The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Her overreaction had bothered him. Offended him. She might never see him again if he was true to his word about sending future updates by way of a courier. Or the post.

  Falling back onto the bed, her legs still hanging over the edge, she cursed in a whisper.

  Why had she lashed out at him? Her clumsiness wasn’t his fault, even if he thought it was.

  And he had apologized.

  Victoria sighed as she closed her eyes and replayed her time with Tom.

  No man had ever touched her as he had. Other than her father, no man had ever carried her in his arms. No man had ever removed her stocking and held her misshapen bare foot. Other than her boot maker, no man had ever even seen her foot, and the boot maker had most assuredly never removed her stocking. He had never massaged her foot or kissed the top of it.

  Thank the gods.

  When the stocking had come off, Tom never once showed disgust. Pity, perhaps, and genuine concern. Curiosity, for why else would he ask so many questions? Spend so much time studying her foot?

  Kiss her foot and then kiss her lips?

  His kiss hadn’t been her first, nor had his kiss in his office, but it had certainly been the longest. The most curious. The most exciting.

  There was the briefest of moments when she was sure his tongue was going to invade her mouth, but then didn’t. The briefest of moments when she was sure he was aroused. Hoped he was, because she knew she was. Her breasts had swelled, her nipples had tightened at the thought he might cover one with his hand. Knead it through the fabric of her gown with his thumb. He had to know she wore stays and not a corset.

  Or mayhap he didn’t.

  But what did it matter now?

  From his parting words, she was sure he would never again pay a call at Fairmont Park.

  Tears slid down her temples at the thought she would never see him again. Sobbing quietly, she sniffled and thought about sitting up but then decided she would rather just cry herself to sleep.

  She lifted the handkerchief she still gripped in one hand to her temples and then inhaled the scent of him.

  Sandalwood and spices, musk and wool. Her eyes closed as she held the linen square over her face and inhaled slowly.

  Him.

  I still have his handkerchief.

  Inhaling again, she opened her eyes and blinked at seeing the face that hovered over hers.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” Cummings asked in alarm.

  Victoria allowed a long sigh. “Other than a sprained ankle, I am fine,” she replied as she moved to sit up. Cummings assisted her, a look of worry causing her features to appear older than usual.

  “Mr. Grandby explained what I must do for your ankle for the next few days,” the lady’s maid said.

  A flash of anger speared Victoria before she quickly quelled it. Hadn’t she just been mourning the loss of Mr. Grandby? Of his friendship and his kisses?

  “He’s ever so sorry,” Cummings continued. “He feels at fault for what happened to you.”

  “He was not at fault,” Victoria said on another sigh. “As much as he insists on claiming responsibility, he has no control over my unfortunate foot.”

  Cummings regarded her mistress with a furrowed brow. “I really thought he might be the one,” she murmured.

  Victoria frowned. “The one?” she repeated.

  Her lady’s maid dipped her head. “I was sure you saw him differently than you did your last suitor—”

  “Mr. Grandby was not a suitor. He’s merely my investment... advisor.” The angle of Cummings’ head had Victoria’s eyes widening. “What?”

  “I’m not blind, my lady.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “He feels affection for you,” Cummings stated.

  “He does not,” Victoria countered, even though a part of her reveled in the thought that, just maybe, he did. Surely he wouldn’t have kissed her if he didn’t feel something for her.

  She winced at thinking what he felt for her now. Tom Grandby probably despised her. Sorted she was a typical female who didn’t pay attention to the terms of a contract, and who behaved as a spoiled brat when she didn’t get her way.

  “Do you feel affection for him?”

  The query had Victoria lifting the handkerchief to her eyes once more. “I rather doubt it,” she replied as she glanced around the room. “Could you bring my lap desk and a sheet of parchment? It seems I shall be staying in here for the next few days, so I need to write a note to Juliet.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Cummings replied. She took her leave of the bedchamber, a sense of profound disappointment settling over her.

  She was sure her ladyship was in love, but it wasn’t as if there was anything she could do about it.

  Chapter 27

  Arrangements are Made

  An hour later, at the Comber townhouse in South Audley Street

  A footman opened the door and stepped aside as Tom held out a calling card and said, “Tom Grandby for Mr. Comber. It won’t take long.”

  “Come in, sir. I’ll find out if he’s still in residence.” The servant set off through the hall as Tom waited near the front door. His attention went to the stairs when he spied Juliet standing at the top of them.

  “Miss Comber,” he said as he bowed. “So good to see you again.” Then he grimaced. “Might I have a moment of your time?” He hated to be the bearer of bad news, but he knew she would want to know about what had happened to Lady Victoria.

  Juliet hurried down the stairs. “Of course,” she said, as she dipped a curtsy. Tom was quick to take her hand. He was about to brush his lips over the back of it but paused. “This is a lovely ring,” he said just before he kissed her knuckles and straightened.

  “Thank you. Lord Haddon just gave it to me this afternoon after our ride in the park. He left here, in fact, just a few minutes ago. He joined us for tea.”

  “So... he has proposed?” Tom asked, wondering if she had put off the earl or if she had accepted the suit. He wasn’t sure what to hope for now that he knew Lady Victoria felt nothing for him. Nothing but contempt.

  Juliet nodded. “In a manner of speaking, but I have not yet given him an answer. We’re to go riding in a couple of days.”

  Tom nodded his understanding. “He adores you.” He paid witness to her sudden blush and added, “He sought me out for advice, although I’m still not quite sure why he thought I would have your ear.”

  “That does seem rather odd,” Juliet remarked. Then she recalled what he had said when she was still at the top of the stairs. “Was that why you wished to speak with me?”

  Giving his head a quick shake, Tom said, “I came with news of Lady Victoria. She has a sprained ankle—”

  “Oh! Is she all right? Otherwise, I mean?”

  “She is, although... I think she could use a friend, as well as someone to help with the horse training. At least until she can walk again. I thought of your father.”

  “Was it her bad foot?” Juliet asked in a whisper.

  He nodded. “Happened on the stairs. I cannot help but think it was my fault, since I had just paid a call regarding our investment.”

  “It was not,” Juliet said as she shook her head. “The only footwear she owns that allow her to walk properly are her boots—they were custom-made for her feet—but she cannot wear those all the time.”

  Tom frowned. “Surely there is a... a cobbler or a shoemaker who could make a proper pair of shoes for her situation.”

  “If there is, she hasn’t found him,” Juliet replied. “I’ll find out from my father if I can pay a call right now. Mayhap spend the night at Fairmont Park. She’ll go mad if she’s not able to ride.”

  His attention on something in his mind’s eye, Tom furrowed a brow. “Do you suppose you could bring her boots back with you when you return from Fairmont Park?”

  Juliet’s eyes widened. “Whatever for?”

  “I think I may know of someone who could direct me to a custom shoemaker,” he m
urmured. “If he can use the boots as a model of sorts, he may be able to make slippers that do what those boots do for her.”

  A smile split Juliet’s face. “Why, that’s brilliant, Mr. Grandby,” she gushed. “How long do you suppose he would require the boots? I’m quite certain Vicky won’t be bedridden for long, even if she does have a sprained ankle.”

  Tom knew she spoke the truth. “A few days, at most.”

  “What’s this about a sprained ankle?”

  The two turned to find Alistair Comber quickly making his way down the stairs.

  “Mr. Comber,” Tom said with a nod. “I’ve just come from Fairmont Park.”

  He explained what had happened, but before he could ask if the equine expert could see to paying a call and working with the horses, Juliet begged her father to let her stay with Victoria. “At least for tonight.”

  “I think that would be acceptable,” Alistair replied. “You’ll need to have your lady’s maid pack a valise—”

  “Oh, thank you, Father,” Juliet said before she kissed him on the cheek, gave a quick curtsy in Tom’s direction, and hurried up the stairs.

  Alistair blinked before he turned his attention back to Tom. “When you finally decide to take a wife, do be sure to sire more boys than girls,” he suggested as he motioned for them to continue their conversation in the front salon.

  Tom displayed a wide grin. “You are speaking to a man who has four brothers and five sisters.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can you afford the time to work with Lady Victoria’s horses? She’s desperately worried about their training being interrupted—”

  “Despite the fact that she has two grooms and a stableboy who could see to it?” Alistair half-asked, although he did so with a measure of amusement. “Though I’m not quite sure about the one.” He indicated a couple of floral chairs near the fireplace and paused at a sideboard to pour brandy into two crystal rummers.

  “Thompson?”

  “Yes. He’s obviously been around horses and knows how to ride—”

  “And drive a coach,” Tom put in, acknowledging the offer of the glass of brandy with an appreciative nod.

  “But—”

  “He’s not a groom,” Tom finished for him. “Truth be told, I think he might have been hired to provide protection for her ladyship.”

  Alistair arched a brow. “By her father, do you suppose? I don’t know Somerset at all. He hasn’t been to London in an age.”

  Tom explained what he knew of the man, and Alistair allowed a sound of despair. “Do you suppose Lady Victoria knows of his situation?”

  Dipping his head, Tom said, “She’s the one who told me.” At Alistair’s continued look of concern, he allowed a sigh. “Anyway, I feel awful about what happened to her, and I would be happy to compensate you for any time you spend out there.”

  “I’m sure she’s most concerned about Reading’s colts,” Alistair replied, absently swirling his brandy. “I’m already on retainer with him—have been for... twenty years, so there’s no need to pay me.”

  “Are you quite sure?”

  Alistair nodded. “This time of the year is slower for me at the auction house. It will be good for me to get out on a track instead of spending the day behind a desk studying lineages and filling out paperwork for the Jockey Club.” He leaned closer to Tom and added, “Besides, I just found out my daughter has had the opportunity to ride Sam, and I find I’m quite jealous.”

  Tom laughed out loud and then sobered. “You’ll have to discover if he limps for you or not,” he said, before enjoying a swallow of brandy.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Alistair claimed. “I’ll go there tomorrow. Spend the day and then bring Juliet home.”

  “Very good.”

  Alistair gave him an assessing glance. “When will you go back there? Juliet mentioned you were there on business with Lady V. Now I have her asking about my investments.”

  A rock seemed to drop into Tom’s stomach as he considered the question. “Probably not for a very long time, if ever,” he replied. “After my discussion with Lady Victoria today, I don’t believe I’d be welcome.”

  Alistair furrowed both brows, but he didn’t press the issue.

  “I appreciate your time,” Tom said as he drained his brandy and then stood to go.

  “Any time,” Alistair replied, his expression still showing concern as Tom took his leave.

  Given what Juliet had said when she first returned from Fairmont Park the day before, he had been left with the impression Tom might be courting the duke’s daughter. Now he wondered what had happened between Lady Victoria and Tom Grandby that had him believing he wasn’t welcome.

  Alistair was fairly certain it had nothing to do with the sprained ankle.

  Chapter 28

  Commiserating at White’s

  Later that night

  “Lord Bostwick. I was hoping to find you here tonight,” Tom said as he made his way to where George Bennett-Jones, Viscount Bostwick, was reading The Times in a small salon at White’s. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

  “Grandby! Of course. Have a seat,” the older gentleman said as he set the paper aside. “And be warned. My brother-in-law will be here soon. Said something about needing to speak with you.”

  Tom furrowed a brow and then thought of Juliet Comber and the ring she was wearing. “Ah. Probably wishes to crow about his good fortune with Miss Comber.”

  George blinked. “Good fortune?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, by the gods, did he propose?”

  Recalling Juliet’s comment, Tom carefully replied, “In a manner of speaking. She hasn’t yet given him an answer, but he’s to take her riding in a couple of days.”

  “Huh.” The viscount shook his head. “I thought for certain she would beg off.”

  “He adores her. She knows it. And even though he’s old enough to be her father, I think she would make a fine countess.”

  “Agreed,” George said. “Did you know he hit his head?”

  Tom grinned. “Indeed. He seems as if he’s quite back to the way he used to be, is he not?”

  “I thought so, too. Even Elizabeth noticed it,” George added, referring to his wife and Christopher’s sister. “Said he’s youthened at least a decade, as if the pursuit of a wife will do that.”

  “Speaking of pursuits, might you know who your wife’s charity employed for making custom shoes? For those who had foot injuries from the wars?” Although Finding Work for the Wounded wasn’t as busy these days with finding employment for injured soldiers and sailors, they did so for anyone who had some infirmity that made it difficult for them to be hired.

  George considered the question a moment. “There must be five thousand shoemakers in London,” he replied. “I suppose almost any of them could do a custom shoe.”

  “But who does your viscountess use?”

  “Well, I know she had one of Hoby’s men making men’s boots, but for shoes and slippers and such, she used to go to Wood over in Cornhill Street. He closed up shop some time ago, though.”

  “They sell clocks in that shop now,” Tom said, recognizing the location. “Savory. He’s a watchmaker.”

  Nodding, George said, “Damned good ones, too. I bought a clock under glass for my study last year. Keeps perfect time.”

  “Good to know,” Tom replied, not mentioning that the clock in his office had come from the same shop. Since his secretary saw to winding it every day, Tom never knew if it needed adjusting.

  “As for shoes these days, Elizabeth has been using a man named Shoemaker over in New Bond Street. She claims he has the best clickers, closers, and makers,” he explained, referring to the tradesmen who cut the leather for the upper, lining and sole, stitched the upper and linings together, and finished it with a heel into a final product.

  “Shoemaker?” Tom repeated in disbelief. “That’s his name?”

  Allowing a grin, George said, “That’s his name. Fourth-or fifth-generation shoemaker w
ho specializes in making odd-sized shoes and slippers. For club feet and the like. Is that what you’re looking for?”

  “Indeed,” Tom replied, well aware the viscount was surreptitiously glancing at his feet. “They’re not for me but for a...” He was about to say friend, but instead said, “Client.”

  “Must be an important client,” George remarked.

  Remembering what had happened earlier that afternoon, Tom merely nodded and said, “Indeed. I thank you for your time. Good night.”

  He stood and gave the viscount a slight bow before finding one of the doormen. “Should anyone be looking for me, I think I will be in the back,” he murmured.

  The doorman furrowed a brow, knowing Tom usually spent his evenings at White’s in the front room. “Very good, sir.”

  Although he had an excuse to drink for celebratory reasons—his latest investment was fully funded and would no doubt be a resounding success—Tom found he only wanted to drink to get drunk tonight.

  A half-hour later

  A happy Christopher, Earl of Haddon, greeted the footman at White’s with an uncharacteristic, “How do?” and practically bounded into the men’s club. “Has Mr. Grandby made an appearance this evening?”

  The footman blinked. “The tall one?” he responded, holding his arm up well above his head.

  Christopher’s grin widened, just then remembering there were a number of Mr. Grandbys that might be members of the club. “That would be him.”

  “Arrived a while ago, my lord. Said if anyone asked for him to send them to the back salon.”

  Glancing toward the area where Tom Grandby usually held court with fellow investors and bankers, Christopher was surprised to find the chairs empty. “Private meeting?”

  Shaking his head, the footman said, “He was alone and looking rather glum when he arrived.”

  “Glum?”

  “Like he had lost his best friend.”

  Christopher straightened. He knew that look. He’d been displaying it himself just the night before. “I’m on it,” he stated before he gave up his hat and coat to another startled footman.