by Stacy Reid
His butler entered after a brief knock, and a silent message passed between them. Juliana frowned when the earl excused himself once more. She hurriedly stood, went over to the door, and eased it opened. Shock blasted through her in icy waves. Lord Prendergast was greeting her stepfather in the hallway and exchanging words with him. They laughed together, and she could see the easy bonhomie between the earl and the jovial looking gray-haired Viscount Bramley.
Good heavens. The missive the earl had sent earlier had been to her stepfather. Juliana closed the door, twisting the lock with a snick, then whirled around looking for an avenue of escape.
The earl had either not believed her story, or he thought her plight was not his problem. Juliana could not allow her stepfather to force her to leave with him. She would prefer to haul herself on the ground and start a scandal. But then he might be as underhanded as he had been yesterday. After taking dinner in her room on a tray, she had woken in a carriage, headed for God’s know where with a smug Matthew inside.
She tamped down a burgeoning sense of panic. Juliana needed the space and time to think and craft a plan. God, her coat and bonnet had to be left behind. She rushed toward the large sash windows, pushed the lacy drapes to one side, then shoved the lower window open. She swung a leg up the ledge and clambered through it into the pelting rain. It was challenging with her wide skirts and petticoats. Still, she managed to escape without tearing her now somewhat bedraggled gown. She did not bother to close the window behind her or look back. Within minutes she was soaked and trembling. Juliana quickly ran along the side of the townhouse and through a small wrought iron gate into the streets. A speeding carriage lumbered by and splashed puddles of water onto her dress. She opened the large black umbrella, violently shaking under the chill of the rain.
Recalling that the second gentleman Robert had directed her to trust lived close by, she walked as fast as she could, head bent low to avoid the stinging rain against her face. It had been her fortune Lord Prendergast had not withdrawn to the country. Juliana hoped she would have similar luck with the Earl of Rawlings. Several minutes passed before she arrived in Berkeley Square, looking like a drowned cat. The umbrella provided little protection against the sleeting rain and winds. Marching up to the front door, she knocked several times and waited.
The door opened, and the butler loomed a displeasing look on his face.
“I’m Miss Juliana Pryce and—”
“Go around to the servant’s entrance,” he clipped, then closed the door in her face.
Juliana spluttered. “How abominably rude!”
Clearly, this man was an indication of a master with a similar temperament. Or Lord Rawlings most certainly did not have his staff in hand. Still, she obeyed, desperate to escape the chilling downpour. Reaching the servant’s entrance, she knocked and was allowed to enter a large kitchen that immediately enveloped her in warmth.
“You are soaked through, aren’t you?” A plump-faced woman asked, dusting off her apron. “Tis a sorry sight you are, and too late.”
“Too late?” Juliana asked, standing still in the puddle she made on the stone floor. It was a relief to see a friendly face.
“Aren’t you here for the housekeeper position? It was filled over two hours ago. The only vacancy is for milord’s valet, and it needs to be filled right away since he’ll need to depart tomorrow.”
“Oh, I am not here for a job,” she hurriedly assured the nice woman who seemed to be the cook. “I wish an audience with the earl. It is most urgent!”
“You and everybody,” the cook muttered, walking over to a large wooden board, and started to chop shallots with impressive speed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You will just have to stand in line like everybody else and wait till milord is available. He is off somewhere, and it might take weeks for him to surface.”
Her heart sank. “He is not here?”
“He’s here all right, but he’s not here if you know what I mean.”
Juliana most certainly did not, and she stared at the woman, decidedly baffled. “I do not understand.”
“Milord’s nose is buried in one of his books, and he’ll not be home to anyone until he’s come out of the book. It is the way of things with milord.”
“This is an emergency,” Juliana said, swiping at the rivulet on her forehead.
“Unless the house is burning down, you’ll need to make an appointment like everyone else,” the cook said. “The only thing milord needs is a valet, for he intends to set off for his country estate tomorrow. Mr. Hanson is none too pleased with how topsy turvy everything is.”
“Mr. Hanson?” she asked, wiping the water from her cheek.
“The butler. He’s not happy that the master is to travel down without a manservant.”
“The earl is leaving?”
The cook frowned. “Tis normal for his lordship to withdraw once all his duties in the House of Lords are over.”
“And where is the earl going?”
The cook frowned at her. “To his country seat in Sussex.”
The earl was retiring to his country estate tomorrow and would likely be there for the rest of the year. Disappointment lodged heavily against her heart. A few minutes later, Juliana was standing outside. The bleakness of the sky a perfect reflection of her mood. Her throat burned, and her eyes ached intolerably. It was very tempting to give in to all the raw, chaotic feelings and cry. “I will not allow them to steal my choices,” she whispered fiercely. “But what to do?”
Her mother had allowed the viscount to take over administering Juliana’s monthly allowance, and he had withheld it for the last three months. Her mother acted frail and flustered when Juliana and the viscount had argued. Her stepfather had accused her of being far too independent with her spending, and her mother had actually apologized on her daughter’s behalf.
Juliana blew out a sharp breath. How it infuriated her that someone she had given her trust to had placed her in this awful predicament. Only a few months ago, she’d thought her mother’s new husband was someone to hold in high esteem and had given him her respect. How short-sighted that had been. He had appeared such a nice man who treated her mother so well. The idea that her fortune would not remain in his family had been too big a temptation for him to resist. At first, his son had been fairly charming. He had done his best to court her, but the more she had spent time with Matthew Chevers, the more she found she disliked him.
With a sigh, Juliana glanced back at the townhouse. She had heard the rumors that labeled the young earl an eccentric, albeit a brilliant one. He’d completed his University studies at the age of seventeen, a feat that was very unusual in English society. Her brother had called him a good friend and seemed to ardently admire the earl.
Perhaps he, too, would have alerted her stepfather. Juliana’s presence might well have been a nuisance, a distraction from his precious books. “What do I do?” she whispered, her throat aching.
Juliana walked away, with no direction in mind. She had little money, and the people known to her in Town were more acquaintances than genuine friends. “What I need is to hide in plain sight.”
Preferably away from London and Derbyshire.
Sussex maybe.
Juliana froze, her thoughts furiously churning. Could she find a way to infiltrate the Earl of Rawlings’s household and plead her case? Perhaps assess his character before she told him of her plight. The earl needed a valet most urgently. How hard would it be to transform herself into a gentleman? If she acted fast, possibly she could pawn the necklace she wore, it had two strings of natural pearls and a ruby clasp. It would fetch her at least two hundred pounds. With that money she could find safe lodgings in a hotel after making some necessary purchases. In fact, she could travel about for the next two months until she was of age with that amount. But, even if she were to disguise herself as a man, such an undertaking would be too dangerous, far more so than the alternative.
She lifted a hand to
her hair, a bite of regret curling through her. The most tremendous loss would be of her heavy dark tresses. Unless it could be tamed, and a wig fitted. Hope and excitement unfurled through Juliana, and she quickened her pace, intending to visit High Holborn and search for a reputable pawn store.
Her form had always been petite, her lady’s charms almost nonexistent. Her mother had often gently reassured Juliana she was simply a late bloomer. But a couple of years ago, she had accepted her body was not the type to bloom. Once in trousers and the full ensemble of men’s clothes, it should be easy to pretend to be a man and a worker in an Earl’s home.
Valets did not wear the house livery but dressed as a gentleman. She wouldn’t be an ordinary servant, reporting to the butler or the housekeeper, Juliana would be answerable only to the earl. And if his nose were continually in a book, that would be perfect! Considering the delicate nature of womanhood, there should be enough privacy for her ruse to be successful, since in the domestic quarters she would have a room of her own.
Juliana clearly recalled her stepfather manservant’s duties—his most important occupation had been to ensure his master appeared to the best advantage. She had always been reasonably independent and so could iron and repair her own clothes if necessary. On occasion, she had even polished her own boots. Though that was only to cover up her unchaperoned escapades into the woods of their Hertfordshire estate from the stifling expectations of her mother and stepfather. Not having to explain away the mud had been the simplest way to avoid being rebuked for behaving in an unladylike manner.
As his valet, she would be responsible for ensuring the earl was well-dressed and immaculate. Would he need her to shave him? Juliana had shaved her father many times before he died when his hands had shaken a little.
I am certainly not an expert at it, but I think I could manage. The very notion of assisting the earl in that manner felt rather intimate. Juliana felt a little unsure if her knowledge was sufficient. A moment of panic almost overwhelmed her senses. What did she know of men’s clothes? And what if she were not convincing enough to be hired?
Stop it, she fiercely reminded herself. I am smart. There is nothing I cannot learn.
Perhaps with ingenuity for two months, Lord Rawlings’s country home could be her refuge.
Good heavens, am I really daring to be so scandalous?
She took a deep breath to calm her sudden pounding heart. A trip to a jeweler was the first business she had to tackle, and she had enough money for a hackney.
Juliana was lucky to find a hackney shortly after, and even in her less than pristine state, the cabbie was pleased to take the fare. Soon she was bowling along in a warm but rather musty cab, which smelled of tobacco smoke and Macassar oil. It was to be expected as most men used it to dress their hair. It was a familiar scent, but it reminded her that it was a man’s world, even in these modern days. Independent women were still frowned upon and considered fast and unconventional.
She put those thoughts to one side as the cabbie pulled his horse to a halt. She paid him what he asked and added an extra coin in thanks. The umbrella and her small reticule being her only luggage, that would have to be rectified. No hotel would accept even a young man without baggage. Juliana strolled along, examining each jewelers’ shop she passed on her way. She was wary, especially as passersby were staring at her hair, as she had left her bonnet at Lord Prendergast’s. She avoided the busiest of the shops, not wanting to be recognized, even though knowing that was unlikely.
Finally, she found a jeweler that did not seem too fashionable. Her necklace had no particular associations to her, and when she received her inheritance, it could be replaced for another more to her taste. The avuncular proprietor offered what she considered a fair price. Juliana left with a crisp fold of banknotes that she carefully tucked into her reticule.
Hailing another cab, she asked the driver to head for Wentworth Street, where a street market known as ‘Petticoat Lane’ was long established. She had considered risking Covent Garden Market, which was considerably nearer. But the area was notorious for the many bawdy houses surrounding the market. An attractive young woman with her hair uncovered, and no maid in tow was guaranteed to get offers that were not respectable in any way. It was safer, by far, to travel further and hope she would not be accosted before she could change her clothing.
Juliana was hungry again by the time she reached the market. Still, her first purchases were a plain bonnet, which she donned, and a small, used leather case to put her purchases in. Only then did she risk buying a paper of hot chestnuts to consume, and she delighted in their warm, nutty flavor, after moving to the side of the street. The market was very littered, but she placed the used paper and chestnut shells in her bag, straightened her back, and placed a slight smile on her face. She toned down her more upper-class speech to sound more like the Cockney accent, hoping that her strange requests for male clothes would be assumed for some theatrical performance.
Surprisingly, she managed to locate most of what she needed on an elderly Jew’s used clothing stall. He was polite and allowed her to try the clothes for length and fit against her, and the prices were reasonable. Shirts, cravats, socks, nightshirts, plain blue waistcoats, black jackets, and trousers were all found that looked like they would fit and looked respectable but not those from an expensive tailor. He also provided her with a warm coat, with a mere to capes, which although a little long, she could adjust.
“Do you know where in the market, I can purchase shoes, a hat, and some new small clothes?” she asked politely.
He gave her several recommendations that would simplify the search. After a little haggling over the cost, he packed the new but second-hand clothes into her bag and promised to dispose of the chestnut paper in the sack he kept for rubbish underneath his stall.
While finding the right stalls, she also bought some linen, polish brushes, and sewing paraphernalia. The other items were soon found, and the wig was purchased in a nearby shop, where a curtained off area had been arranged for customers’ privacy. The barber was prepared to guard the curtain while she changed out of her dress, which she turned it inward, so its dampness did not damage her purchases. She would try and dry it and repair any damage when she found a hotel.
The barber was unquestioning about tightly arranging her dark tresses under a short blond wig, which she admitted changed her appearance dramatically. With her new beaver on top and carefully striding out, she felt her transformation might be accepted. She paid the wigmaker and headed off to find a hotel for the night with a smile on her face and determination in her heart.
Tomorrow Julian Pryce would offer his services as a valet for hire.
Chapter 2
Norbrook Park
The shapely, lush derriere arched in front of Wentworth A. Nelson, the Earl of Rawlings, arrested his attention wholly and stirred senses that had been dormant…for well, several months. In truth, he could not recall if his baser feelings had ever been so violently awakened to life. The very notion was laughable, improbable, bewildering, and arousing. Wentworth was a man of science. Nothing so base as a well-rounded and delectably formed arse should have wrenched his thoughts from the mathematical principle he had been mulling over since yesterday.
But this derriere had most certainly distracted his thoughts…and had done so effortlessly. For he could not even recall the hypothesis that had propelled him to the library for long hours after dinner, and now to his room with A Treatise on Plane and Spherical Trigonometry clutched in his hand. Wentworth had planned to keep reading, and only when his lids opened no longer would he allow himself to tumble into a deep sleep.
Once the shock of his baser urges acting so strangely passed, he recognized something far worse. He was singularly attracted to his valet’s backside! Wentworth never thought he was someone given to liking his own sex, simply for the fact he’d had more than three lovers in his seven and twenty years on earth. And they had all been women. He slowly lowered the mathematical tome
on the side table beside his bed and frowned.
His manservant had tugged his boots off and bent over to set them inside the large armoire. Wentworth’s pandering gaze had inadvertently been snagged by a gently arched back, a lushly rounded arse, and symmetrically flared hips. Sweet Mercy. Wentworth’s cock twitched, an ache settled low in his gut, and he gripped the edge of his bed. A choking sound came from him, and he had to slap his chest twice to get himself under control.
“Jeffers,” he said abruptly, hoping to get the man’s attention. Hoping his valet would forget the damn boots, stand up and face him. It worked. The shoes abandoned, his valet stood and turned to him.
His heart jolted violently. For the second time that night, Wentworth was rendered speechless. He had never seen such beautiful eyes in all his years. They weren’t blue. He would have to conduct an experiment to see which pigments could be mixed to produce a color of such arresting beauty. His valet’s eyes were dark lavender fringed with long, black lashes.
“Good God, you’re not Jeffers,” Wentworth snapped, surging to his feet.
And to think this boy had just tugged the boots from his feet and he hadn’t even noticed. The lad was short, the top of his head barely in line with Wentworth’s chin. The valet he was used to had a similar height as Wentworth, had brown eyes, and had kept his gaze respectfully lowered. This one tipped his head and stared at Wentworth a bit too boldly.
“Jeffers is not here, my lord,” the young man murmured, low and husky. “His mother took to her sickbed, and the reports from the doctors were dire. Jeffers traveled to Cornwall for the last week, my lord.”
A week? His heart jerked a few times. “You’ve been tending me for a week?”
The young man swallowed. “For the last few days, milord. I…we were introduced, my lord, but you were reading a book, and you did not even lift your gaze from the pages.”