She boarded the public coach and traveled in a crowded and smelly carriage with salesmen, widows, pickpockets, and runaway wives. Strangely, she didn’t mind any of it one bit. As they changed horses several times on their journey from London, Samantha enjoyed her first adventure in different surroundings. Not so much the countryside for fences and cows held no interest to her but the inns and barrooms along the way offered a certain spice.
Samantha caught the eye of several gentlemen though she considered herself dressed modestly in a navy traveling gown of standard muslin and an unlined woolen cloak. Her hair was tamed and partially covered with a floral capote, a head covering which was between a cap and a bonnet. The brim was made of a stiffened material and shaped pleasingly around her pretty face. Samantha’s experience showed in her expressions, her frank stares and practiced walk. No amount of trying on her part could hide her profession from those around her.
That gardenia perfume. Too strong.
The unworn half boots, the leather dyed bright pink.
The corset laced too tightly, the breasts too exposed.
What Samantha thought modest was indeed a far cry from discreet.
She did not care in the least.
Samantha had one thought in her head. Find the small abandoned cabin she paid handsomely to learn of and hide there. She would watch from the smudged window until she saw a sign of her beloved protector, Lord Bristol, and then she would lure him inside promising all kinds of favors.
Just her being so near the great Riverside mansion of the Marquis of Sandshire was tantalizing. How well connected her protector was! Samantha felt a surge of power. What might the marquis pay her to leave Lord Bristol and go away? How could she use her close proximity to the best advantage? She created another list on her last night in an inn.
My Best Options
Lord Bristol
Lord Darlington
Earl of Carlyle
Marquis of Sandshire
Entice
Intrigue
Tempt
Trap
Keep blackmail in my pocket in case I have no other possibilities
**********
Samantha settled into the abandoned game cottage. She shook out the hand-braided rugs, swept the floor, removed the tattered curtains, and draped a few silk scarves over the windows after arranging candles around the small bed. Always industrious, she managed to fill an old copper tub with warm water off the stove and after her bath and when her hair was dried and plaited loosely to her head she wrote a little note for her protector.
Dear Lord Bristol,
Darling, you will never guess where I am.
Come out of that great mausoleum and turn your dark brown eyes to the east.
See that little rundown cottage under the giant oak?
Guess who is inside.
Yes! Come to me if you’d like to have some real enjoyment.
Bring a bottle of wine and some food for us for I am starving for both a partridge and you.
We shall waste away the afternoon doing just whatever you like.
Naughty boy, you know I adore you and can’t resist pleasing you!
Hurry to my side, my glorious Bristol.
I cannot wait to see you again.
How divine!
Your Little Muffin, Samantha.
A boy in the fields was happy to deliver her note to the fine lord for just a few pennies. Then, she sat back and waited for the hurried fist pounding on the old door. And she grinned rushing to answer.
PART FIVE
Lord Bristol
Lord Bristol
I
Lord Bristol also had a secret. One so important to him that he kept it to himself and refused to mention it to anyone, even Lord Darlington his best friend and lifetime companion.
After one week in the company of the beautiful Winston sisters, Bristol began to question all of his firm beliefs as simply rot. Previously, he would have bet his pair of high-steppers, his three racing phaetons, and half of his Hessian boots that the institution of marriage was for weak-minded fools. So sure had he been about his assumptions that now he felt his foundation trembling underneath his booted feet.
Arriving at Marquis of Sandshire’s estate of Riverside, just short days ago, Lord Bristol thought life was a lark designed only for his own satisfaction and amusement. Now in the dark of night, he felt sweat on his handsome brow.
What if he was wrong?
He couldn’t be, Lord Darlington agreed with him.
Even the proper Earl of Carlyle was not wed.
And though the marquis was married once before he now was a bachelor about Town.
No, it was foolish to imagine that he had been wrong.
Nevertheless, the next morning all of his senses were on high alert.
Lord Bristol sipped his hot tea as he watched Sara Winston delicately eating her morning cake and sausage. How tender her smile as she scrutinized her sister, Audrey, and Darlington banter back and forth about the quality of different racing horses. How sweetly she sat at the lush table filled with every conceivable food choice. The skill of her conversation, the way she lifted her silver fork to those generous lips, even the way she chewed. How different she was from his mistress, Samantha Ray Brussel. He rubbed his forehead remembering the way his mistress broke her morning fast by stuffing biscuits into her mouth as if she were on board a sinking ship and time was running out. The differences were staggering. He recalled how Samantha’s coarse accent sometimes grated on his nerves. All those twangs, drawls, and sharp inflections sometimes even chilled his ardor. And though his mistress was malleable in bed, and her flexibility sometimes amazed, she could not quite hide that shrewish smirk on her lips as he eagerly mounted her.
Lord Bristol now wondered in this more sobering and undrunk mood if he was being manipulated by a guttersnipe who came from the back of a cobbler’s shop.
“Bristol, I’ve called your name four times! What are you thinking of for I have only one guess and I don’t believe it’s proper to mention her name here,” Lord Darlington laughed, his remark causing both pretty necks to turn and those pale gray eyes of the Winston ladies to land on him.
He felt his face flush, a defect he hated causing him to snap at his friend. “I was only thinking about how lovely our companions are and what a bore it must be for them to have to suffer through that same story about that horse, War Dog, and his winning of one race.”
“You are slandering War Dog now?” Darlington wailed. “The most magnificent horse to ever come out of my father’s stable.”
Bristol noticed the quick but sweet smile Audrey flashed towards her sister and he felt the kindness in the ladies. Samantha would howl like a banshee and tell Darlington to mind his manners.
Sara spoke thoughtfully instead.
“Lord Darlington, don’t let your friend upset you. My sister and I quite enjoy your stories. You show such enthusiasm for your horses it’s hard to find fault with the repetition of their victories for I promise you, if Audrey had a horse so fine we would hear about his racing successes every morning.”
“You do hear Darlington’s identical stories every morning,” Lord Bristol muttered.
“You’re just a jealous, overdressed flop because your family’s livestock couldn’t even qualify,” Darlington baited expecting the same old replies and arguments.
Suddenly, Bristol was tired of their monotonous games. He glanced over at Sara and said, “Would you do me the honor of walking with me in the rose garden?”
“I would be delighted,” Sara replied moving her chair slightly and standing.
Bristol remembered how Samantha stood roughly shoving back her chair with her boot and pushing herself off the table like a pie merchant.
At first, Lord Bristol enjoyed Sara’s sweet company as they walked the grounds of Riverside. He noticed everything about her. Those tiny little steps, the way her hips swayed enticingly without a deliberate plan, the even tone of her voice. He glanced down at h
er often enjoying the view of her pale golden hair and the mounds of her breasts under the muslin morning gown. Sara touched each rose as if they were hands of fairies. He had never seen such reverence given to a bloom.
Lord Bristol’s mind solidified on his midnight notion that marriage might be just the thing. Having such a gracious and pleasant creature in his home and bed could not ever be considered a bad thing. He could accept her, please the marquis, and keep his allowance. More, he could demand an increase since he was adding to his family and she would require many changes to his quarters.
After a turn around the roses and a walk along the pond, Sara began to speak more freely than he’d ever seen her. She drifted from tree pruning to speaking about crop rotations, tributary diversions, and ways to increase the number of apples in one’s orchard.
Lord Bristol frowned. He was a Town gentleman. The only time he thought about crops and weeds was frankly never. He was not interested but fascinated that such a pretty head could hold so much mundane information.
He had to concede that she knew farming, and what was that last part? Something about birthing calves? Good Lord.
Sara glanced up and looked hard into Lord Bristol’s face and nodded. Stopping, she sat prettily in a nearby rose arbor and sighed.
“You don’t care much about property management do you, Lord Bristol? You don’t seem to offer any criticisms or helpful suggestions,” Sara said very sadly as if defeated.
And for the first time, Lord Bristol wondered if he appeared very dull to her. It startled him into saying, “I find those subjects best left to land managers. They are bred for it. We, gentlemen, have more important things to entertain our minds with.”
She gave him a quick dark frown before smoothing her facial expression and replying, “Such as?”
Bristol almost blurted out, wine, women, and song before blushing again and stammering, “The politics of the nation, the amount of coin in our purses, and the location of the next ball.”
“My,” Sara muttered. “More important things indeed.”
“Yes,” he replied though he began to doubt her sweet sincerity. “When you marry you will find your mind cleared of all thoughts of property.”
“Will I?” Sara asked seeming surprised.
“Of course you will. You shall have all your energies directed to the happiness of your husband and thoughts for your children.”
“And might they have thoughts about my happiness?” Sara asked looking up directly into his dark brown eyes.
“Your happiness will come by seeing them happy,” he improvised.
“You must be right. I know when Audrey is happy it makes my heart lift very high,” Sara said glancing back towards the morning room window. “Do you think Lord Darlington could make my sister happy?”
Bristol unconsciously laughed before changing it into a rough clearing of his throat and replying, “Darlington has a simple mind. By that, I mean if his horses win, he is a satisfied man. If your sister enjoys the sport of racing, can be entertained by simple pleasures and doesn’t demand too much attention, then I suppose she can be happy.”
Sara worried her bottom lip with her teeth before saying, “Audrey is accustomed to attention. I, our uncle and everyone in our little village near Summer Garden adore her.”
“Then I am sure Darlington’s small staff will adore her too and if she doesn’t mind solitude when he frequently visits Town then I can see them getting along,” Bristol said wondering for the first time in days what Samantha was doing.
“And do you also go often to Town?” Sara asked her gray eyes searching his face and not enjoying the journey.
“I do. I have a family townhouse there where I occupy several of my own rooms. I enjoy the pleasures of big city life,” Bristol said deciding she might as well know the truth. He wondered again about Samantha. She would be lounging on her silk chaise by the bay windows where he so often found her, flipping through fashion plates or writing on one of her mysterious lists.
Suddenly he missed the simple company of his mistress. Speaking to Sara Winston required more thought than he was accustomed to using.
Sara stood gracefully and turned, noticing movement to the west side of Riverside.
“Ah look, the marquis and earl are back,” Sara smiled her first genuine smile of the day and suddenly Bristol had an idea.
He might get out of this forced marriage business if the intended lady suddenly found her heart drifting toward another gentleman.
“Yes, you know, the marquis is still a very fine gentleman in wealth, health, and property. In fact, he loves discussing the management of his lands and fields. Why, many an evening before you arrived he spoke about his desire to remarry,” Bristol exaggerated. No, outright lied.
“Did he?” Sara asked breathing softly.
Seeing her interest, Bristol continued his tale inventing as he went along.
“Yes, he wants a new life and to share it with a lady who suits his needs, enjoys his interests, and could assist, yes, that’s the very word he used, assist and contribute to the plans for all of his numerous properties. If he could find such a lady he said his very heart would sing,” Bristol said turning to hide his smile.
Sara smiled widely as she watched the marquis and his son wave at them before dismounting.
“I shall go and see how…how Audrey is doing,” Sara said quickly before moving back down the smooth brick path towards the house.
“I shall meet up with you later,” Lord Bristol called out.
“There you are you old meddler, you can have the fancy lady and I will happily go back to my mistress and my freedom,” Bristol muttered under his breath. “You thought to control my life with a woman, let’s see what you do with her in yours.”
As Lord Bristol was walking back to the house, a small boy approached him and asked, “Are you, Lord Bristol?”
“I am,” the young lord replied.
“I have something for you,” the child replied in a loud whisper, and immediately, Bristol suspected Darlington of pulling some prank.
“What’s that in your hand? I suppose a fancy-dressed lord gave you something for me,” Bristol said.
“No. I seen no other gentleman. It’s a note from the pretty red-haired lady,” the lad grinned.
Bristol’s heart skipped a beat before he smoothed his expression to disinterest and then bending down he grasped the note free from the grubby little hand and put it in his waistcoat pocket.
“You may tell her I have received her note,” Bristol said bending down. “And you might not care to mention this errand to others.”
“Oh, the lady already paid me to be quiet,” the boy grinned. “I promised I wouldn’t say a word unless the very marquis his self asked me for then I’d have to tell.”
“I very much doubt Sandshire will be questioning you about delivering a note. Run along now boy before someone sees you here,” Bristol said waving the young boy away.
Turning, Bristol removed the note and held it to his nose. The heavy scent of gardenia perfume filled his nostrils and he grinned.
“Ah, Samantha has tracked me down, how enterprising,” Lord Bristol said aloud. “A suddenly dull day has turned exciting.”
PART SIX
Lord Darlington
Eureka
I
Lord Darlington was the apple of his mother’s eye. The only son who arrived late in the lady’s life after all hope had vanished. After birthing four daughters with common features and rather robust bodies, Lord Darlington appeared with his pleasing dark hair and eyes to pierce Lady Darlington’s generous heart with swelling pride.
Catered to and fawned over as if he were a prince of the realm, little Lord Darlington grew up happy and carefree smothered by five family females. His father, somewhat of a lay about gambler and rogue, left his son and heir in the clutches of the female family in their country estate of Pine Grove while he stayed mostly at his hunting lodge near some of Suffolk’s best horse breeding farms.<
br />
Every illustrious birthday of his twenty-four years, Lord Darlington received another fine Arabian stallion from his father as a sign that he was not forgotten, just ignored.
The horses could have been a great start to a prosperous stable if left into Sara and Audrey Winston’s hands. Alas, they were raised at Pine Grove where they were hitched to yellow phaetons, saddled with expensive leather saddles, and given as gifts to untalented mistresses who could not ride them.
The young lord was a spirited rider with no fear for his own safety. He loved racing, jumping, and gambling on his horses’ performance. Tutored by indifferent men, cheating on quizzes at university, and barely graduating without any useful knowledge clinging to a gray brain cell, Lord Darlington managed to survive with luck, several generous friends, and an allowance from a rich relative, the Marquis of Sandshire.
Life was good.
Self-indulgence was satisfying.
Hedonism is pleasing.
Debauchery of innocence divine.
Not once in his lifetime did Lord Darlington ever find himself called on to please anyone but himself.
Raised near the estate of his cousin, Lord Bristol, the two young lords never lacked for pleasurable company.
Praised by his mother, adored by his sisters, and coddled by his father, Darlington now found himself a houseguest of the marquis and in strange waters as if his small Egyptian barge had hit a sandbar called Responsibility.
He didn’t care for it at all.
His Hessian boots felt swallowed up in the deep swamp of obligation and his very knees trembled against the mucky pull.
As the week went on at Riverside, Lord Darlington began to resent the quick interplay between his host the marquis, and his son the earl. He felt the smirks of judgment on his intellect and the grins of tolerance on his educational lapses like little cuts to his soul. Though he tried to ignore the feelings of inadequacies in the pit of his stomach, he could not miss the look of disappointment on young Audrey’s beautiful face.
Earl of Carlyle (The Rogue Gentlemen Series Book 2) Page 7