The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy)

by Linda Rae Sande

  When Evangeline finally lowered herself so her feet touched the ground, she stared up into Jeffrey’s face. “The neighbors all think we’re having an illicit affaire,” she said quietly.

  “Oh?” he replied, a bit startled by the news. He had never been the topic of gossip before. And, he supposed he couldn’t blame them. He had been a visitor at Rosemount House six times in the past eight days, he realized. And not once had Lord Everly been in residence during his visits. “Are we ... attempting to make true their gossip?” he wondered, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

  Evangeline slowly smiled, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. “I am tempted. That is, if you are,” she replied quietly, all the while knowing they wouldn’t dare start anything in her brother’s house. At least nothing beyond what had happened in the parlor. Even that had been far more than she could have imagined doing before marriage, more even than she imagined doing whilst married. Should the baron ever ask for her hand, she rather hoped they could continue what they had started but in the comfort of Sommers Place.

  Jeffrey wrapped both his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hard against his body. “More than you can ever know,” he replied, matching the tone of her voice. “But until I can speak with your brother ... I ... will not,” he said with great difficulty. He continued to hold her, though, his cheek resting on the side of her head.

  “Did you finish reading the book?” Evangeline asked then, her head tilted up from where it rested against his shoulder.

  “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll be paying a call on my publisher tomorrow, though,” he said with a sigh. “Seeing as how he made changes to the story that I cannot abide.” Until he finished reading the book, he had no idea how the couple would reconcile to end up together.

  “Hmm,” Evangeline responded, wondering if there were more changes than those they had stumbled on earlier that day.

  “Would you have told me?” Evangeline wondered, her eyes lifted to gaze on his face. “That you were Anonymous?”

  Jeffrey shrugged. “Eventually, I suppose. I never really intended to keep it from you,” he claimed. “I just thought it would be good to get the opinion of a lady, seeing as how I completely neglected to think a woman would ever read such a book when I was writing it,” he said by way of an excuse.

  Sighing, Evangeline reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Although my reputation is probably beyond repair, I suppose you really should take your leave,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her voice.

  Jeffrey nodded, his hold not lessening on her. “Tomorrow, then?” he said as he gave her a squeeze and finally left go his hold. “Grosvenor Square?”

  Evangeline smiled. “Eleven o’clock?”

  Jeffrey nodded. “I’ll see you there. Bring the book, and we’ll finish it.” With that, he turned and opened the door, much as Evangeline had done only moments earlier. A half-dozen servants fell into the room, their startled faces and exclamations of surprise sending Evangeline into a fit of giggles and Jeffrey into uproarious laughter. Stepping between their sprawled bodies, he gave Evangeline one last smile and took his leave of her bedchamber and of Rosemount House.

  Chapter 48

  A Promise in the Park

  The next morning brought sunshine and a rather happy Evangeline to Grosvenor Square. Annabelle, asleep in the Everly town coach, no doubt because she had been up entirely too late spreading gossip among the other servants in the neighborhood, would probably join her once she awoke and realized Evangeline had taken her leave of the coach. Until then, Evangeline thought she would allow her maid a few moments of peace. And give her more time alone with Baron Sommers.

  She took her place on the park bench, allowing a contented sigh as she watched the nurses and children at play, the couples walking arm in arm, the servants walking quickly on their errands. Just a week ago, she had sat on this very bench, watching the very same scene.

  Only one week!

  When Jeffrey appeared, his dark blue top coat and red waistcoat a nice contrast to his Nankeen breeches, he carried a bouquet of roses. He bowed and offered her the flowers, taking one of her hands with his free one. Leaning over, he kissed her cheek instead of her hand. “I have given this a great deal of thought. No one would ever mistake you for Lady Geraldine,” Jeffrey insisted with a shake of his head. “And I rather doubt they will equate me with Lord Ballantine.”

  Evangeline stared at the baron for a very long time, knowing his words were only half true. Ballantine was perhaps more clever than Lord Sommers, and his manner more guarded, but given the on-dit, Evangeline was looking more and more like Geraldine when it came to scandalous behavior. At least she didn’t share Geraldine’s desire for jewels and clothes and ... things.

  Jeffrey took his seat next to Evangeline and reached over to wrap her hand about his arm. “Which is quite ... refreshing, really. Because, you see, in my experience, nearly all the other women in the ton seem to be.”

  Evangeline considered the baron’s comment as she buried her nose in the roses and took a deep breath. She found she had to agree with his assessment. Geraldine could have been almost any of the available chits or young matrons she came across when she paid calls in the morning. They could be so proud, so cutting, when speaking of others. They’re bitter, she thought, wondering why. Why, when some, like Lady Bostwick, seemed so content. So happy.

  And then she remembered some of what they talked about in the parlors of Mayfair.

  “Perhaps because they are married to men who have no regard for them. Or because they are seen as a means to fatten a man’s wallet, or as a source of funds to pay off gambling debts.” She turned to find Jeffrey regarding her, his mouth a bit slack, as if he was just then realizing something very important. “Walk with me,” she said suddenly, gathering the book into the crook of her arm before standing.

  The baron was quick to do her bidding, rising and reaching over to take the book from her. He placed it under one arm and then offered the other one to Evangeline.

  Gripping her parasol in one hand, Evangeline placed the hand that held the roses on Jeffrey’s arm and allowed him to lead the way. “Now, you looked as if you just realized something very important,” she said when they were on a crushed granite path.

  Jeffrey nodded, his manner most sober. “I do not believe that I could marry a woman simply for her dowry,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “Although, I can certainly understand the temptation to do so,” he added, thinking of the limited funds in his account at Barings Bank. “But, in the end, it’s all about my doing my duty.”

  Arching an eyebrow, Evangeline gave a small shake of her head. “And what duty might that be?” she wondered.

  Jeffrey shrugged. “To get married. We have to be married in order to father legitimate heirs,” he explained, as if Evangeline wasn’t part of the realm and already well-versed in the requirements placed on a lord. “Whether we want to be or not.”

  Evangeline gave him a small smile. “I take it you are one of those who would rather not be married,” she teased, despite the sudden sense of dread that was settling deep within.

  His face darkening, Jeffrey shook his head. “Nothing could be further from the truth, milady,” he stated emphatically. “I want nothing more than to be married.”

  Stunned at the comment, Evangeline straightened and nearly stopped. Using the hand that held her parasol, she pointed toward the book. “To ... To Geraldine?” she queried, a bit confused by his comments.

  “Of course, not!” Jeffrey replied, annoyance apparent in his tone. “Well, at least, not now. I suppose when we started writing this ...” He grabbed the edge of the book and shook it once. “I thought she was the one,” he said with a huff. “But I cannot afford a woman who wants everything. I don’t want a woman who wants everything.”

  Stilling herself, Evangelin
e stared at the baron. “We?” she repeated, wondering who else had helped him write the book.

  Jeffrey frowned and rolled his eyes. “My publisher and me, I suppose. I spoke with him earlier today,” he said with a hint of disappointment. Unable to sleep due to the events of the night before, he had been on the doorstep of the publisher’s office when it opened at nine o’clock.

  Evangeline nodded her understanding. “Did he say why he changed your story?” she wondered.

  Angling his head to one side, Jeffrey finally nodded. “My story needed more conflict, it seems. Adding the chapter about Geraldine going to a convent turned out to be a wise choice.” At Evangeline’s look of surprise, he quickly shook his head. “I have not read any further, I assure you,” he said, thinking she was about to accuse him of doing so. “But I must agree, it does give the book a bit of drama near the end.”

  Evangeline nodded her understanding. “It does at that. We still don’t know how they’ll end up together if she’s to go to a convent in the morning,” she said with a hint of worry.

  The baron regarded her for a moment. “It has a happy ending, I assure you,” he said, wondering if his own story would end so well. “At one time, I thought if I could earn enough money writing books – anonymously, of course – then I would be able to afford a wife. That I would be seen as a good catch. But because I thought all women were like Geraldine,” he continued, his words coming quickly, “I figured if I could simply find one with a decent dowry, one who I could at least be fond of and who might ... might be fond of me, I might not have to write the books.”

  “And, now?” Evangeline prompted. She realized too late that Jeffrey had been watching her, that he saw her look as realization dawned and the look of awe as it settled on her features. She was sure she blushed under his gaze.

  When her eyes finally met his, Jeffrey leaned over and captured her lips in a kiss, so soft and so brief, she barely had time to reach for his lapel to steady herself. Perhaps he heard her whimper when the kiss ended too quickly, for he kissed her cheek and quickly placed his lips on hers again for another kiss. When he pulled away, he left his forehead resting against hers.

  “I promise you, should your brother allow it, I will ask for your hand in marriage,” he whispered.

  Evangeline nodded, realizing it might be some time before he could do so. “And I promise I will accept,” she murmured.

  Suddenly aware of several people staring at them, including a young boy in short pants, they both straightened and hurried back to the park bench. Taking their usual positions, they opened the book and spread it over their laps.

  “Chapter Fourteen?” Evangeline asked as if nothing of the last fifteen minutes had happened.

  “Indeed,” Jeffrey responded. “I am most anxious to learn how my publisher arranged for Geraldine’s eviction from the convent.” And how Ballantine ends up with the chit.

  Chapter 49

  Chapter Fourteen: A Baron Gets His Bride

  At exactly eight-forty-five the following morning, a black-lacquered coach pulled into the semi-circular drive in front of Rosehill House. The driver jumped down and moved to steady the lead horses. Several footmen brought trunks out of the house, securing them to the back of the coach. The coach door was opened and the steps were lowered by another footman.

  Geraldine Porterhouse, dressed entirely in black and wearing a black bonnet with a veil covering her tear-stained face, passed through the front door and made her way to the coach. She allowed the footman to assist her, thanking him as he shut the door and waved to the driver. With a lurch, the coach took its leave of Rosehill House.

  When Geraldine finally lost sight of the only home she had ever known, she turned and faced the front of the coach interior, frowning when she realized she wasn’t in the Afterly coach. Glancing about, she marveled at the supple leather that made up the squabs, at the rich carpet beneath her feet, at the exquisite coach lights with their cut crystal covers.

  This isn’t a hackney, she realized with a start. And the coach hadn’t driven much more than a mile when it suddenly turned into the semi-circular drive in front of a Palladian mansion that backed up to the park. She rather doubted the beautiful structure was a convent, although it could boast a variety of blooms along the crushed granite driveway that looked as if they were tended by servants of God. The countless pots of flowers along the front near the portico and the close clipped lawn meant a gardener had been quite busy.

  When the coach halted and a footman opened the door, she carefully stepped down whilst keeping her attention on the house. Perhaps living at a convent wouldn’t be so bad after all, she considered as she continued to stare at the white stuccoed house.

  She made her way up the marble steps, marveling at the ionic columns she passed to get to the double doors. Before she could reach for the brass knocker, the door opened. A rather stout butler, balding and looking ever so serious, opened the door and stepped aside.

  “Welcome to Convent House, milady,” he said with a bow.

  Geraldine gave a gasp as she glanced about the elegant vestibule, nearly forgetting to remove her pelisse. Handing her parasol to the butler, she continued her perusal of the house, moving to the grand hall just beyond the vestibule. A huge floral arrangement, looking rather ornate and regal, graced a round table in the center of the hall. A pair of matched curved staircases, looking as if they were made entirely of Italian marble, led to the upper floors. At the place where the staircases met at the top stood a man. A rather handsome, well-dressed man.

  Not a person she would expect in a convent, but then, there was a butler.

  “Who died?” the man asked before he turned and leisurely made his way down one of the staircases.

  Geraldine’s mouth fell open as she recognized the voice, recognized the man who was this very moment walking toward her with the most amazing expression on his face. “Ballantine,” she breathed.

  “Matthew,” he countered, reaching for her black gloved hand and kissing the back of it. He gave her a deep bow. “Welcome to your new home.”

  Shaking her head back and forth, Geraldine thought she might still be at Rosehill House, in her bed, dreaming. “My home?” she repeated in awe. “I hadn’t realized nuns lived quite so ... well,” she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t wake herself from the glorious dream. At that moment, she thought to look up, astounded by the beautifully painted ceiling and a crystal chandelier at least as large as the mahogany table below it.

  Matthew smiled and allowed a chuckle. “Do you like it?” he asked, reaching for her other hand. He was nervous, his eyes shifting about in a effort to decide what to show her next.

  He had only thought to get her to the house before the hackney that was supposed to take her to the convent arrived at Rosehill House. Having already dispatched a note to Lord Afterly demanding the payment of double her dowry within the week, Matthew was determined to marry the chit before noon that day. Seeing as how he had already secured a special license, a quick trip to a bishop was in order. And he needed the dowry to pay for the house. And the town coach. And all the furniture he had managed to have delivered over the past week.

  He’d had no idea how much went into setting up a household for a woman who wanted everything, but he was determined she have it.

  Geraldine, looking as if she might swoon, continued to stare at him. “It’s everything I ever dreamed of. You’re ... everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” she whispered. She rushed into his arms, bestowing a kiss on the corner of is mouth.

  Sighing, Matthew wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her hard against the front of his body. “Jerry, marry me. Today. Now,” he whispered into her ear.

  Sprinkling kisses along his jaw and then finally on his lips, Geraldine nodded. “Yes, of course, today,” she replied, her head bobbing up and down.

&n
bsp; Closing his eyes for a moment, Matthew took a deep breath, intoxicated by the scents of lemon and honeysuckle.

  “Where are the nuns?” Geraldine whispered, not surprised by how quiet the house was, but nevertheless, she expected one or two to be about.

  “At the nunnery, no doubt,” Matthew replied with a teasing grin.

  Geraldine pushed away from him so that she could better see his face. “So this ... this isn’t a convent?” she asked, her brows furrowing in confusion.

  Matthew stared at her for a few seconds, wondering at her confusion. “No,” he replied with a shake of his head, the teasing grin returning to his lips. “It’s just named Convent House,” he explained with a shrug, not adding that he had given it the moniker just the day before, thanks to Richard Porterhouse and his claim that he was sending Geraldine to a convent.

  The man was probably just now discovering his sister hadn’t been taken to the nunnery he had in mind for her.

  “Oh,” Geraldine replied. “And, we’re to live here?” she asked in awe.

  “Indeed. It’s your house – our house, I suppose. At least, it will be after we’re married,” he remarked, still watching how impressed she seemed by her new home.

  “Today?” Geraldine wondered, a smile finally lighting up he face.

  Matthew nodded. “Today. And tomorrow, and the day after that, and ...”

  “Forever,” she whispered.

  Smiling, Matthew nodded again.

  Forever.

  Chapter 50

  Happy Birthday

  Jeffrey Althorpe regarded his image in the looking glass in his bedchamber. Happy birthday, he thought, his mood a bit somber and perhaps even morose. The past years hadn’t been kind to his visage. There were tiny lines on either side of his eyes and mouth, his nose appeared to have extended at least an eighth of an inch, and there were what could only be described as worry lines across his forehead.