Geoffrey took one step over threshold, stopped dead and stifled a gasp. The bed alone was nearly as big as his room above the stables at Ormond. He almost backed out again before he remembered that he was no longer a servant but acting as an escort for the Duchess and Charlotte. He took a steadying breath before walking towards the huge windows that looked out over an enclosed formal garden that led into what appeared to be a shrubbery and small orchard. The back of the house and an orangery formed two walls of the delightful space. The third appeared to be a high wall between this garden and the next. The rear of the garden darkened into a line of budding trees. He spied a rustic looking summerhouse that was partially covered in creeping plants with dark purple blossoms. With tulips peeping out between other plants in the flower beds, the place looked positively idyllic.
“The view is to be admired,” he said just because he felt he needed to say something to dispel the awkward atmosphere. He heard a clink behind him and turned to see a maid pouring water into a bowl. A cake of soap and a cloth sat beside it.
“For your hands, sir.” Mrs. Bottomley touched the side of the bowl as the maid hurried from the room. “I noticed that you drew out the steps of the carriage. What with your long journey they cannot have been the cleanest and even wearing gloves you might have soiled your hands. We’ll have them and the whole carriage spotless before you take it out again.” She glanced at where his fingers had caught hold of the long drapes at the window.
Geoffrey looked hands and dropped them quickly to his sides when he saw the smears of dirt.
“Of course, thank you.” He gave a curt nod thinking that she would remove herself from the room, but she didn’t. She suddenly walked towards the gargantuan mahogany wardrobe and turned the key.
“Coalport has already unpacked your clothes, sir. It was fortunate that the master thought to send them on last week. I think the ladies trunks took all the room on your carriage today.”
He frowned in confusion. His own small valise with his only suit had been on the carriage with them. It took a moment or two and the opening of the wardrobe door before he realized what the woman was talking about. His eyes widened at the array of jackets, breeches and shirts. He could see an open fronted drawer of starched cravats and another of pressed handkerchiefs. Several pairs of boots lined the bottom of the vast space. The woman opened the other side of the wardrobe to reveal even more evening suits and shoes along with what looked like under garments and several nightshirts. He rolled his eyes at these items thinking of the money Alexander had obviously wasted. Geoffrey always slept in the nude.
He gulped back his amazement and gave the woman another nod of thanks.
“Yes, The Duke is surely the best of men. He thinks of everything.” He fisted his hands. He was going to strangle the man as soon as he saw him. It all made sense now. He’d wondered how one of his sets of clothes and boots had gone missing the month previously. He’d even enquired about them to Grady, Alexander’s own valet, thinking the man might have sent his clothes for laundering by mistake.
He pressed his lips together and fumed at how he had been played for a fool. Alexander and Giles had clearly known that they would have their way. These clothes must have been ordered long before they had asked him to escort the Duchess and Charlotte.
He clamped his jaws together in frustration while his mind whirled at the obvious and colossal expense. A single jackets would cost more than Mrs. Bottomley’s wages for the year and he didn’t even want to imagine the price of the pairs of handmade boots.
He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair and was about to ask the woman to have it all sent back when there was a smart rap on the door and one of the footmen came in with three maids trailing behind him. They all carried buckets of steaming water and quickly disappeared behind a previously unnoticed screen. The sounds of pouring water followed. Two more maids came hurrying in with more buckets followed by another carrying a tray of tea and a plate of delicate looking sandwiches. They all bobbed a curtsey as they left the room quickly followed by the footman and Mrs. Bottomley who turned and closed the doors firmly behind her.
Geoffrey slumped onto the bed in defeat and stared about him. It was all too much. He knew Alexander classed him as a friend, but this extravagance was overwhelming. He stood again and peered into the wardrobe. The light scent of clean linen assaulted his nose and his eyes took in the rail of soft looking shirts. His fingertips touched the linen and confirmed his suspicions. The material was indeed soft. The softest he had ever felt. He lifted a lapel of one of the many jackets. The fabric was of the finest quality and the tiny hand stitching, clearly the work of a master tailor, was almost invisible to the naked eye. He glanced down at his own jacket, shirt and breeches. Although it wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, the ensemble had clearly seen better days.
The white of his almost threadbare shirt was more of an off grey and frayed stitching looped in several places on his jacket. The cuffs were worn and faded and one looked as though he’d spilled last night’s onion gravy over it. He lifted his arm and gave a hesitant sniff beneath it. The jacket didn’t smell that fresh either. He didn’t dare look down at his breeches and boots. He knew that they would be travel worn and grimy. He groaned as he realized that he had been introduced to every single one of the staff while he looked more poorly dressed and lowlier than any of them.
Bile began to rise at the humiliation he felt, not so much for himself but for Charlotte. He ignored the tray of food even though his stomach grumbled. Although the breakfast at the inn that morning had been perfectly adequate, his reserves of nourishment had long since been used up, but the need to look the part had suddenly become far more urgent than his rumbling stomach.
Charlotte had come to his rescue in his tussle with the butler. She had taken his arm without thought, on her way into the house. He desperately tried to recall if there had been any neighbours watching the scuffle or if anyone apart from the servants, had seen them mount the steps. He couldn’t countenance the thought of her being embarrassed by him or his inferior apparel. He wanted to kick himself for not considering it in the first place but he had only brought one other change of ordinary clothes and his Sunday suit, stupidly thinking that they would be adequate.
He dragged his jacket from his tired shoulders, loosened the creased cloth tied about his neck before divesting himself of his grubby shirt and shabby breeches. He rubbed his palm over his jaw and, after feeling the rasp of day old stubble, used the water in the bowl, the soap and the blade beside it to shave. He wiped the last of the soap from his chin with a cloth at the side of the dresser and strode around the screen before losing the rest of his clothes and climbing into a bath bigger than any he had ever seen in his life before.
The hot water engulfed him and for a moment he worried that it would slosh over the sides onto the richly woven rug beside it, but his careful movements stopped any accident. He sighed as he slipped lower into the water. Some parts of becoming a temporary gentleman were certainly worth putting up with. His own hipbath at Ormond could barely accommodate him squatting let alone sitting.
He lounged in the heat for several more minutes before thinking about washing himself. Squares of soap lined the side of the huge tub and he sniffed each one before settling on one which smelled less flowery than the rest. He dipped his head into the water before he lathered the tablet between his hands and rubbed the resulting foam into his thick hair before skimming it over his body.
It was only as he lay back to rinse the lather that a voice caused him to sit up with a start. He cast his eyes towards the window and noticed for the first time that it was open more than a few inches. A crystal laugh caught his attention. He’d heard it often enough to know that only Charlotte’s wild sense of humour could sound so much like a cascading waterfall when she found something amusing.
He half stood and leaned out of the bath. He peered through the open window, ducking back immediately as he realized that the windows of her chambers
were at a right angle to his own, overlooking the beautiful garden. He caught hold of the drape and moved it across the gap, disguising his hiding place as he watched Charlotte move into view.
She stood framed at the window wearing nothing but her unmentionables with her new maid in the shadows behind her, undoing her hair. Their speech was a mumbled chatter of delicate tones with laughter thrown in as something clearly amused them both. A few seconds later he heard the more imperious tone of Alexander’s mother. The women were probably discussing what they should wear at their evening meal. Geoffrey dropped the curtain and slid back into his bath, all thoughts of Charlotte banished as the thought of choosing from the array in the wardrobe crossed his mind.
Good God! He wouldn’t have a clue! Genuine fear clawed at his stomach at the thought of selecting something from the vast selection in the enormous wardrobe and then facing laughter and derision as his choice was deemed wholly inappropriate. He swallowed hard, scrubbed the last of the soapsuds from his body, and rose from the now tepid water. He grabbed the sheet folded on the chair and quickly dried himself before wrapping it around his waist and striding around the screen to begin the terrifying process of deciding what to wear at dinner.
He froze as he saw that someone had already laid several items of clothing on the bed and was even now pulling extra items from the huge wardrobe. The man turned and beamed at a startled Geoffrey.
“Ah! All done? I’m Coalport, your valet for the duration of your stay. I was going to offer to scrub your back but you seemed to have it all in hand. Now, I think that we will find these items perfect for the informal supper her Ladyship has planned for tonight. Mrs. Bottomley is in a right old tear about it. Thought it was only going to be the three of you but the old Duchess had other plans and has already invited The Lord Latham and his wife, Lord and Lady Armitage, Lady Bowers and her escort Mr. Michaels. Shocking scandal the two of them caused last season but after the goings on discovered in Argyle Street everything seems to have been forgiven. Lord Hubert Carruthers and Sir Anthony Torrington will fill the last two chairs. It’s going to be a merry evening.”
Geoffrey’s eyes widened as the titles and the gossip fell from the man’s lips. He hadn’t a clue what Coalport was going on about and wasn’t about to ask. He nodded towards the clothes already laid out on the bed.
“I think you had best put this lot away and order me a supper up here. I’ll not be going downstairs tonight.” He saw that Coalport had folded a heavy robe over the back of a chair. Geoffrey picked it up and slipped it over his shoulders. He rid himself of the damp drying cloth and moved towards the plate of sandwiches that still sat on the tray. He took one and ate it quickly as he tried to still his rolling stomach.
Coalport shook out a pair of stockings.
“Nonsense! Of course you are going down to dinner. The Duchess warned me that you might attempt to get out of it but she’s adamant that you are here to escort and escorting is exactly what you will be doing. Lady Charlotte is expecting you to accompany her into dinner in less than an hour, so we had best be getting you up to scratch with these garments. I’ve stowed your own travelling case and the clothes that you threw about the floor here in the attic. I don’t think that we’ll be needing any garments of that nature here.” The disdainful sniff that followed his words told Geoffrey just what the older man thought of his simple, country attire that he now realized had disappeared from the room.
He glowered down at the valet, but it seemed that Coalport was not about to be intimidated by anything so simple as an angry glare. Forty years of service for the old Duke and others of the aristocracy had clearly given him enough experience to know that a gentleman’s gentleman knew best. Coalport simply lifted out a pair of polished shoes in which Geoffrey swore he could see his own reflection and placed them on the floor by the bed.
Geoffrey groaned inwardly. It was clear that he had been completely outmanoeuvred. There was simply no fighting it. He ate several more sandwiches, which were actually quite delicious, and gulped back a glass of water before he spoke again.
“But we’ve only just arrived. How can her Grace possibly have arranged all this within the last hour?” he questioned as he grabbed up a comb from the dresser and ran it through his still damp hair.
Coalport stopped on his way towards the bed with a waistcoat so richly embroidered it appeared to be covered with jewels.
“I believe that the Duchess had arranged for cards to be sent last week. I noticed Bottomley carrying a satchel full of them only last Friday. There were a stack of responses and invitations already waiting for her when you arrived. The Duchess has been selecting which to accept for the last hour. I daresay that you will be in for a busy few weeks.” He held up the waistcoat for Geoffrey’s inspection.
Geoffrey groaned miserably as his fingertips touched the fabulous cloth. His rough skin snagged at the fabric and he rolled his eyes as Coalport snatched the garment away, hung it back in the wardrobe and rushed over to the dressing table where a selection of ointments and salves sat in small glass jars. Geoffrey watched suspiciously while Coalport selected two of the containers. The man opened the jars, scooped out a little of each with his fingers and came back to Geoffrey. Without giving him chance to refuse, Coalport grabbed up Geoffrey’s hands and began rubbing the ointment into his rough skin and split cuticles.
Though more than a little surprised at the gesture, Geoffrey immediately felt his work hardened skin softening and he let the man continue as his equanimity lowered even further.
“God help me then. I fear that Alexander and Giles have mistakenly put their faith in me. I am in no position to live up to my task. I will embarrass the ladies and become a laughing stock. It’s too much. They should have realized that I’m not up to it. I’m not genteelly born and I have no experience of London life. Charlotte will be ridiculed due to my crass manners, speech and even the roughness of my skin.” He was so far out of his depth that he felt as though he was drowning.
Coalport smiled encouragingly as he suddenly began pressing a shaped orange-stick against the base of his nails. After doing the same on each finger, he changed tool and began swiping a small metal rasp across the tops of Geoffrey’s nails.
“Not at all. Your speech is fine if a little accented, but no one will call you out for that and your mannerisms so far, have been impeccable. Your hands are only rough from exposure to the elements and hard riding, I would assume, but we can soon make improvements.” He admired his own handiwork as he continued to file Geoffrey’s nails. “Just be yourself and all will be well. The Duchess tends to take over anyway so I expect that nodding and agreeing with her might be all you have to do tonight. Lord Carruthers and Anthony Torrington are new to town themselves, so you will be in good company. The Lathams come from old money and can be a little disapproving, but they are old friends of the Duchess. I imagine that Her Grace is eyeing their son for Lady Charlotte.”
Geoffrey snatched in a deep breath and narrowed his eyes as he hissed.
“Over my dead body! If that bastard steps within a hundred yards of her I’ll run him through.”
Coalport swapped the file for a buffer as he raised an interested eyebrow.
“Ah, so the rumours are true. I had heard that he had become a rake. There was an unfortunate incident at the Bellingham’s dinner party last year and talk of a forced match, but the Lathams apparently dismissed the affair as a devious attempt by the Bellingham’s untitled daughter to entrap their son. According to Jim Forbes, the young Latham’s valet, money exchanged hands, not that that helped with the girl’s reputation. She’s a great beauty and was the talk of the season, but after the incident I believe the young woman was sent to live with her aunt in the country. The Bellinghams attended only the smallest events afterwards, but even though they are now considerably more affluent, they have barely recovered from the scandal. Distressing affair for all concerned, I would imagine.” He took a last inspection of Geoffrey’s hands before he sat back from his task
and smiled in satisfaction.
Geoffrey rubbed the tips of his fingers together before bringing them to his cheek to confirm that they were now smooth and slightly softened. His nails were even and buffed to a healthy sheen. It was a vast improvement accomplished in only a few moments and he smiled at Coalport in gratitude before he took a set of undergarments from the valets now outstretched hand and began pulling them on.
“Nothing that man has done would surprise me. I can’t believe that Oliv...I mean, the Duchess has invited his parents to dinner here. Alexander must have warned her off the family. She knows that Giles will never allow a match with the vile pig.” Geoffrey was past caring about abusing the Latham’s son’s name.
Coalport passed him an undershirt.
“The Lathams are rich beyond most people’s wildest dreams. That could take the edge off any misgivings Lord Caithwell might have. I hear that Lord Latham doesn’t enjoy good health and assume that the son will inherit a small fortune before too long. I daresay that Lord Caithwell would like the best match for his ward.
Geoffrey snorted in derision.
“Latham would be the second worst choice for her next to that other debauchee, Lord Rookwood. Charl...I mean Lady Charlotte could do far better than either of them, and fortunately she is not in need of a fortune. She has one of her own.” He thought of the huge, pink diamond that he suspected she carried somewhere about her person. He knew that she wanted to find a buyer for it to enable her to claim a real stake in the Ormond and Caithwell stables. He frowned as he wondered how she might approach the transaction. With bravado and enthusiasm as usual, he imagined, but he would have to take a look at the places Alexander had advised before she parted with the stone priceless stone. He didn’t want her sneaking off alone into the more insalubrious areas of London where he might not be able to protect her adequately or where she would find herself at the wrong end of a bad bargain.
A Gallant Gamble (Unrivalled Regency Book 3) Page 5