Meanwhile, in South Audley Street
Luke Merriweather regarded the blank parchment before him, his quill threatening to ruin it by dropping a dot of ink before he had a chance to consider his first words.
Again.
He had formed the message for the note in his head at least a dozen times during the morning’s session of Parliament. He had refined the words over the early afternoon when he drove his phaeton back to his townhouse. And now that he was ready to write them, he found the words wouldn’t come.
He wanted to begin with “My dearest Analise,” but knew that was a bit presumptuous. They hadn’t really been formally introduced. They hadn’t been introduced at all, truth be told. A situation Luke now decided was entirely Viscount Lancaster’s fault—the man had had every opportunity to do the honors on any one of the many occasions he had paid a call at Stanton House to join Marcus.
To be fair, Analise wasn’t always there. But Marcus could have introduced them the night before, at the ball. Given his attentions were directed at Lady Wadsworth, Marcus Batey had somehow kept his daughter from Luke.
Or rather, all her partners in the dances had.
The younger viscount remembered the older viscount’s rebuke when he had made a comment about the gorgeous young lady the night before. Although it was evident Lancaster didn’t want his daughter being courted by just anyone—or anyone at all—he seemed determined that Luke not consider her. Once Lord Haddon made an appearance, though, Lancaster’s manner had changed entirely.
Now he seemed to welcome Luke’s suggestion that he court Analise. And Luke wasn’t about to squander the opportunity.
Dear Miss Analise,
Although we were both in attendance at Lord Attenborough’s ball last night, I realized too late that your father failed to introduce us...
Luke rolled his eyes. Although the blame did fall at Lord Lancaster’s feet, he shouldn’t exactly say it. He crossed out the “failed to introduce us” and wrote “overlooked the opportunity to introduce us.”
There. That was better.
I would like the opportunity to spend time in your company and wondered if you might join me for a ride in the park tomorrow afternoon? I, of course, have your father’s permission to drive you. I will come for you at four o’clock in the hopes you can join me.
Yours in service,
Luke Merriweather
Luke reread the note several times, deciding it would do. As for how he could see to its delivery to Stanton House, he thought of his footman and quickly dismissed the idea. He didn’t want the older man knowing he was writing to a young lady—the servant would tell his wife, and by tomorrow at this time, every servant in every household in South Audley Street would know he was courting. They would probably all line up outside their houses and watch as he made his way in his old, black phaeton, waving and wishing him luck.
And they would all know the identity of his intended.
No. The footman would not be delivering this missive.
A thought of sending his valet had him cringing. It would be cruel to expect the old fogey to make the walk to Park Lane given his limp.
In the end, Luke called for Weatherby and asked for his horse, making it sound as if he intended to ride in the park during the fashionable hour. By the time he made it to Stanton House, it was just past four o’clock.
He lifted the brass knocker with the intention of giving it a couple of whacks when Harrison, Lancaster’s butler, answered before he could knock at all. “Good afternoon, sir,” Harrison said.
“Lord Merriweather for Lancaster. Is he in?” He passed the note to the servant along with his calling card. “And this is for his daughter.”
Harrison regarded the viscount and then the note. “Neither are in at the moment, my lord.” He glanced out and noted the man’s horse next to the pavement. “They just left for the park.”
A bit of panic set in when Luke thought of Lord Haddon taking Analise in his sporty phaeton—or whatever the honorary earl was driving these days. He had thought from Lancaster’s earlier words that Christopher Carlington would not be allowed such an honor.
“Pray tell, do you know who Miss Analise is with?”
The butler’s eyebrows lifted into a bushy caterpillar across his forehead. “The Simpsons, I believe,” he answered, although he did so reluctantly.
Luke let out a sigh of relief. Although he didn’t know any ‘Simpsons’, they weren’t Lord Haddon.
“If you hurry, you can probably catch them before they go through the gates, my lord,” Harrison suggested.
At first offended by the idea of chasing down the Simpsons, Luke thought to scold the butler. But his idea had merit. If he arrived at the gates at the same time as their carriage, he could ride alongside. Engage the young lady in conversation. Keep her safe from Lord Haddon should the earl decide to do the same thing.
“Capital idea,” he replied. Luke mounted his horse and was off at a gallop even before Harrison had closed the door.
Chapter 16
A Daughter Knows Best
A few minutes earlier, at four o’clock in the afternoon
When Marcus returned to his townhouse in Park Lane, he watched his daughter descend the stairs wearing a green carriage gown. She carried a folded parasol in one hand. “And just where might you be going, young lady?” he asked as he met her at the base of the stairs.
Analise reached up and bussed him on the cheek. “I’ve been invited for a ride in Hyde Park,” she said with a huge smile.
Marcus swallowed. And so it begins, he thought in despair. “With Morganfield’s son?” he guessed, an expression of pain crossing his face.
Angling her head to one side, Analise sighed. She had only danced with Christopher Carlington the one time, but she supposed since he was the only young buck her father had noticed in her company the night before, probably because the earl escorted her to supper, his comment was to be expected.
She had sung the young man’s praises the entire ride home from the ball. Although she had no intention of encouraging the son of a marquess, Analise thought to tease her father just a bit. Prior to last night’s ball, he hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in her marriage prospects. But then, after the waltz, he suddenly did take an interest.
What was it about Lord Haddon that had him so riled?
“Of course not,” she replied.
Analise wouldn’t mind riding with the heir to the Morganfield marquessate. But given Lord Haddon’s age—he was just out of university—she doubted he had marriage in mind. Probably wouldn’t until he was closer to thirty. “I’m going with the Simpsons. Hannah’s father is driving us.”
Marcus’s attempt to remember who the Simpsons might be was met with a quelling glance. “Remind me again—”
“The Simpsons in Kingly Street. They are proprietors of the terraces on both sides of the street.”
Marcus blinked and gave his head a shake, clearly not making any connections in his head.
“Hannah’s mother was a Burroughs and is the Duke of Ariley’s aunt. Hannah has a twin brother who is gorgeous, but how can he not be when her parents are so beautiful?” Analise asked rhetorically. “Her older brother is Gregory Grandby—”
“Ah, you’re practically going with royalty then,” Marcus replied with a smirk. “Do have a good time.” He decided it was better he not ask if the gorgeous twin brother would be joining them on the ride.
Analise was about to argue the Simpsons weren’t royalty, but her father had been acting rather odd lately. When she gave it more thought, she wondered if it had anything to do with his having inherited the Lancaster viscountcy from her late uncle the year before. Losing his wife two years before that certainly didn’t help the situation.
For the first year after her mother’s death, her father had been in mourning, his countenance rather sad even on the days she joined him whilst she attended Warwick’s.
Although she, too, missed her mother, her enrollment in Wa
rwick’s meant she lived with other girls her own age. Ate dinner with them every night. Attended classes and plays together. Learned to dance, and paint, and draw. Practiced comportment, although it wasn’t her favorite pastime—walking about with a large book on one’s head seemed ever so ridiculous—and played the piano-forté. Arithmetic wasn’t so bad once she had memorized her tables. And she had even learned to sew, a skill her mother had never taught her because she couldn’t do it well and said a maid would see to clothing repairs. Analise hadn’t any idea how beautiful stitcheries could be when done with silk thread on the proper fabric.
After her first year at the school, her mother had become a pleasant memory. When Analise wanted to be with family, her father would escort her when she paid calls on one of her many aunts. There were four of them just on the Harrington side alone.
Her father wasn’t nearly as sociable, though. She wondered if he was even a member of a men’s club. Then she remembered she hadn’t lived with him for most of the past two years. Perhaps he did go to a club every night. Perhaps he had taken a mistress. Perhaps he had already begun courting a potential wife.
Analise rather doubted the last, if only because he hadn’t left the house at night but once since her return from Warwick’s.
As for what her father and mother had been like together, Analise had never believed her parents were in love with one another. They always behaved as if they were merely friends. Good friends, of course. They never fought. They never argued about anything. But their friendship was without the passion she decided her father required now.
One thing she knew for certain—her father needed a new wife. And not one who was merely a friend. He needed someone for whom he could be truly, deeply, passionately in love with.
Someone as unlike her mother as possible.
A knock at the front door interrupted her reverie. “Would you like to meet Mr. Simpson?” she asked, just as the butler saw to opening the door. “I’m sure he would appreciate meeting you.”
Her father inhaled, about to decline the opportunity, but then thought better of it. “Yes. Yes, I would.” He offered his arm. “I’ll escort you to their carriage.”
Grinning, Analise placed her arm on his. The two took the few steps to the pavement, where a rather distinguished gentleman held the reins of two matched greys. Next to him sat the young man Marcus decided must be the ‘gorgeous twin’. And in the plush seat behind them sat two of the loveliest ladies he had seen in a very long time.
Well, since last night’s ball.
“Lady Simpson, may I introduce you to my father, Marcus Batey, Viscount Lancaster?”
Sarah Burroughs Grandby Simpson smiled and extended a gloved hand. “So good to finally meet you, Lord Lancaster.”
Marcus bowed over her hand and kissed the knuckles. “The pleasure is all mine.” He turned his attention to the young lady seated next to Sarah. “And you must be Miss Hannah.”
Hannah dipped her head. “Thank you for allowing Miss Analise to join us,” she said. “May I introduce my father, James Simpson, and my brother, Henry?”
Marcus shook hands with the two. He couldn’t help but notice the age difference between Henry and his father. Although especially handsome, James looked as if was old enough to be the twins’ grandfather. As for Sarah, it was impossible to tell her age, but then the Burroughs women were all like that.
“Good to meet you, Lancaster. Would you care to join us? I believe we can make room,” James offered.
Marcus helped his daughter into the curricle so the two younger ladies were situated on either side of Lady Simpson. “I thank you for the offer, but I believe I shall ride today. My horse could use the exercise.”
Surprised by his comment, Analise gave him a brilliant smile. “Then I shall look forward to seeing you in the park,” she said.
Marcus gave a wave as the equipage pulled away.
Truth be told, he had only given a thought to riding in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour if he could do so with Lady Wadsworth, so he wasn’t sure from where his comment had come. When he returned to the house, he mentioned it to Harrison, who assured him his horse would be ready shortly.
“I suppose this means I should change into riding clothes,” Marcus said with a sigh. “Do I even own riding clothes?”
Harrison seemed to think on the question a moment before saying, “I’ll send your valet to your apartment immediately.”
On his way up to his bedchamber—it was still uncomfortable to think of this townhouse as his—Marcus decided he had an ulterior motive for riding this afternoon.
He hoped to see Lady Wadsworth. Her comment about her maid washing her hair was no doubt made in jest.
As to what he might say to her that he hadn’t already said, he wasn’t sure.
He knew what he wanted to say to her. What he wanted to be doing with her. The trouble was, the saying would get him into trouble from which he might never recover. She might slap him so hard, he would be seeing stars for days.
As for the doing...
He sighed and rolled his eyes.
The doing might leave her speechless. Breathless. Boneless. Open to whatever he wanted to spend a night doing with her.
It might leave him in the same condition.
He could only hope.
“Would you like the navy blue coat? Or the hunter green?” his valet asked.
Marcus stared at Frears for a full five seconds before he comprehended the man’s words. “Which will make me appear irresistible?” he asked as lightly as he could manage. He didn’t want his servant thinking he was serious with the query, even if he was.
Frears regarded him and then the two garments for a moment before discarding the hunter green coat onto the bed. “The blue brings out your eye color, my lord,” he commented. “Which means the buff breeches will be best.”
Deciding he was in good hands, Marcus shed his top coach and breeches with the help of Frears and went about redressing. At the sight of the Hessians his valet brought forth from the dressing room, Marcus feared he might look like an officer in one of the armies of the new United States. But once he gazed at his reflection in the cheval mirror, he decided the buff breeches were dark enough to prevent the association from being made.
“Your horse has been brought round front, my lord,” the butler said from the other side of his bedchamber door.
“Your gloves and crop, my lord,” Frears said as he pressed the accessories into his master’s hand. He disappeared into the dressing room for a moment and emerged with a short top hat. He placed it on Marcus’s head and regarded the viscount with a critical eye. “If she does not accept an offer of a ride in the park on the morrow, then she is not worth pursuing,” he said with a nod.
Marcus blinked and stared at the valet. “She who?”
Frears furrowed a brow. “The woman who is to be your next wife?” he guessed.
Angling his head to one side, Marcus grinned. “Your optimism is refreshing, Frears.” With that, he took his leave of Stanton House, mounted his horse, and headed in the direction of Hyde Park at a full gallop.
Chapter 17
A Ride in the Park
An hour later in Hyde Park
On a pleasant day in Rotten Row, the fashionable hour featured all manner of equipage driven by aristocrats dressed to impress and in which their passengers rode with the intention of being seen. Those on horseback had the advantage, for they could wind their way through the heavy traffic and converse with those in carriages at their leisure.
Marcus had never ridden a horse in Rotten Row during the fashionable hour. His late wife preferred riding in the comfort of their curricle, and since he enjoyed driving, Marcus never gave their trips to the park a second thought.
Once he passed several carriages, he understood why his peers did such a thing. Why it was the young bucks chose horses over phaetons. Why even some young ladies opted for riding habits and jaunty hats and their favorite steed over the comfort of a carriag
e.
The experience was rather enjoyable.
To see as well as to be seen was a daily ritual for those who participated. If Marcus wanted to see someone again, he could simply turn his horse around and trot to the back of the line and move forward all over again.
When he was on his second return to the front gates, he spotted Lady Wadsworth in the back of a barouche driven by a man wearing livery. Although a parasol occasionally hid her from prying eyes, he recognized the Wadsworth livery before he determined she was riding in the barouche.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said when he had his horse trotting alongside the Wadsworth equipage. “You look even more beautiful than you did when last I saw you.” He had to inhale a bit at his words. He had never in his life made such a bold statement to a lady before. She would probably think him a rake!
Charity regarded him with suspicion. “Why, Lord Lancaster, what a surprise.”
“Indeed,” he replied. “But a pleasant one, I hope?” At her lack of immediate response, Marcus’s confidence waned. Why did he have to sound so bold? He was never bold. Never so forward with his remarks about a member of the female sex. “I apologize. I did not intend for my words—”
“It is a pleasant surprise,” Charity interrupted him, folding her parasol and resting it on her lap. “I have now been in your company three times in less than a day. Why, I am left wondering if you are following me,” she said with an arched brow.
Marcus was forced to halt his horse when the barouche stopped to allow another carriage to move in front of it. “I admit to hoping I might see you again on this fine day,” he said sheepishly. “Why, I would be happy to see you every day for the rest of my life.”
“Oh?” Her expression displayed a hint of alarm.
“After our discussion this afternoon at your office, I thought to discover if I might employ you.”
The Charity of a Viscount Page 10