The Gossip of an Earl (The Widows of the Aristocracy Book 1)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Milton Grandby rolled his eyes. It was a wonder he could remember how so many in the ton were related to one another, but if he didn’t stop making the connections in his head, he would have a pounding headache. As long as none of my goddaughters marry their first cousins—or bastard brothers, for that matter—all will be well, he figured. He could just imagine how The Tattler might latch onto such a story. Long lost daughter marries her step-brother from another mother! See page six.

  He rolled his eyes again, amazed that his cousins seemed completely oblivious to his presence in the middle of the hall.

  Well, it was a rather large hall, he admitted as he glanced around again and realized there was a man in the parlor painting. Pretty color, he thought, watching the colorman as he brushed a dark red onto the walls. At least it’s not green.

  He returned his attention to his cousins, who had just then realized he was in the house.

  “Grandby?” Andrew spoke in surprise from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Aye, ’tis me,” he replied, giving a nod to his cousins.

  Gregory hurried over, an arm outstretched. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you out here in Chiswick,” he said in awe. “What brings you?”

  The earl shook Gregory’s hand and then Andrew’s. “Two reasons,” he replied with an arched eyebrow, one hand waving to indicate the renovated house. “A visit to the old house, of course. My grandmother—and yours—would be thrilled to see what’s been done in here,” he commented, his gaze sweeping up and around the grand hall. He turned his full attention onto Andrew. “And the need to challenge Cousin Max here to a duel.”

  The silence that followed his proclamation was broken only by the sound of painting in the parlor, and even then, the sound ceased after a moment. A pin dropped onto the polished marble floor would have reverberated through the entire house.

  “A duel?” Gregory finally replied, frowning as he turned to stare at Andrew. Although his feet didn’t move, it certainly seemed as if he had taken an entire step away from his younger cousin.

  Andrew paled, the look of confusion on his face almost comical. “A duel?” he repeated, sounding ever so much like a parrot just then. “But, what is it you think I have done?” he added in disbelief.

  Grandby scratched his neck just above the mail coach knot in his cravat, wondering if the study had been stocked with liquor yet. He waved the two over to where the old study had been located during his youth. He opened the door to find it not much different from when his father had used the room as his basis of operations for an earldom located in Northumberland. Dutch cloths covered the desk as well as the furnishings near the fireplace.

  Moving to the built-in cupboards behind the massive mahogany desk in the middle, he grinned when he realized none of the liquor had been touched. Indeed, the room seemed to have been spared from any renovation.

  Setting out several tumblers, he poured a finger’s worth into each and offered them to Gregory and Andrew.

  “To family,” he said with a nod as he lifted his glass.

  “To family,” Gregory and Andrew repeated before they all took a sip of the amber liquid.

  “To widows,” Grandby said, holding up his glass in salute.

  Gregory frowned, but Andrew raised his glass. “To widows,” he repeated with a grin. When both cousins turned to stare at him, he slowly lowered his tumbler as his grin disappeared. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “I married one because I love her, madly,” Grandby replied with a bushy eyebrow. “Truly.”

  When the two turned to stare at Gregory, he merely shook his head. “Don’t look at me. My mother was a widow a long time ago, but her second husband is still alive. My wife may end up a widow, but I certainly don’t have any widows in my life at the moment,” he claimed in confusion.

  Grandby and Gregory each turned in unison to stare at Andrew.

  Andrew swallowed and finally angled his head to one side. “I admit it. I am in love with Lady Stoneleigh. Madly,” he added, remembering Grandby’s words. “Truly. Have been since we were … ” His words trailed off as the other two cousins regarded him with a good deal of interest. “I plan to marry her. If she’ll have me, of course. I have the ring here …” he said as he used his free hand to extract the ring box from his waistcoat pocket. “Bought it this morning from Mr. Rundell in Ludgate Hill.”

  The earl frowned even as he allowed an expression of appreciation. He had spent a good deal of blunt at Rundell, Bridge and Rundell over the past year or so, happily spending the earldom’s funds on jewelry for his countess. “If you planned to marry her, then why the hell were you kissing Lady J in the gardens last night?” Grandby countered, his voice tinged with a hint of annoyance.

  Andrew’s eyebrows furrowed, his gaze darting to Gregory for a moment. Goodness, but The Tattler certainly had readership. “But, I wasn’t kissing anyone in the gardens last night. I wasn’t even in the gardens last night,” he replied with a shake of his head. “What makes you think I was? And who is this Lady J?”

  Grandby leaned against the desk and angled his head, sighing as he did so. From the man’s stunned reaction, Grandby realized Andrew spoke the truth. “A certain gossip rag claims you were,” he said with an arched eyebrow. “And I believe the Lady J they are referring to is Lady Jane Browning, the youngest niece of Lady Pettigrew. Not your Lady Jane Stoneleigh.”

  Andrew’s eyes widened. “No!” he whispered with a shake of his head. God, no!

  “Yes,” Gregory countered with a sad nod. Turning his attention to the earl, he added, “I read the same article, which means so did half of London. The other half will read it later tonight after their dinners.”

  The Burroughs cousin appeared defeated as his shoulders slumped and his glass of scotch ended up on the sideboard behind him. “Jesus,” Andrew murmured in despair. “I don’t look anything like the Earl of Bellingham,” he added with a shake of his head.

  Grandby and Gregory both raised their eyebrows in unison. “Bellingham?” Grandby repeated. “What has Will Slater got to do with this?” he asked in confusion.

  Andrew gave a shrug. “He was the one kissing Lady Jane in the gardens last night,” he claimed. He paused a moment, his brows suddenly furrowing in confusion. “At least, I heard him addressed as ‘Bellingham’,” he added, not bothering to add how it was he knew the young man was in the gardens kissing a young woman. The Earl of Bellingham had done so with at least three that he knew of during last night’s ball!

  Gregory frowned, but looked to his older cousin for confirmation. “Is Bellingham back on these shores?” he asked, knowing the oldest son of the Marquess of Devonville had been in the British Navy since graduating from the naval academy.

  Hadn’t that been eight years ago?

  Grandby nodded. “Just arrived a few days ago, in fact, but Devonfield said he left for Oxfordshire yesterday morning.” He straightened, realizing where some of the confusion had come in. “The man everyone thinks is Bellingham is actually his younger brother, Stephen Slater.” Knowing the other two cousins were probably unaware of the bastard son of Devonfield, he added, “Bastard brother,” before they could ask. “The resemblance between the two is uncanny, though.”

  Gregory and Andrew shared a look. “Max has a good point when he wonders how he was mistaken for Will Slater, though,” Gregory said, an arched brow accompanying his comment. “They look nothing alike, and Andrew is probably old enough to be Stephen’s father.”

  “Hey,” Andrew started to protest and then closed his mouth when he realized he could possibly be old enough to have a son Stephen’s age.

  If I was thirteen when I sired him.

  The earl allowed a shrug. “Sounds as if it’s just a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Just?” Andrew countered in alarm, his brows furrowing. “Should Lady Stoneleigh see the account in the paper, why, she’ll think … she’ll think I’m a rake!”

  Grandb
y and Gregory shared a knowing look and both nodded in unison. “Even if she doesn’t see the account first hand, she’ll no doubt learn of it in a Mayfair parlor,” Gregory claimed.

  The earl allowed a long, audible sigh. “She already has, in fact. At my countess’ luncheon today,” he said sadly.

  A rock seemed to fall into Andrew’s stomach, the weight causing him to exhale sharply. For a moment, he thought he would be sick. “Dammit!” he said with a shake of his head. He gave the two men a quelling glance. “Through no fault of my own, it seems I need to make amends. Immediately.”

  The other two cousins furrowed their brows in unison, the synchronized action so comical, Andrew would have laughed had he not felt so awful just then.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Andrew passed them on his way out the study door. “Order more flowers,” he said over his shoulder. “And write a very long letter and beg forgiveness,” he added, mostly to himself.

  Damn Bellingham. And damn Lady J, the little tart, he thought as he mounted his borrowed horse and made his way back to the greenhouse in Chiswick.

  He hoped the proprietor had more daisies.

  Dozens and dozens of them.

  Chapter 24

  An Angry Widow

  Rumor has it a greenhouse in Chiswick has become the de facto floral delivery service for the ton in London. The proprietor reports an unusual increase in the number of orders as well as an increase in the frequency of orders from a certain gentleman. Everyone knows flowers are only in order when someone has either decided they are in love or have been caught doing something naughty! Which is it, we wonder? ~ An article in the May 14, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 7, 1818, back at Lady Stoneleigh’s townhouse

  “My lady, there’s been a delivery for you,” Nicole said as she moved into Jane’s bedchamber, her voice instantly quieting when she realized Jane was motionless on her bed.

  Her mistress hadn’t been downstairs since her return from Lady Torrington’s luncheon, but the lady’s maid was quite sure something had happened.

  Something bad.

  When had her ladyship ever left her behind when she returned home from having paid a call on another lady?

  Jane lifted herself onto one elbow, her red-rimmed eyes a testament to her recent cry. “What is it?” she asked, touching a sopping wet hanky to her cheek and sniffling as she did so.

  “Daisies, my lady.”

  Sitting up straight, Jane stared at her maid. “Daisies?” she repeated. My favorite flower. But who knew …?

  Max!

  Andrew, she quickly amended to herself, a feeling of disappointment keeping any further tears at bay when she remembered the vase of flowers on the hall table and her subsequent discussion with the housekeeper.

  Had that just been earlier that afternoon?

  Goodness.

  Will this day never end?

  “Dozens of them, my lady. They barely fit in all the vases I could find. I’ve put them on the hall table for now.”

  “Toss them out,” Jane ordered. “Or move them to the servant’s table below stairs. That’s what I told Mrs. Adams to do with them.” It had probably been hours since she gave the order. Why would the flowers still be in the hall?

  Nicole frowned. “She did, my lady,” she said in a quiet voice. “This bouquet just arrived a few moments ago.”

  Jane blinked, her anger abating a bit. “More daisies?”

  “Aye, my lady,” the maid acknowledged with a nod.

  Sighing, Jane straightened on the bed. “Was there a card?”

  Nicole held out the folded missive that had been tucked into the pasteboard box containing the massive order of flowers. “What’s wrong, my lady? I have never seen you like this.”

  Jane regarded the maid for a moment, her expression at once one of despair and then one of anger. She turned her attention to the note and thought about simply ripping it up into tiny shreds.

  But what if these flowers were from someone else? Adele, perhaps. She would look awfully foolish treating this gift with wanton disregard if they were from the countess.

  Breaking the blank wax seal on the back, she opened the four corners of the envelope and read the words scribbled on the other side.

  It has come to my attention that someone thought we were kissing in the gardens behind Lord Weatherstone’s house last night. Although I rather wish we had been kissing in the gardens, I wanted you to know that I was not the one doing the kissing. I couldn’t, you see, since I was never actually in Lord Weatherstone’s gardens last night.

  From the number of articles in The Tattler regarding those seen kissing in the gardens last night, it seems you and I are the only ones who were not, however. At least, I hope you were not, for that would mean you were kissing someone other than me.

  Are you Lady J, perhaps?

  In the event you thought I was kissing someone and that someone was not you, please believe me when I reiterate that I was not. Kissing someone, that is.

  And let us hope you are not Lady J, for she was apparently quite popular. In the gardens. Being kissed.

  Please enjoy the daisies. I hope they are still your favorite flower.

  With all my love and affection, Max.

  P.S. I look forward with all my heart to our ride in the park tomorrow afternoon.

  Jane stared at the missive and read it two more times before she let out a huff. She couldn’t decide if she should be happy to read that Andrew hadn’t kissed anyone in the gardens or incensed that he would think she would kiss someone other than him in the gardens!

  Who is Lady J if not Lady Jane Browning?

  What a conundrum!

  “My lady?”

  Her maid’s quiet voice had her allowing a sigh. “Leave the flowers where they are,” she whispered, deciding that, for now, she would give Andrew the benefit of a doubt. “And tell the cook I won’t be down for dinner. I’ve absolutely no appetite,” she said sadly. “I think I will just go to bed early tonight.”

  Nicole nodded her understanding. “Then I’ll be right back up to help you undress, my lady,” she said as she hurried out of the room to let the cook know about dinner.

  At some point, Nicole figured she might have the opportunity to look at the note her ladyship still held clutched in her hands. Although she could only read a few words, Nicole figured she could find someone else in the household who could help her read the rest.

  Someone had sent flowers to her ladyship. Someone who had obviously hurt her enough to make her cry. Enough to make her grieve. Enough to make her so angry, she had left her maid and town coach and driver behind at Worthington House.

  That someone would have to pay for his misdeed.

  Although dozens of daisies did go a long way when it came to redemption, Nicole had to admit.

  But was it enough?

  Chapter 25

  Searching for a Gossip

  The Mayfair Parlor Report has Lady M agreeing to chair another charity, Lady D off to Brighton to visit her mother, Lady T fending off a randy Lord T with a fire poker, and Lady J flirting with every gentleman in attendance at Lady P’s garden party. Has anyone offered for her hand yet? Rumor has it Lady P is upping the ante with additional funds for the dowry. ~ An article in the February 19, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 8, 1818, Norwick House

  “Who is the most notorious gossip you know in all of London?” Jane Fitzpatrick asked when Clarinda Fitzwilliam appeared in the vestibule of Norwick House, one of her baby daughters perched on her hip.

  Rather surprised the dowager countess had paid a call but insisted on remaining in the vestibule, Countess Norwick regarded her visitor with an elegantly arched eyebrow. “Lady Pettigrew, of course,” Clarinda replied with a shrug of her available shoulder. “What’s this about?”

  Jane moved to stand before Clarinda, one gloved finger moving to caress the cheek of the cherub who was regarding her with round, blue eyes and the barest
hint of a grin. “I need to know if I have made an awful mistake.”

  Clarinda stared at Jane, her head finally angling to one side. “Jane,” she murmured quietly. “I rather doubt you would be capable of making a mistake …”

  “I allowed Mr. A. Burroughs to spend the night at my townhouse night ’fore last,” she spoke in hushed tones, appreciating that the butler hadn’t returned to the vestibule when Clarinda appeared. “He wishes to take me on a ride in the park during the fashionable hour. Today.”

  Her eyes widening, more in a pleasant surprise than in shock, Clarinda allowed a brilliant smile. “Why, that’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, her sudden happiness causing her daughter, Danielle, to display a huge grin as well. A few teeth appeared between the chubby cheeks. Clarinda suddenly sobered. “Oh,” she managed. Her daughter’s expression sobered as well, her teeth disappearing just as quickly as they had appeared. When Clarinda’s eyes suddenly widened again, and the smile returned, Danielle merely blinked. “Are you Lady J?” Clarinda asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Jane’s shoulders slumped. “No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Lady Jane Browning has that distinction, it seems.”

  Clarinda sighed. “Do come in for tea,” she encouraged, stepping aside.

  The dowager countess shook her head. “I am off to pay a call on Lady Pettigrew,” she replied, deciding it was best she confront the woman with her questions. “But I do appreciate the offer,” she added as she turned her attention back to the baby. “I would so love to hold a baby for a time. As you know, I never had one of my own.”

  When Clarinda moved to allow her to do just that, Jane shook her head. “Not right now, I’m afraid, or I shall lose my resolve.”

  Straightening, Clarinda regarded her visitor for a moment. “Just what is it you intend to do?”

  Jane sighed. “Discover the truth. I wish to learn who her niece was kissing in the gardens during Lord Weatherstone’s ball,” she replied simply. “Thank you for seeing me.” She turned her attention to the baby and gave a little curtsy. “Do be careful when you decide to kiss a boy, won’t you? Don’t let anyone see you.”