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

by Linda Rae Sande

“Will you have any of them ready by tomorrow afternoon?” He remembered Haddon’s comment about taking Juliet for a ride in the park. That would mean Victoria would be alone sometime before three o’clock. The jeweler had promised the pearl ring would be completed later on this day.

  “I can have the Hobys ready, and mayhap a few of the slippers finished by noon,” Mr. Shoemaker replied. “All the rest in a week. Will that do?”

  Tom nodded. “I’ll be back at noon tomorrow.”

  “But... what about your change, Mr...?”

  “Grandby. Tom Grandby. You can leave it on my account.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Shoemaker replied, recognizing the name. His eyes were wide as he watched the tall customer take his leave.

  An hour later, Mr. Shoemaker had Victoria’s wider boot disassembled to make the patterns for the other shoes. By closing time, his crew had completed some of the slippers and the black pair of half-boots. And by noon the following day, the Hobys were restitched and ready.

  Chapter 32

  A Ride on Horseback

  The following day, Comber townhouse in South Audley Street

  Julia Comber regarded her husband with a smirk as she watched him pace across his study for at least the tenth time.

  “Are you worried because she’s about to become a countess? Or because it’s Haddon?”

  Alistair stopped in his tracks, the well-worn carpet beneath his feet showing that he had made this trek many times before this day. “Both,” he replied. “I cannot believe you are so calm about this. Our daughter might hear a marriage proposal on this day, and after spending time with her in the town coach earlier this afternoon, I cannot help but think... she’s looking forward to it.”

  He had spent that morning as well as the morning before at Fairmont Park exercising the horses with the help of a groom and the stableboy. Besides being impressed by the stables and the horseflesh, he was left wondering how and where he might construct a track of his own.

  Unable to suppress her grin, Julia allowed a sigh. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful? Did you see the ring he already gave her?”

  Her husband blinked. “What? No!”

  Julia rolled her eyes and continued to grin. “Of course, you didn’t. Her glove would have covered it,” she said as she resisted the urge to say something about men ignoring the little things in life. “Well, it has a sapphire and diamonds, but apparently it’s not the real betrothal ring,” she added with some excitement. “I had tea with Haddon’s mother this afternoon. Adeline is over the moon about the possibility of her son marrying our daughter. As is his sister, Elizabeth. She was there as well. Said that Juliet’s punch to her brother’s gut is the best thing that could have happened to him.”

  Alistair blinked. “Punch to the gut?” he repeated in disbelief. “She said that?”

  Her titter turning into a giggle, Julia nodded. “Elizabeth said her brother is back to behaving as he used to a few years ago, all because of our daughter.”

  “But what if that doesn’t last? What if he... what if he turns back into a pompous ass?”

  The sound of a clearing throat came from the doorway, and Alistair gave a start. Williamson stood there, his eyes darting toward the entry. “Lord Haddon has asked for Miss Comber,” he said in a quiet voice. His eyes darted sideways again, this time with a bit more urgency.

  Julia was about to ask if he had something in his eyes when she realized the earl was probably standing nearby. Possibly right next to the butler. “Oh, do fetch Juliet, and I’ll see to his lordship,” she said as she directed a knowing look toward her husband and then arched a brow. “I’ll inform him of his options,” she added, sotto voce.

  “Options?” Alistair repeated in alarm. “Julia...” But his wife had already taken her leave, her bell-shaped skirts disappearing beyond the door.

  Alistair wondered if he should join her. Wondered if he should rescue the earl from his wife.

  Whatever could she mean by her comment?

  She would no doubt inform Haddon of the options in the front salon. Alistair hurried to the study’s door and peeked around the jamb to see Julia and Haddon making their way into the makeshift parlor. If he stayed close to the wall, he could sneak toward the salon and eavesdrop on their conversation. And he was about to do so when the salon door shut with a resounding thud.

  Oh, dear, he thought, realizing his wife was doing what he should be doing. Laying down the law. Threatening bodily harm. Describing the size and shape of what the earl could expect to become should he do anything untoward. The size of his plot in the Morganfield cemetery should he be guilty of any crime against Juliet.

  But Alistair held his ground, deciding his wife was probably doing all of the above in a more socially acceptable manner than he would.

  So he was entirely unprepared for how the two emerged from the salon—the earl all smiles and Julia looking as if she was the one who was to marry him.

  Alistair stepped out of the study and regarded the two with a quizzical expression. “Good afternoon, Haddon,” he said as he gave a slight bow.

  “Mr. Comber. I was just telling Lady Julia of my intentions for this day. For this ride in the park.” He reached into a waistcoat pocket and pulled out the ring he had acquired at Rundell, Bridge & Co. just the day before. One of the jewelers claimed to have worked through the night to fashion the unusual setting. “I’ll give her another ring on our wedding day, of course, but I thought this might do for a betrothal ring. What do you think?”

  Julia gasped as he held the ring between his thumb and forefinger. “Is that a... a horseshoe?” she asked in awe, her head bending to study the series of sapphires in the shape of a U atop a gold band.

  “Indeed. The wedding band is still being fashioned, as is the complete parure.”

  “Parure?” Julia repeated in awe.

  “Of course. There will be a bracelet and earbobs, a pendant much like this, but far larger on a gold chain,” he explained. “A tiara with a series of horseshoes—one she can wear to balls and such—and a variation of the Morganfield coronet to include horses in brown diamonds.”

  “Coronet?” Alistair repeated.

  Christopher nodded. “She will eventually be a marchioness, so although there is already a coronet, I think I shall allow my mother to keep that until her death and have Juliet wear the new coronet of the Morganfield marquessate.” He was about to say more, but his gaze had lifted, and his jaw dropped.

  Alistair followed his line of sight to discover Juliet standing on the last landing of the stairs. Dressed in a sapphire velvet riding habit, with her hair piled high atop her head and a small hat mounted at a jaunty angle, Juliet Comber looked every inch a countess. “Oh, god,” he whispered.

  “Oh, goddess,” Christopher corrected him.

  “You promise to do as I said?” Julia asked, her attention turning to the earl.

  “Oh, I do, my lady,” he replied, his gaze following Juliet’s descent down the stairs. At the last moment, he hurried forward and lifted her hand to his lips. “You are a vision, my sweet,” he murmured.

  Juliet’s eyes swept down and then back up to regard the earl with amusement. “Whatever did you have to promise my mother?” she asked in a whisper.

  Christopher gave a start before he realized she had overheard Julia’s query. “That I would allow you to do me bodily harm should I ever vex you. Preferably with a slap to the face, but a punch to the gut... stomach... should I behave as a pompous ass. Please pardon the language.”

  Juliet’s gaze darted to her mother before she said, “Since I require a working hand to ride a horse, I may have to forego doing you bodily harm, darling,” she replied, a dimple appearing in her cheek. “In favor of demanding a different sort of recompense.”

  Christopher stared at her for a full five seconds before he blinked. “Recompense?”

  Rolling her eyes, Juliet whispered, “I’m not really sure what that means, but mother said I would sort it at some point.”

  A s
low smile appeared on Christopher’s face before he allowed a nod. “If that is the case, I may go out of my way to vex you, my sweet.”

  Juliet’s eyes widened before they lifted to find her father and mother staring at her. Although her mother displayed a sweet smile, her father looked as if he might faint. “Perhaps we should go,” she suggested.

  “Of course,” Christopher agreed as he offered his arm.

  The two made their way through the hall and out the front door, well aware her parents watched them as they took their leave.

  On the pavement in front of the Comber townhouse, a Comber groom stood with Juliet’s horse while the stableboy held the reins of Lord Haddon’s Thunder. A mounting block had been positioned next to the gray Irish walker named Sean.

  Juliet stepped up onto the block and settled herself into the sidesaddle, Christopher standing at her side. “You look stunning,” he murmured, once she had her right leg wrapped around the pommel and her skirts spread out in an arc along the side of the horse.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “Now stop fawning and mount your gorgeous horse,” she demanded with a teasing grin.

  Christopher held a hand to his chest. “I am yours to command on this day,” he replied, rather wishing she were demanding he mount her. If his ride with her went well this day, such an event might just be in his future.

  He was quick to settle himself on the saddle before he had Thunder pulling up next to her smaller horse. When she indicated she was ready, the two urged their mounts into a walk that took them in the direction of the park.

  “I was unable to tell you before, but I want you to know how stunning I find you in your riding habit.”

  Juliet grinned, a dimple appearing in one cheek. She was about to remind him that he had seen her in a riding habit at Fairmont Park, but then she remembered that she and Victoria had already changed into day gowns when the earl had paid his call. It was Mr. Grandby who had joined them on a ride around the track. “I appreciate the compliment. This is my favorite habit,” she acknowledged.

  “I expect you have one for every day of the week—”

  “I do not,” she replied.

  “Then I will see to it you have as many as you want. Every color you like,” he claimed.

  “Haddon!” she admonished him.

  “It’s not as if they will be packed away for long periods of time. You ride so frequently, I know you will wear them all,” he replied.

  Juliet furrowed a brow. “It’s true. I do ride often. Every day if I can. You’re not... bothered by that?”

  Christopher glanced at her, surprised by the query. “Not at all. I think it a noble choice.”

  “Choice?”

  “Well, others of your sex spend their days in more domestic pursuits. If you were not spending time with your horses, what would you do instead?”

  She considered his question a moment before replying. “When I am not riding or spending a day with Vicky, then I embroider or practice dancing or read or draw—”

  “You draw?”

  Juliet nodded. “Father has complained about the number of sketch books he must buy since I fill them up so quickly.”

  Christopher stared at her a moment, and then had to return his attention to the street when Thunder angled toward a huge flower pot on the pavement in front of a townhouse at the corner of South Audley and Curzon. “Not yet, Thunder. I’ve only just made arrangements to purchase it,” he scolded his horse.

  Julia glanced from the flower pot to the earl. “You’re buying a flower pot? For your horse?”

  Christopher blinked and then allowed a guffaw. “I am. Along with the townhouse to go with it,” he said as he pointed to the white four-story building trimmed in blue and black. “What do you think?”

  “It’s quite grand,” Juliet remarked in awe. “Lots of windows, and I suppose it even has a vantage of the park.”

  “Oh, it does, my lady. From the mistress suite,” Christopher replied.

  Julia swallowed. “You’re going to live there?”

  “I am,” he acknowledged. “There’s plenty of room at Carlington House, of course, but I decided that I should have a house of my own until I inherit. Or until my father decides to rusticate in the country.”

  Juliet didn’t know the Marquess of Morganfield well, but she couldn’t imagine him ever moving to the country. Or his wife. Adeline Carlington was one of Mayfair’s premiere hostesses.

  Juliet took another look up at the front of the townhouse.

  “Could you imagine drawing it?” Christopher asked as he drew his horse alongside hers.

  “I could, but I rarely draw things.”

  “Pray tell, then what do you use for subjects?”

  Giggling, Juliet said, “Horses, of course. And someday I may paint them, but I’ve not yet developed my skills enough with a brush.”

  “I should like to see your art,” Christopher said. “I will of course keep you in sketch books. As many as you need.”

  “That’s very kind of you, my lord,” Juliet said, her attention going to a passing town coach. She displayed a brilliant smile and waved.

  “Who was that?” Christopher asked.

  Juliet laughed. “Lady Bostwick. Your sister,” she replied. “You did not see her?”

  Christopher shook his head. “I see little else when I am with you,” he murmured as they crossed onto Park Lane and headed north toward the Stanhope Gate. “I think of no one else.”

  “Haddon,” she said softly. “Have a care with your words, or you’ll have me thinking you feel affection for me,” she added in a tease.

  They crossed under the gate and followed the crushed granite path toward the Serpentine. “But I do,” Christopher insisted, when they were once again riding abreast of one another. “I have for... well, ever since you punched me.”

  She gave him a quelling glance. “Toadie,” she accused, and then she dimpled. “I do not mind, you must know. But I will admit, I did at first.”

  “I did not mean for my attentions to vex you,” he said. “But I know I am different because of having met you.”

  “Because I punched you?” she teased. “Nonsense.”

  He gave his head a shake. “Because when I fell, I hit my head, and it was as if the last three years were banged out of it.”

  “Three years?” she repeated, sobering. “Do you remember any of it?” she asked, worry evident in her voice.

  “I do, although in a very different aspect from how I experienced it. As if I’m watching myself from afar, remembering how I was saying and doing things I at one time would never do or say. And thinking what a horrid man I had become.”

  “Horrid might be overstating it,” Juliet argued.

  “Not at all. I’ve been told I was behaving like an idiot. A pompous, mean idiot.” At her look of shock, he added, “My sister could always be quite cross, but I knew she spoke the truth when Bostwick had words for me that day.”

  “What happened to change you three years ago?” Juliet asked gently.

  He glanced in her direction and then faced forward. “Besides growing old? Without so much as a wife by my side?” he asked rhetorically. “I thought it was that at first, but there is more.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  Nodding, he directed Thunder to take an intersecting path toward a hedgerow that bordered the King’s Road. “As an heir to a marquessate, I have known my whole life I would one day have to marry and sire an heir,” he said. “I never resented that. I know it’s a privilege to be an aristocrat. My sister’s charity has reminded me of it every year of its existence. But as I grew closer to the age of forty, I grew resentful. Angry. I had always been sure that at some point, I would find someone to marry, and I would do my duty and all would be well.”

  “But you didn’t,” she murmured.

  “I attended every ball for which I received an invitation. I went to soirées. I attended the theatre. I met I cannot tell you how many young ladies. Perfectly good you
ng ladies who would have made perfectly suitable wives,” he claimed. “I thought it would be easy to simply pick one and go on with life.”

  “Then why didn’t you?” Juliet asked in awe.

  Christopher blinked. “I didn’t like any of them.”

  “What?”

  “Not a one,” he insisted, shaking his head. He glanced around and then led them off the path toward the hedgerow. “Well, I liked them in that they were pleasant and all, but I couldn’t imagine eating dinner with them, or having tea in their company, or spending a morning with them in the breakfast parlor. Every day for the rest of my life.”

  “Oh.” Juliet grew nervous, wondering if she was merely a means to an end for the earl. If she had just happened to be at the right place at the wrong time.

  “Meanwhile, all my friends were married,” Christopher continued. “Most to amiable women who they seemed to adore, especially after they’d been made fathers,” he complained. “I directed all that anger and resentment towards them and anyone else I was around.”

  “You were jealous,” Juliet said as she pulled her walker to a halt to stare at him.

  Christopher followed suit and dismounted, then quickly moved to lift Juliet from her horse. “Possibly,” he responded as he offered his arm. “Probably,” he amended.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I stopped going to so many entertainments, since they only reminded me of what I didn’t have,” he replied. “Instead, I starting fencing as if my life depended on it. But after I was practically skewering my opponents, I found only my brother-in-law would agree to a match with me.”

  He sighed as he indicated a secluded park bench. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he used it to dust the snow from the bench and indicated she should sit.

  Juliet settled onto the bench and waited until he was seated next to her before she said, “All because you could not decide on a woman to marry?”

  Dipping his head, he said, “That day you punched me would have been the last day Bostwick ever fenced with me. He left Angelo’s in a huff—I cannot blame him—and I was chasing after him when I nearly skewered you.”