to mine.” Madame Laurent, also a widow and a cousin to the earl of Blakemoor and his sister, had been Lady Georgiana’s companion for several years.
Lady Georgiana nodded. “But of course. Celeste is away at the moment, attending to some business with her son. That young scamp is something of a trial to his mother. She does not talk about it much, but I gather that he is not exactly happy as a country curate. She will be sorry to have missed you.”
“Please do give her my regards. And, thank you, Auntie, for rescuing me from a fate not to be contemplated—the censure of the ton’s leading tabbies. Thank you so very, very much!” Retta impulsively hugged her aunt and kissed her cheek. “Mr. Bolton is waiting below. Would you like to meet him?”
“Of course.”
Lady Georgiana dispatched a servant to bring Mr. Bolton to the drawing room. When Retta introduced them, he bowed and stood patiently as her aunt looked him over thoroughly, but seemed to withhold her judgment for now.
“You remind me of someone I know—or once knew,” Aunt Georgiana said in a thoughtful tone. “But never mind that now, I assume you are fully aware of what is involved in this rather unorthodox scheme?”
“Yes, ma’am. Leastways, much as a body can be, I ken.”
“And you have agreed to it freely?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, then . . .” Lady Georgiana shook her head in reluctant acquiescence. “I do hope nothing untoward comes of this for either of you.”
Mr. Bolton bowed again and Retta hugged her aunt again as they took their leave. They retrieved Annie and set out for the rest of Lady Henrietta’s errands of the day. As they approached the carriage, which had been left standing in the roadway in front of her aunt’s house, a smart curricle pulled up in front of the Blakemoor carriage. A stylish young couple alit and immediately called greetings.
“Oh, Lady Henrietta, do tell me we have not missed you,” the young woman said with a pout.
The man lifted his hat and bowed, “Lady Henrietta, how nice to see you.”
“Lord Ralston. Lady Ralston. I wish I could stay to visit with you, but I fear I must get on with an important errand this morning.” She gestured at Annie to enter the carriage as Jake held the door, and she paused to exchange a bit of small talk with her friends concerning the weather and her promise to visit the newest addition to the Ralston nursery.
Retta sensed a rigidity in Mr. Bolton that she had not noticed before, and she noted that his hat was rather low on his forehead as he stood stiffly and seemed to gaze beyond the small group.
She took her leave and stepped into the carriage, Mr. Bolton handing her in ever so correctly.
* * * *
Jake had accepted the idea of his seeming in public to be a servant in Blakemoor House as yet another layer of disguise. He just hoped he could keep all these roles straight—and that in performing such duties he might never encounter anyone he had known in his youth. As he and Annie waited for Lady Henrietta, he had learned more about her ladyship and about the dynamics of the family of the Earl of Blakemoor. Annie was a pretty blond girl who seemed to Jake to be rather young for her position as lady’s maid to an earl’s daughter; he guessed she had no more than sixteen or seventeen years. She was fiercely loyal to her mistress who was a favorite in the servants’ hall.
“She ain’t like them other two. Or the countess. Lady Henrietta has heart,” Annie said fervently. “Always lookin’ out for those women and children at Fairfax House.”
“Fairfax House?” he asked with mild interest.
“A charity house in Spitalfields run by the Fairfax sisters. They takes care o’ women what’s been beaten or left without, and orphans too.”
“Spitalfields?” This had piqued Jake’s interest. “Are ye tellin’ me her ladyship goes to sich a rough part o’ London?”
“Ya. She does. Takes them clothing and other things. What’d ya think we put them bundles and that basket in the boot fer?”
“’Twasn’t my place to wonder none.” But in fact he had wondered. “She goes to Spitalfields alone?”
“Well, with me an’ the coachman an’ at least one footman usually. You, today. Sometimes they’s one or two other ladies goes with us. Sometimes not.”
Before Jake could pursue this discussion, he had been called to meet Lady Georgiana. Later Annie’s prattle had been overshadowed by that near miss he had endured outside Lady Georgiana’s house.
When he heard Lady Henrietta greet Lord and Lady Ralston by name, he drew in a long breath and willed himself to be but part of the scenery. Years ago Ralston had been a fellow student at Winchester, though two years behind Lord Jacob Bodwyn and Lord Peter Fenton. Still, they had then spent a good deal of time in each other’s company, engaging in the usual schoolboy pranks. Now, if Ralston recognized him, all was lost.
Jake deliberately turned himself at an angle to the Ralstons as he held the door for Annie and her ladyship, then jumped in behind them and closed the door. He breathed an inward sigh of relief.
Wellington was right: people see what they want to see or what they expect to see.
Chapter 5
The next morning, at her request, Jake, dressed as a groom in leather breeches and a short black jacket, met Lady Henrietta at the stables. She, in a fashionable medium blue riding habit, was accompanied by an older gentleman in gray trousers and a black coat. Jake immediately—and accurately—surmised that this was Lord Alfred, and, recalling what Fenton has said of the man, cautioned himself yet again to be careful. Introductions over, the three of them turned to their mounts. Lady Henrietta patted the neck of a sleek black mare, murmured to the animal, and fed her an apple. Jake assumed this was the horse her ladyship stood to lose if she lost that wager. He could see why she would mourn the loss of such a fine horse.
A groom assisted Lady Henrietta in mounting, and Lord Alfred, with some stiff-legged awkwardness, mounted a sturdy roan, then looked from Jake to the horse that had been equipped for him. Jake, too, looked with dismay at the animal and thought longingly of his faithful Pegasus being stabled now with Fenton’s cattle.
“I say, Retta,” Lo
rd Alfred said. “You cannot expect this man to ride an animal that is almost as old as he is! ’Tis a mystery why your father even keeps that nag!”
Lady Henrietta seemed embarrassed as she actually looked at the animal in question. “Mr. Bolton informed me he is used to riding draft animals. I thought it best not to challenge his skills too much.”
Lord Alfred snorted. “Even so, the bay will not do. At least try him on that gray. What say you, Bolton?”
“This’n do seem a mite wore out,” Jake said.
“Very well. Take old Sailor back and saddle Storm Cloud,” she ordered the groom. “It is on you, Uncle Alfred, if there is any problem,” she added with a smile.
“We shall see,” Lord Alfred replied.
They waited quietly as the exchange was made. The new animal was not in the same class as his Pegasus, but Jake could see it was a tremendous improvement over the bay. Perhaps later he would be allowed to examine Blakemoor’s stock to find a mount more suited to his own skills, though, for now at least, he needed to keep up the image of the bumpkin Lady Henrietta thought him to be. Army officers were generally skilled horsemen; even those commanding infantry units were mounted, for officers had to be visible in battle by the men they directed.
Because traffic forced them to ride single file, the three of them did not talk much until they reached the park. Then Jake fell behind the other two. He could hear snatches here and there of their conversation and occasional laughter. It occurred to him that these two not only loved each other, but they seemed to like and respect each other. Even as he was aware of his companions—especially the trim female figure of one of them—he set himself to just looking around, enjoying this sojourn in a small world of nature offered in the center of the city. Dew still sparkled on the grass and the sun had not yet aroused the usual town smells. Birds twittered in the trees and shrubbery. They had almost all of Rotten Row, the riding path, to themselves. Lady Henrietta frequently looked back to see how well he was faring. When she seemed satisfied he was not going to take a spill, she put her own mount to a gallop and shot ahead. Now Jake understood why Lady Henrietta chose to ride so early in the morning: she would never have been able to indulge in that breakneck pace later when the park would be full of slower traffic.
Jake moved up to ride next to Lord Alfred who said, “Retta does love to let that mare show off. You are doing very well, Bolton. I think you must have been bamming my niece.”
“Mebbe some,” Jake admitted, reminding himself to be cautious around this sharp-eyed old man. He tried subtly to hold his horse back, though what he wanted to do was take off after her ladyship. Working on the docks, he had missed the freedom, the exhilaration of riding.
After the near miss with Ralston, Jake had been apprehensive about riding in Hyde Park, a gathering spot for the ton’s elite. However, he conjectured—rightly, it seemed—that at this early hour, few of that element of society would be up and about yet. He relaxed his vigilance and concentrated on not only keeping his horse at a pace with Lord Alfred’s, but also on his mission of gathering information.
“I weren’t ‘specially listenin’ to you talkin’ wit’ her ladyship, my lord, but Lady Henrietta seems ta know a good bit ‘bout yer army work,” Jake said.
“She understands it well enough,” Lord Alfred replied. “Had she been born a boy, she would have made a fine officer.”
“But wouldn’t she uh bin the heir then?”
Lord Alfred chuckled. “Right you are, lad. She would have performed very well there too. Smart lass, that one. When I first returned to England, I was all but absolutely finished. Bed bound. Unable to do much of anything but feel sorry for myself. Retta was just a little girl then, but she would climb on the edge of my bed and tell me what was going in the household—even some things she was not supposed to know about.” He chuckled again at the reminiscence. “Then she would entertain me with fairy tales and stories for children and tell me how those ‘silly stories’ should have turned out.”
“A talker, eh?”
“Well, to some degree. But a listener too. Used to pester me for stories of my ‘ventures’ in foreign places. Of course I felt I had to edit those for the ears of a young girl. But as she got older, she was having none of that. ‘Tell me all of it’ she would demand. So I did. Well, mostly, at least.”
They rode in silence for a moment, then Lord Alfred added in a soft tone, “That young lady very likely saved my life. Made me want to live again. If there is anything—anything at all—I can do to help you protect her, you let me know. In the Commander-in-Chief’s office, we always have soldiers who need something to do—especially now that Boney if off to Elba.”
“I will, sir. I sure will.”
As Lady Henrietta rejoined them, she was not alone. Two men accompanied her. One was a tall blond whom she introduced as Viscount Willitson; the other was Sir Michael Hamilton.
“You know my uncle, of course,” she said, “but allow to introduce Mr. Bolton, the man I mentioned to you earlier.”
Jake touched his hat and bowed his head to each in turn. “My lord. Sir.”
“Bolton.” Both men nodded their acknowledgements, but each was clearly more interested in furthering his pursuit of the lovely woman in their midst as they vied with each other in flirtatiously begging dances at an upcoming ball.
“The opening dance, my lady,” Hamilton pleaded. A handsome, dark-haired man dressed conservatively, but in the first stare of fashion, Hamilton seemed of an age with her ladyship.
“The first waltz is mine, however,” Willitson said in a rather firm tone, but he flashed white teeth in a charming smile. The viscount was perhaps thirty, and sat his horse—a fine specimen of horseflesh—very well.
Just the sort a woman would find attractive, Jake thought with an unexpected twinge of sourness.
Back at Blakemoor House, they changed out of riding gear and reported to the dining room for breakfast. Jake waited at the door for her appearance, for he thought that was what a Yorkshire farmer-cum-dockworker might do.
“I am sorry if I kept you waiting,” she said. She wore a pale yellow day dress with splashes of white flowers and green leaves. She looked young—and delectable.
“Ye didn’t. I jus’ got here.”
He reached for the door, but she put a hand on his arm and flashed that devastating smile. “Do not be nervous now, Mr. Bolton. You will do very well. If anyone says anything—or even looks untoward—I shall glare them down and change the subject.”
He grinned and opened the door, trying, none too forcefully and none too successfully, to quell a purely physical response to her touch and her smile.
The meal passed without incident.
Jake was introduced to Cousin Amabelle, Baron and Lady Lenninger, and Lady Melinda. He knew the younger women were Lady Henrietta’s sisters, and he knew from Fenton’s briefing that the sisters and the twin brothers were progeny of the earl’s second marriage; Lady Henrietta was the only child of the first marriage. The cousin was a relative of the current countess, and like Lady Blakemoor, belonged to the Howes, a prominent family in Sussex.
Cousin Amabelle looked at him through a near-sighted squint. “Goodness. My father never set such a handsome fellow to look out for me!”
“Cousin Amabelle, you were married at fifteen,” Lady Lenninger said with what she must have fancied to be an attractive tinkle of a laugh. “Your husband would have been responsible for your protection.”
“And I was widowed at nineteen,” Cousin Amabelle said to Jake. “Never remarried. Oh, I had offers enough, mind you—just like Retta here. But never found anyone to measure up to my Bertie. He was so handsome in his regimentals. Oh, you should have seen him. As handsome as our Richard, even. Other girls were so very envious of me!”
Seeing both Lady Lenninger and Lady Melinda roll their eyes at this, and the men at the table taking decided interest
in their food, Jake surmised this was a too-familiar tale to the family. Lady Henrietta forestalled any continuation of it.
“Mr. Bolton and I must have some breakfast.” She steered him to the sideboard and said softly, “If you will hold the plates, I will dish up the food. Just tell me if there is something you dislike.”
“Looks right good to me,” he said, aware that he was still the focus of interest in the room. “Ridin’ sure stirs a body’s appetite, don’t it?” Even the sedate pace I kept this morning, he added silently. “Oh! No. None o’ them kippers, milady. Never could abide ’em. Too salty by half!”
“You need not take them if you do not prefer them,” she said and he grinned inwardly at the subtle correction. He realized there had been a pause in conversations behind them and, turning, he saw Lady Lenninger direct a not-so-subtle smirk at Lady Henrietta as she and he took empty seats at the table.
A footman, holding two pots, automatically filled Lady Henrietta’s cup from one and cast a quizzical glance at Jake who said, “I think I should prefer coffee this morning.” Lady Henrietta favored him with a smile of approval, and it was almost as though the two of them shared a secret.
In a short while the others scattered to various activities for the day, leaving Jake and Lady Henrietta dawdling over second cups of coffee.
“I think we should start to work on your language skills,” she said. “I shall never be able to pass you off as a gentleman if you continue to employ your native accent and diction.”
“Aye, milady.”
“As it is a nice day—and we have so few of them left—let us go into the garden and work on proper speaking.”
“Aye, milady,” he said again, thinking of all those hours he and his brothers and sisters had endured in the Holbrook nursery as a nanny or a governess, and later a succession of tutors, had tried to instill proper use of language on several young Bodwyns. Those hours had paid off, though, for they had given him an appreciation of the nuances of language—any language—so that now Major Lord Jacob Bodwyn was fluent in not only his native English, but also in French, Spanish, Portuguese, Basque, and at least one Hindi dialect, all of which he had learned “on the job” so to speak during his army years. He had as well a working knowledge of Latin and Greek from his university days. His concern now was to feign learning to speak “properly” without revealing himself. Curious as to how her ladyship intended to proceed in this task, he followed her into the garden where they occupied a stone bench that was visible from any of a number of windows. It was a small garden sporting only two trees that in summer would provide ample shade, but at this time of the year were shedding their leaves and appearing rather skeletal. A few roses were still trying their best, but gardeners had already prepared most of the flowerbeds for their winter sleep.