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

by Linda Rae Sande

  Patience considered the answer for a moment and then angled her head. “Felix Turnbridge.” Her expression didn’t give away her thoughts of her oldest son’s best friend. Of how she had hoped for this day ever since she knew just how honorable the man could be.

  Well, except for the fact that he had kissed her daughter in Lord Weatherstone’s garden and was doing it where London’s favorite gossip monger could see.

  Emelia allowed a nod. “The very same,” she acknowledged sadly.

  The countess allowed her back to lean against the fence, her shoulders sagging in the process. “I knew he was in the market for a wife. I’m rather impressed he set his cap on you,” she murmured absently. “He’s …” She shook her head. “Nearly thirty? Or older, perhaps?” she guessed. At least he wasn’t in his mid-thirties. There were any number of aristocrats married to girls half their age! “If he has spoken to your father, I am not aware of it.”

  Patience wondered how Aimsley would react to the news. Either he would be delighted to have their last child settled and out of the house, or he would bellow and bawl about losing his only daughter to the clutches of a poor man.

  But Lord Fennington was an earl. Certainly that accounted for something.

  Emelia deserved to be a countess. She had attended the very best finishing school in Geneva, and she excelled at everything important when it came to being a young lady in the aristocracy. Elocution, dancing, needlework, painting. Well, the painting could use a bit of work, but she was certainly an accomplished artist when it came to drawing portraits. Why, Emelia could draw anyone’s likeness with her charcoals or a pencil.

  “I know something about Lord Fennington, you see,” Emelia managed between sniffles. “I wasn’t sure at first, but I discovered it quite by accident and shall never forgive him for what he’s done. For what he’s doing.”

  Alarm bells ringing in her head, Patience stared at her daughter. “Whatever is Lord Fennington doing?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Emelia was about to answer when her father suddenly appeared in front of them, his large frame towering over them and his expression one of confusion.

  “I can see something is amiss, and since I just paid witness to a runaway phaeton with you barely on board, I can only imagine the worst,” he warned in a low voice, his attention directed on his daughter. “Both of you. In my study, right now.” He lowered himself a bit and offered a hand to Patience. She took it and allowed him to pull her up. He followed with his other hand, Emelia giving a mournful sigh before she took it and allowed him to lift her to her feet and a bit beyond.

  When her feet were back on terra firma, Emelia dared a glance in his direction and realized he wasn’t truly angry. Probably just curious. After all, when had the earl ever discovered his wife and daughter on the ground at the back fence?

  “Should I be expecting a visit from Fennington?” he asked before they made it to the back door of the townhouse, not adding that the earl was already waiting for him in the vestibule. He had a mind to leave the man waiting for him for the rest of the day.

  Emelia shook her head. “I rather doubt it, Father,” she replied. “I did not accept his proposal.”

  “That’s interesting news.”

  The words had Emelia turning her head to regard her father as they stepped through the back door. “It is?”

  Aimsley paused to allow his wife to come alongside him and he offered his arm as they headed down the hallway to his study. “Of course. You two have obviously been courting in secret in addition to your once-a-week rides in the park. A situation I am not at all happy to learn,” he warned.

  “But, we haven’t been,” Emelia argued. “I am as shocked by his proposal as Mother is,” she added when she caught his brief look of disbelief. Her brows suddenly furrowed. “Has he asked your permission to marry me?” she wondered, thinking perhaps the earl had skipped the courting stage and simply made arrangements directly with her father.

  “He did.” Aimsley paused, deciding not to put voice to another thought until he had the two females ensconced in the study where their discussion couldn’t be overheard by any servants. Word of Fennington’s runaway phaeton would be circulating in Mayfair parlors soon enough. No need to have Park Lane residences learning of the unseemly display on this day.

  Closing the study door behind her, Emelia approached her father’s desk and took the seat opposite it.

  “What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” Aimsley wondered in a gruff voice.

  Emelia straightened in the chair, wondering if she had misunderstood his orders. “I thought you wanted to learn what this is all about,” she ventured. “It’s a bit of a tale.”

  Aimsley and his wife exchanged quick glances. “I’ll order tea,” Patience said with a nod to her husband, moving to the door to summon a footman.

  Mark Comber returned the nod and offered his arm to his daughter. “Perhaps it would be better if we discussed this in more comfortable furnishings,” he suggested, indicating the divan and overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. At Emelia’s look of surprise, he added, “It’s not an inquisition, Emmy.”

  Emelia blinked. “It’s not?”

  Aimsley gave his daughter a quelling glance. “Of course not. Can you help it if you’ve been the unwilling victim of a gossip monger?”

  Patience and Emelia both gasped. “How did you know?” Emelia wondered in a whisper. “I told no one of the arrangement.”

  The earl waited for the two women to move to the end of the study before he allowed a sigh. “Just because you didn’t see fit to taking a footman with you on your morning walks in the park does not mean that a footman wasn’t nearby,” he countered, waiting for the women to sit down before he took a seat in a wingback chair.

  “You had me followed?”

  Aimsley allowed another sigh. “You’re my daughter. You’re my only daughter. So, yes, I had you followed,” he replied. “I have to admit to a bit of shock at learning the identity of the man you were meeting with.” At the sound of the door opening, he straightened and gave a stern look, a warning, perhaps, that they needed to cease their conversation until the butler had finished placing the tea tray and an assortment of plates of biscuits and cakes on the low table in front of the countess.

  Patience took the teapot before the butler could and thanked him. “I shall do the honors,” she said with an elegantly arched eyebrow.

  Knowing when he had been dismissed, Hummel quickly took his leave of the study.

  Waiting for the ‘snick’ of the latch indicating the door was closed, Patience turned her attention from pouring tea and directed it to her daughter. “I know where you were going on those morning walks,” she stated with a sigh. “I read Mr. Pepperidge’s letter,” she admitted. Then she realized nearly as quickly that her husband had already learned the identity of whomever Emelia had been meeting with in the park.

  “A park bench on the east side, not too far from the carriage drive on this side of Hyde Park,” Emelia said quickly.

  “To meet … whom did you think you would be meeting?” he asked with an arched brow.

  At this, Emelia lowered her eyes. “Mr. Pepperidge, the editor of The Tattler.”

  Patience bit her lower lip, realizing she should have told her husband about the letter and about the blackmail.

  “The one and only,” Mark replied with a roll of his eyes. “Which begs the question. Why?”

  Emelia took the tea her mother offered and stared into the steaming cup. Her reflection, wavering in the swirling liquid, seemed as perplexed as she felt just then. How could she have been so bamboozled?

  “I was kissed by Lord Fennington while we were in Lord Weatherstone’s garden.” She ignored her mother’s attempt at a gasp—apparently to make it sound as if she didn’t already know—and her father’s roll of his eyes to continue the sordid tale. “Mr. Pepperidge claimed to have paid witness to it, or someone reported to him that they had seen the kiss, and I was given th
e ultimatum to either provide gossip I heard whilst paying calls—for eight weeks—or else the report of the kiss would be printed in The Tattler.”

  There.

  Once she put voice to the situation, it didn’t seem nearly as sordid as she had thought for the past two months. But from the look on her father’s face, she may as well have promised her firstborn babe to the editor of The Tattler.

  Perhaps she already had.

  I may be giving birth to said baby, she suddenly realized. That is, if she ended up having to accept the earl’s offer of marriage. She didn’t yet know how her father would weigh in on the situation.

  “What aren’t you telling us?” Patience whispered as she leaned forward.

  Emelia’s eyes widened. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied before she realized her mother probably did realize there was just a bit more to the sordid tale. Before she could say anything, though, her father heaved a sigh.

  “I gave Fenn permission to court you one day a week for eight weeks,” he claimed. “Now, have you managed to discover a way to spend additional time in the earl’s company?” he asked, one dark eyebrow arching up with his query.

  Emelia sank into her chair, her tea in danger of spilling. “Just at evening entertainments. I certainly didn’t realize he was courting me,” she argued. At the look of confusion on her mother’s face, she dared a glance at her father. “So, you knew he was courting me?” she half-questioned.

  The Earl of Aimsley cleared his throat, knowing his wife’s attention was on him. “He made mention of an interest in you,” he admitted. “Said he thought you would make a suitable countess …” At Emelia’s shake of her head and the tears that suddenly streamed down her face, he stopped and frowned. “What, pray tell, did Fennington do to you besides kiss you in the gardens?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  A sob shook Emelia before she answered. “He blackmailed me,” she claimed. “He made me tell him gossip …”

  Although she had started to give her mother an explanation at the back gate, it was at that moment that Patience Comber realized what her daughter had been trying to tell her. “The editor of The Tattler is the Earl of Fennington?” the countess half-asked as her eyes widened in sudden understanding. “The rogue!”

  Emelia nodded. “I didn’t know at first, of course. In fact, it wasn’t until his mustache fell off last week, and I did a drawing of him without the awful wig and fake nose he was wearing that I realized he could be Lord Fennington. When he showed up today for our last meeting, he wasn’t even in disguise as Mr. Pepperidge. He confirmed everything before we left the park and rode off to Lord Weatherstone’s house. That’s where he proposed …”

  “Proposed?” her father repeated. He seemed to think on this bit of information for a moment “Well, I suppose he did ask my permission for your hand that afternoon after he kissed you,” he murmured with a shake of his head, although he didn’t seem too concerned about the situation, either.

  “He admitted to kissing our daughter?” Patience asked in alarm. “Why … why didn’t you say something?”

  The earl gave a shrug. “I gave him permission to court our daughter for eight weeks. I told him he could see her once a week. I didn’t want him rushing into anything he might regret, so I thought I would give him an out. Apparently, once a week wasn’t enough, so he took advantage in the guise of his alter ego to spend more time with Emelia.”

  Although the explanation seemed innocent enough, Patience Comber wasn’t the least bit happy to learn that Felix Turnbridge had an alter ego in Mr. Pepperidge, editor of The Tattler. “That despicable man!” she shouted, coming to her feet.

  Forced to rise when his wife did, Mark rolled his eyes again. “Come now, Patience. So the man publishes a gossip rag. He probably makes a fortune on it. What harm does a bit of …?”

  Now, Mark Comber, Earl of Aimsley, was well aware he had married a Waterford girl, a daughter from a family that could boast members of strong will and stronger convictions. A family that was known for standing up for what was right and treading on what was wrong in Society. So he really should have known she wouldn’t take his comment as lightly as he intended it. Instead, her arm flew through the air so the palm of her hand intersected his cheek at just the right angle in order to remind him of the fact. And to send a series of bright stars dancing in front of his blinking eyes.

  “Mother!” Emelia gasped as her hands went to her mouth. For a moment, she felt sorry for her father, but fear of his reprisal had her more worried about her mother.

  “Gossip, I’ll have you know, is the single most destructive force in the ton,” Patience stated between gritted teeth. “It has sent perfectly behaved young ladies into awful marriages. It forced Lady Brougham to leave London. It kept Lord Thorncastle from considering the only love of his life to be his wife—for over ten years—and it cost my sister her marriage. It nearly cost you your younger son.” She was about to go on, but her husband had suddenly gathered her into his arms and pulled her head against his shoulder.

  Emelia wondered if he was truly consoling her or just making sure she couldn’t hit him again. There was a bright red mark where her mother’s hand had landed on his cheek. Apparently, her mother had taken lessons from her sons in how to hit. Either that, or she had been a tomboy in her youth, too.

  “I wish to apologize, my lady,” he whispered hoarsely. “As one who does not believe anything unless I have either been there to see it for myself or was the one doing it, I had no idea others would believe such twaddle, especially from the pages of a rag claiming to be a news sheet.” He paused a moment and regarded his daughter from the corner of his eye. “As for our daughter, I suppose we need to think on her situation …” Even before he could finish his thought, he could feel his wife stiffen in his arms.

  “She is not marrying Lord Fennington,” Patience stated firmly.

  “Not for the time being, anyway,” he agreed with a nod. When his wife pulled away to regard him, obviously shocked by his words, he added, “Perhaps we should hear her thoughts on the matter.”

  Emelia gave a squeak. “Whatever do you mean?”

  After seeing to seating Patience on the divan, the earl settled back into his wingback chair and sighed. “Come now. You wanted to marry the man not eight weeks ago …”

  “When I thought he was an honorable man,” she interrupted.

  “Until you discovered he was someone else in addition to being the Earl of Fennington.”

  Emelia blinked as she considered her father’s words. “True, but I certainly don’t wish to marry him now,” she claimed with a shake of her head. “He blackmailed me!”

  “Because he wanted an excuse to see you more often. He wanted you to be the first person he spent time with on Thursday mornings. And he discovered how much he enjoyed his time with you,” Mark said quietly. “I believe his comment was something like, ‘I had no idea how pleasant a morning could be until such time as I had the privilege of spending mornings with your daughter. She hasn’t a mean bone in her body and only sees the best in her peers.’

  “He’s quite in love with you, Emmy.”

  Emelia stared at her father for a long time, well aware that her mother was giving him the same look of disbelief as she was doing at that very moment. “You gave him permission to marry me, didn’t you?” she accused, her voice quavering.

  Mark nodded and then bobbed his head from side to side. “Not exactly, but I didn’t forbid him from doing so. To be fair, I didn’t realize he was using your supposed knowledge of gossip as an excuse to meet with you. I merely thought you were meeting him in the park because you felt affection for him.”

  Emelia’s eyes were as wide as they could be at hearing her father’s comments. “I despise Mr. Pepperidge!” she retorted, her head shaking in disbelief.

  “How do you feel about Felix Turnbridge?”

  The earl’s daughter held her breath a moment before letting it go. Panic seemed to grip her. Had the Earl
of Fennington promised something in return for her hand in marriage? Had he turned down her dowry? Or had her father promised …? She blinked and forced herself to stop breathing so quickly. If she wasn’t careful, she would faint, and she never fainted. Ever! “He’s the same man.”

  “And yet, you must feel some affection for Fenn,” her father countered gently. “You rode with him in the park every week for the past eight weeks. I saw the way you looked at him,” he said in a quieter voice. “Until five minutes ago, your mother wanted him as another son,” he added, his expression daring Patience to counter his claim.

  Emelia was well aware of how her mother seemed to sink into the divan just then, her face reddening in embarrassment. She had been the one to introduce them, not ten minutes before the damning kiss had sent everything into motion. “She did before she learned more about his character,” she agreed. Her eyes suddenly widened as she turned her attention on her mother. “How did you know about the blackmail?” she asked.

  Her mother’s sigh might have been audible through the entire house if the door to the study had been open. “I read the letter Mr. Pepperidge sent you,” she admitted. “I saw the look on your face when you were reading it in the salon, and I knew it held what must have been awful news, so when you went up to get dressed to go for your first ride with Fenn, I … I read it.” She paused a moment, not at all surprised by the look of hurt on Emelia’s face. “I immediately called together my friends, and we devised a way to put Mr. Pepperidge in his place.”

  Aimsley straightened in his chair. “You were the one who provided the ridiculous gossip,” he accused in a quiet voice.

  Patience nodded. “The Gossip Goddess. She’s really five of us …” Her brow suddenly furrowed. “How do you know about the ridiculous gossip?” she queried. “I thought you said you didn’t read The Tattler,” she countered.

  Mark Comber adjusted his position in his chair, obviously embarrassed at having been caught in a lie. “I … I heard the other lords making light of it whilst in the robing room,” he replied. “For over a month, they’ve been making jokes about non-existent members of the aristocracy,” he added with a shrug. “The Gossip Goddess is quite popular, it seems. You have quite the following.”