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

by Linda Rae Sande

  Danielle’s eyes widened until they were round and her head bobbed up and down.

  “Good day.” With that, Jane gave Clarinda a curtsy and took her leave of Norwick House, seeing herself to the front door since the butler was still nowhere to be found.

  Clarinda regarded her daughter for a time before allowing a sigh. “You and your sister may end up in a nunnery,” she warned with an arched eyebrow. At Danielle’s sudden change of expression, one that made her appear as if she were about to cry, Clarinda shook her head. “Then just be sure you’re not caught kissing a rake in Lord Weatherstone’s garden,” she whispered.

  Danielle seemed to nod her agreement as her grin suddenly returned.

  “Hopeless flirt,” her mother whispered as she turned and headed for the nursery.

  Nicole paused in her effort to finish making her mistress’ bed. The note Lady Stoneleigh had received the day before rested on the nightstand, refolded and looking as if it had never been opened. Making a mental note of just how it was positioned on the marble surface, she lifted it and regarded the script. Carefully pulling the edges apart, she held the missive to the light from the window and attempted to make out the words. The scrawl was nearly impossible to read, however, and Nicole sighed when she couldn’t make it past the words, It has come to my attention that. She directed her gaze to the next words she could make out. We had been kissing in the gardens, I wanted you to know.

  Nicole blinked before she scanned to the end of the writing, finally making out the word ‘love’ and ‘Max.’

  Well, no wonder her ladyship is upset if a man has let her know he was kissing someone in the gardens, she thought in dismay. Returning her attention to the script, she struggled to make out the rest of the words, finally sighing when she simply couldn’t figure out whatever it was this Max was trying to say about a ‘Lady J’ and kissing and …

  Perhaps that’s what had her mistress so upset. She couldn’t read the note!

  Or perhaps she could, and she was upset at his having kissed someone in the gardens.

  As to which gardens were involved, she once again wondered what the slanted words spelled out. She couldn’t imagine anyone would be kissing in the garden behind the townhouse. It was just a kitchen garden, not at all hidden by a hedgerows or other impediments to being spied by prying eyes. Certainly no one would dare kiss there.

  Well, Elsie would, but then, the scullery maid had a tendré for the footman and would allow him to kiss her wherever he wanted. Truth be told, Nicole decided she would let the same footman kiss her wherever he wanted to should he be so inclined.

  She shook her head as if to clear it.

  No, this had nothing to do with the gardens out back. Who could help her with the rest of the letter, though? She couldn’t ask the butler—Simonton would be mortified to learn she was attempting to read her ladyship’s correspondence. Elsie couldn’t read. Mrs. Adams could read, but she rather doubted the housekeeper would agree to help her decipher the words.

  Giving it one more go, Nicole started at the beginning of the letter and began to read. Once she had the words ‘kissing’ and ‘last night’ and some other simple words figured out, she was sure she had the gist of the letter. Max was denying having kissed Lady J despite having been seen doing so.

  That was the reason for the daisies!

  Dozens of them.

  Who is Max? she wondered then, realizing he had to be someone close to her mistress, for he had signed something having to do with ‘love’.

  When she made out the words, The Tattler, Nicole suddenly inhaled sharply.

  The Tattler was a gossip rag!

  Oh, dear, she thought in dismay. Was her mistress mentioned in the news sheet? Was Lady Stoneleigh the Lady J mentioned in the letter? Well, there was only one way to find out.

  I have to get my hands on the latest issue of The Tattler, Nicole realized.

  She knew exactly where she could find one. In the kitchens, probably in the hands of the cook.

  Reading the very last line of the letter, Nicole allowed a grin as she realized she could make out all the words.

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

  Well, now all she had to do was have a look at whoever came for Lady Stoneleigh, and she would know who had sent the daisies.

  Carefully folding up the note and placing it back where she found it on the nightstand, Nicole continued making the bed.

  Chapter 26

  Paying a Call on a Gossip

  Rumor has it Lady J has kissed three gentlemen in the past week! She’s leading the charge in puckered lips for this Season’s kissing contest! Does anyone else look as if their lips have been stung by a bee? Drop off your tales of kissing tarts at our offices! ~ An article in the April 2, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 8, 1818, Viscount Pettigrew’s residence

  Jane Fitzpatrick glanced around the parlor in the Pettigrew manor house, not particularly surprised at how dated the room appeared. Not only had it been decorated in the prior century, she wondered if some of the furnishings were leftovers from the Elizabethan era. The knickknacks scattered about the tables were charming, though, some made of metal while others were obviously carved from marble or wood.

  “My husband’s hobby,” Eugenia Pettigrew said from the threshold.

  Although the words had broken the welcome silence, Jane didn’t jump at the sound of them. “He is a very accomplished sculptor,” she commented, turning to regard the viscountess with a wan smile. She curtsied. “Please forgive my calling on you outside of the usual times.”

  Lady Pettigrew curtsied as quickly as she could, remembering that Lady Stoneleigh was a dowager countess. “Oh, it’s no imposition at all,” Eugenia claimed as she waved Jane to a chair. “Please do have a seat whilst I ring for tea.”

  “Would Lady Jane be available to join us?” Jane wondered as she took a seat in the one chair she was fairly certain was from this century. She feared breaking any of the older chairs.

  The viscountess allowed a nod. “I don’t know why not.” She moved and lifted a porcelain bell from a table near the double doors. The butler appeared as if he’d been hovering on the other side of the wall.

  “Do bring tea, and let Lady Jane know we have a caller,” she murmured.

  The butler gave a deep bow and disappeared, leaving Eugenia to wring her hands before turning to her guest. “Did you enjoy the luncheon yesterday? I do so appreciate the opportunity to meet with the ladies the day after a ball.”

  “I do, as well,” Jane agreed, deciding not to display the pasted on smile that her hostess struggled to maintain. “Although I admit to a bit of frustration at one of the articles you read from The Tattler.”

  The comment seemed to have Eugenia breathing a bit easier. “Oh, is that all?” she responded with a wave of her hand. At her visitor’s raised eyebrow, she added, “I was afraid my niece had done something untoward, and you were here to render a report.”

  Jane blinked. “Did she, do you suppose?”

  At that moment, Lady Jane Browning, youngest niece of Lady Eugenia Pettigrew, appeared on the threshold and bobbed a curtsy. “Did I what, my lady?” the young woman wondered, having heard Jane Fitzpatrick’s query.

  Jane gave the girl a nod and angled her head. “I was just asking your aunt if you had done something to earn a mention in this week’s Tattler.”

  Despite how the young woman paled at the comment, she managed to appear shocked by the countess’ words. “Since I haven’t yet read the newspaper, I’m not sure if I have been mentioned or not.” She gave a nervous glance in her aunt’s direction, as if she already knew she’d been caught and wondered how she would be punished.

  Apparently it wasn’t the first time Lady Jane had been caught doing something inappropriate.

  “If you’re referring to the mention of a Lady J seen kissing a man in the gardens …” the viscountess started with a wave of one hand.


  “I am,” Jane interrupted.

  Eugenia stiffened. “I assure you, that particular Lady J is not my Jane,” she said with a shake of her head.

  The dowager countess regarded the viscountess for a moment before turning her attention to Jane. “I am not so concerned about Lady J as I am about whom she was seen kissing,” she said in a quiet voice. She almost regretted having brought up the topic of the other party in question, but it was true that she really didn’t care one whit if Lady Jane had kissed every other man in London.

  As long as she hadn’t kissed Andrew Burroughs.

  “Lord Bellingham, you mean?” the younger Jane piped up in surprise.

  The older Jane frowned. Bellingham? Although she had paid witness to a man who looked similar to Will Slater, Earl of Bellingham, take his leave of the ballroom at least three different times with young ladies in tow—one of those times with Lady Jane, in fact—she was rather surprised at the girl’s response. Didn’t she realize that by mentioning the man with whom she had been seen going into the gardens, she was making her impropriety known to her aunt?

  And what would she think when she discovered that she hadn’t been kissing the Earl of Bellingham at all, but rather his bastard brother, Stephen Slater?

  Eugenia allowed a ‘huff’. “Why, just to take the air, I should think,” she put in, motioning for her niece to come into the parlor. Jane did so, standing in front of a chair and waiting for her aunt to take a seat before she did so.

  The blush that covered the younger Jane’s face said otherwise. Knowing she had been caught—if not by her aunt, then by the woman who looked as if she were about to cry—she allowed a long sigh. “I admit, I was in the gardens with the Earl of Bellingham,” Jane announced, her attention on their caller. “He was a perfect gentleman, however. Newly returned to these shores after eight years in service to His Majesty’s Navy,” she said with the kind of pride only a patriotic young lady could manage.

  Lady Stoneleigh angled her head, a bit relieved by the younger Jane’s claim. “And Mr. A. Burroughs? What of him?” she wondered in a quiet voice. Her attention was diverted to a maid who appeared in the parlor’s doorway, wheeling an old-fashioned tea cart bearing a silver salver. A teapot and cups from the early-eighteenth century were arranged on the salver along with a sugar-pot and creamer.

  Her aunt was quick to say, “I’ll see to the tea,” her clipped words sending the maid scurrying.

  The younger Jane shifted in her chair, her face screwed up in concentration. “I do not believe I have ever met a man by that name,” she answered after a moment. “I have heard the Burroughs name, of course, but only as it relates to the Duke of Ariley,” she added, wanting the visitor to know she was familiar with the families in the aristocracy.

  Meanwhile, Jane Fitzpatrick regarded the younger Jane with an expression that suggested immense relief. “Was Bellingham the only man with whom you toured the gardens?” she asked, her question sounding ever so innocent. “I ask only because I fear your reputation may be in jeopardy, given the report in The Tattler.”

  The comment had the desired effect, eliciting a gasp from Lady Pettigrew as well as a pair of rounded eyes on Jane Browning’s face.

  The younger Jane blinked. “Why, of course he was,” she answered with a shrug, obviously relieved when her aunt placed a cup and saucer in Lady Stoneleigh’s hands.

  “If I remember correctly from yesterday, you prefer no milk or sugar?” Eugenia asked in a voice tinged with too much sweetness, her query made in the hopes she could divert the countess’ line of questioning to something other than elicit visits to Lord Weatherstone’s garden.

  “You have it correct, of course,” Jane acknowledged with a nod before turning her attention back to the younger Jane. “Tell me, was there any other ‘Lady J’ at last night’s ball? That you know of, of course?” she asked before taking a sip of the tea. She managed to avoid grimacing at the flavor. Goodness! With all the tea shops in the town of London, couldn’t Lady Pettigrew serve a proper cup of tea?

  Jane Browning gave a nervous glance in her aunt’s direction but considered the question for a moment. “Not that I am aware, my lady”, she answered with a shake of her head.

  The immense relief that settled over Lady Stoneleigh had her inhaling the steam that hovered over her teacup. Although the flavor was hideous, at least the scent was pleasant. “I do appreciate your candor, Lady Jane,” she said with a nod. “Have you had an offer of marriage yet this season?”

  The younger Jane seemed to relax a bit, as if she knew the inquisition was over. “I have not, but then, I have not been anxious to receive such an offer.”

  Her response had both older women staring at her as if she had grown a second head. “Surely you jest,” Eugenia responded with a stunned frown.

  Lady Jane took a sip of the tea she had just been handed and grimaced. “I do not, actually. I think I should not marry until I am at least five-and-twenty,” she said with a shrug. “And maybe not until I am even older. I understand some peasant girls don’t marry until they are nearly thirty,” she claimed with a nervous grin. “And they do so for affection.”

  Jane Fitzpatrick was sure Lady Pettigrew appeared about to faint at hearing her youngest niece’s claim. “Thirty?” Eugenia repeated in a small voice.

  The older Jane managed to suppress the grin she felt threatening to touch her lips. However would Lady Pettigrew manage her youngest niece if the gel remained underfoot for the next ten years?

  “Jane!” Eugenia scolded the girl. “You cannot be serious.”

  The younger Jane allowed a shrug. “I think I would prefer the life of an independent woman,” she said quietly. “I don’t relish the idea of being married to a man who has a mistress but expects me to remain at home every night without company.”

  The Dowager Countess of Stoneleigh stilled herself, wondering how much Lady Jane knew of her situation. Did the girl’s comment refer to her specifically? Or to her aunt? For Jane knew Lord Pettigrew had taken a mistress many years ago. A woman he had visited on a regular basis when the harlot was an employee of The Elegant Courtesan, a high-end brothel owned by the Earl of Norwick before he inherited the earldom. Rather profitable, The Elegant Courtesan featured a variety of ladies of the evening. One in particular had appealed to Lord Pettigrew so much, he had hired her as his exclusive mistress when David Fitzwilliam had been forced to close the brothel upon inheriting the Norwick earldom.

  “Jane!” her aunt admonished her charge. “There will be no talking of mistresses in this household,” she stated in a hoarse whisper.

  “Oh, don’t forbid her on my account, Lady Pettigrew,” Lady Stoneleigh replied with a shake of her head. “I am quite sure she’s well aware of my late husband’s employment of a mistress, as was the rest of the ton,” she managed with an arched brow, her head held high as she made the comment. “The Tattler made mention of it in more than one issue.”

  She hadn’t meant to make such a bold statement, but she thought perhaps the viscountess might see her own situation in a new light if others who had been in her shoes admitted their plight in the company of family members.

  It wasn’t as if they were the ones guilty of any wrongdoing. The men in their lives were the ones guilty of breaking their marriage vows!

  Lady Pettigrew regarded her guest with barely contained fury. “Speaking of mistresses is wholly inappropriate, and I should prefer my niece not know of such … matters,” she uttered in a hoarse whisper.

  Lady Stoneleigh nodded. “Of course. Do forgive my impropriety. I merely thought she could avoid the heartache so prevalent among those who have to marry for a title rather than for love.”

  The younger Jane swallowed, rather relieved to hear the older Jane’s candor. “I would like to marry for love, of course,” Jane said quietly. “But the young men I have met at the entertainments so far this Season are not of my liking. Perhaps that will change as the Season progresses, but I do not hold much hope
.”

  Lady Pettigrew allowed an audible sigh, her annoyance at Lady Stoneleigh’s presence harder and harder to hide. “Really, Jane,” she said after taking a long draught of her tea and then screwing her face into a grimace. “You must be open to any possibility. I have promised my brother I would see you wed.”

  The younger Jane allowed a nod. “And if I am married when I am thirty, you will still have kept your promise.”

  Eugenia Pettigrew angled her head, as if finally understanding her niece’s point of view. “As long as you’re amenable to taking in the rest of the entertainments for which we have accepted invitations, then so be it,” she replied before draining her tea in a single gulp.

  “And I would suggest you forget about the Earl of Bellingham as a possible beau,” the elder Jane commented as she placed her tea cup and saucer on the low table in front of her chair. “I understand he has given his heart to another.” She stood up. “Thank you for hosting me this morning, Lady Pettigrew.” With that, she curtsied and took her leave of the Pettigrew mansion, a sigh of relief leaving her as she stepped into her town coach.

  “The office of The Tattler,” she said when the driver poked his head through the opening in the coach’s ceiling. Although she was now confident Andrew Burroughs had done nothing untoward during the Weatherstone ball, she had a bone to pick with the editor of The Tattler.

  Perhaps an entire skeleton’s worth.

  Chapter 27

  An Unexpected Encounter with an Earl

  In order to recover from the spectacle that is the annual Weatherstone Ball, our offices will be closed for new subscriptions the morning of Friday, May 8, 1818. ~ A mention at the bottom of the May 1, 1818 issue of The Tattler.

  May 8, 1818, the office of Tattler Publishing

  What an odd location for a newspaper, Jane thought as she regarded the front of the brick building that displayed the shingle for Tattler Publishing. Not a single window decorated the wall that faced Sackville Street, but one nondescript door, painted in scarlet red, could be found at the south corner. She wondered if she should knock, but decided as a place of business, there was probably a receptionist therein. Grasping the knob, she felt a bit of relief when it easily turned and the door opened. The odors of ink and rag assaulted her nostrils as she stepped into the small front office.