The Charity of a Viscount

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Matchmaking As a Means of Maintaining

  Meanwhile

  Determined to forget Lord Lancaster and his faux pax in the park the day before, Charity arrived at 30 Oxford Street just as Mr. Barnaby was unlocking the door.

  “Mornin’, milady. You’re rather early,” he commented as he opened the door for her. The two had arrived at the office at the same time, Mr. Barnaby from having escorted his new wife to Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School, where she was a teacher.

  “There’s much to do,” Charity replied. In her hands, she clutched a number of missives that had been delivered to her home last evening. Before it had been brought to an abrupt halt by Lord Lancaster’s comments, her time in the park had given her the opportunity to ask other riders if they might have servants in need of spouses, especially housekeepers, maids, and kitchen staff.

  Having read the responses, Charity knew she was onto something. Apparently, Lancaster’s randy maid wasn’t a unique situation. Lady Attenborough mentioned she had two young housemaids who were pining for husbands. Lady Carlington’s lady’s maid wanted a spouse (but not one that was so old, he required nursing, for she didn’t want to lose the lady’s maid’s services). And Lady Devonville’s youngest kitchen maid required a husband because the fast girl had exhausted all the footmen so they were “useless in all their duties but one”. Charity briefly wondered what that one duty might be, but decided perhaps she didn’t wish to know.

  Then there was a note from Lord Torrington, who claimed his butler needed a wife but didn’t know it yet.

  Charity wasn’t about to guess what that might be all about. She had met Bernard in his capacity as butler of Worthington House but didn’t get the impression he was necessarily in need of a wife.

  If she couldn’t arrange for the servants to pay her a call at the office, Charity would simply pay a call on them at their place of work—should permission be granted by their employers. In any case, notes needed to be written to all involved so that she might begin matchmaking.

  Having completed several of her letters and about to start another, she was interrupted by a rather tall, ginger-haired footman who appeared on the other side of her desk just before eleven o’clock. “Yes?” she asked as she looked up. And up, until she was staring into extremely blue eyes.

  “My lady,” the footman said as he gave a bow. He held out a sealed missive. “I am from Stanton House with a note for your ladyship. His lordship asked that I wait for a reply.”

  Charity took the note from him and immediately recognized the seal. She gave a sigh before she broke the wax and then frowned when she saw that it wasn’t a simple question. She expected an invitation to ride in the park, not a letter hinting at something awful.

  “Where are you to deliver my reply?” she asked. She wondered if this might be one of the footmen with whom Lancaster’s housemaid had been intimate. He didn’t appear pleasantly exhausted.

  “Parliament, my lady. That is, if I can get there ’afore three o’clock.”

  Charity glanced at the mantle clock over the room’s only fireplace, deciding she could keep her responses short. “Tell his lordship that he can collect me at four o’clock,” she said. “But I must have you deliver a missive on my behalf to Lord Wadsworth. He should be at Parliament as well. Can you do that?”

  “I... I think so,” the footman replied with a nod.

  Pulling a sheet of paper from her small allotment, Charity wrote:

  Dear Benedict,

  What have you done?

  Your loving mother

  She folded the sheet into quarters but didn’t bother sealing it, and then wrote Benedict, Earl of Wadsworth on the outside. She doubted the footman could read, but he might be forced to show it to others in order to locate her son amongst the other lords. “Give this to Lord Wadsworth.”

  “Yes, milady,” Rodney replied. He gave a deep bow and was about to take his leave when Charity held up a staying hand.

  “Are you familiar with a maid in your household named Mary Baker?” she asked.

  Rodney blinked before his eyes darted to one side. “I am, in every way. If you catch my meaning, my lady,” he replied, one of this eyebrows waggling. Then he suddenly sobered. “That is to say—”

  “How would you describe her?” Charity interrupted, ignoring the implication of his claim—and the eyebrow.

  Inhaling and then blowing air out of his mouth, the footman seemed to consider the question for too long before saying, “Verra pretty. Long dark hair. Short.” He held his hand out at chest height to indicate the maid’s height. “Happy. Well, that is to say, she was happy until the housekeeper told her she had to carry her own coal buckets. I was glad to do it for her—”

  “Yes, well, thank you for your insight. You may go now,” Charity said, hoping her face wasn’t displaying the blush she felt coming on just then. She watched the footman take his leave and wondered if her messages would be delivered.

  With that thought came the reminder that she had her own letters that needed delivering.

  Mr. Overby, who was perusing the latest Morning Chronicle in search of job postings, was eager to make the deliveries on her behalf. “A walk will be good for me,” he claimed as he collected the missives from her.

  Remembering how he displayed a noticeable limp when she had seen him walk, Charity gave him a quelling glance. “Take a hackney, at least to the end of South Audley, and you can walk from there,” she suggested.

  Watching Mr. Overby take his leave, his limp more of a gait that had him bobbing up and down with each step, Charity thought of Mary Baker and her coal buckets.

  And the rather odd look the footman had aimed in her direction when she asked about the maid.

  Concern? Alarm? Or was that jealousy she saw?

  Well, no matter. She had a job to do, and she was determined to do it.

  Chapter 22

  An Invitation to Ride in the Park Proves Diverting

  Later that day

  Analise regarded the just-delivered note Harrison had brought to her bedchamber, a combination of excitement and foreboding causing her to hesitate to open it.

  “Apologies, my lady, but this was delivered yesterday afternoon. I left it in your father’s study and just discovered it was still where I left it,” Harrison explained, one of his bushy gray eyebrows arching up in concern.

  “My father was distracted last night,” she said as she studied the missive. “No harm done, I’m quite sure.”

  The butler bowed and closed the door, leaving Analise feeling a combination of excitement and dread.

  She really needed to learn the crests of the various aristocratic families, for she didn’t recognize the one that was embossed in the dark red wax on the back of the missive. The handwriting was masculine, though, which had her guessing it was from Lord Haddon.

  Breaking the wax, she carefully unfolded the note and began to read.

  Dear Miss Analise,

  Although we were both in attendance at Lord Attenborough’s ball, I realized too late that your father failed to introduce us overlooked the opportunity to introduce us. Again. Although I have called your father a friend this past year—we are both new to our roles as viscounts—it seems there has never been a time where you were in residence at the same time as was I.

  Analise looked up from the letter and stared at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. The missive had obviously been written and delivered the day before—well before the ride in the park. Lady Simpson had done the honors and formally introduced her to Lord Wessex.

  As for his comment about her not being in residence when he was there, that wasn’t exactly correct. She had been to Stanton House on many occasions when her father and the newly-minted viscount were in the study. The two spent hours discussing matters of a political nature and arguing about which party they wished to align themselves with once the next session of Parliament convened. She never wondered why father hadn’t called her from her bedchamber or from the li
brary to meet his guest. Perhaps he simply thought she would be bored by the younger viscount.

  Or perhaps he feared what might happen if he did introduce them.

  Analise returned her attention to the letter.

  He has assured me that he will do the honors upon our next meeting. I am hoping that meeting can take place on the morrow.

  In addition, 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

  Postscriptum: Your maid will join us, of course.

  Analise let out a squeal of delight.

  Her new lady’s maid let out a cry of fright. “Whatever is it?” Parker asked in alarm as she emerged from the dressing room with several dinner gowns draped over her arms. Parker, a former housemaid at Stanton House, had secured the position when Analise finished her studies at Warwick’s Grammar and Finishing School.

  Forcing a more passive expression on her face, Analise said, “I’ve been invited for a ride in the park.” On the morrow, she reread. Given the missive was delivered yesterday, that meant the ride was today. “As have you. Please say you can,” she begged the lady’s maid.

  The curly-haired Parker allowed a grin. “I can,” she replied, wondering what the young mistress of the house thought she might be doing otherwise. “And who will be your escort? The heir to the Morganfield marquessate, perhaps?”

  Analise furrowed her brows, wondering how it was Parker would guess Lord Haddon. And then she remembered how she had behaved that night when she had returned from her come-out ball. “No. The heir to the Middleton earldom,” she said, once again having to restrain herself from squealing.

  Placing the gowns on the end of the bed, Parker displayed an expression of disappointment. “That will be the viscount’s doing, I imagine.”

  Her eyes rounding at this comment, Analise asked, “What are you saying?”

  Her lady’s maid shrugged. “I accidentally overheard the Lords Lancaster and Wessex talking about the Morganfield boy. Your father’s none to happy about you spending time in his company, prob’ly because he fears the young buck will ruin you,” she explained. “So when Lord Wessex offered to drive you so you wouldn’t be available for Lord Haddon’s invitation, your father was quick to agree.”

  Analise blinked, at first rather hurt her father would do such a thing.

  Then she grinned in delight.

  “Oh, this is rich,” she murmured.

  Parker regarded her a moment, wondering why the young lady wasn’t more disappointed. Why she didn’t seem disappointed at all. She was sure Analise liked the honorary earl who had just returned to London after years away at university. She had talked of nothing else the night of the ball. “How so?” she asked, her voice kept low, despite the butler having closed the door.

  “I like Lord Haddon, I do,” Analise admitted. “But not... not like that. He’s devilishly clever and ever so friendly, very handsome, but... he’s young. He is young.”

  “He’s older than you,” Parker countered, giving her head a shake. The halo of blonde curls that surrounded her face bobbed about as she did so.

  “By only a few years,” Analise argued. “Now that he’s in London, he will want to spend his evenings at clubs and carouse and gamble, and do the naughty things young bucks do before they’re of a mind to marry.”

  Parker’s eyes widened. “What do you know of naughty things?” she asked in alarm.

  Analise felt a blush coming on and hurried to sit at her dressing table, hoping the lady’s maid couldn’t see her cheeks aflame. “I may have heard some tales whilst at school,” she admitted, just as Parker moved to take down her hair and redress it for the ride in the park.

  “Why, I haven’t seen you blush like this. Ever,” Parker remarked. She may have just become Analise’s lady’s maid last June, but she was a housemaid for several years before that. “Are you quite sure you don’t feel affection for Lord Haddon?”

  Analise regarded her lady’s maid’s reflection in the dressing table mirror. “Quite sure.”

  Parker rolled Analise’s hair into a bun atop her head, making sure to leave the hair at her temples loose so that she might curl them into spirals with an iron. She inserted several pins into the bun to hold it secure. “So you must feel affection for Lord Wessex then,” she guessed, once she was sure her creation wasn’t about to tumble down from the young woman’s head.

  Rolling her eyes as her face once again took on a pinkish cast, Analise said, “I was only just introduced to him yesterday. Lady Simpson saw to it when he rode up on horseback,” she replied.

  Which was the truth.

  They hadn’t been formally introduced before that. As to why her father had never introduced them, she couldn’t say. But given how long he and her father had been friends outside of Parliament—at least a year now—she decided it was well past time she spent time in the man’s company.

  And apparently Lord Wessex was of the same mind.

  Chapter 23

  A Viscount Makes His Move

  An hour later

  Harrison was expecting someone to call that afternoon. The missive he had delivered to Miss Analise was no doubt from a young gentleman wishing to escort her for a ride.

  Just because it came by the way of Lord Wessex wasn’t necessarily an indicator of the author of said letter. He was sure the viscount was merely the messenger, agreeing to deliver the missive only because he was already on his way to pay a call on Lord Lancaster.

  The butler wasn’t sure just which young gentleman, though. There were several eligible young bucks this Little Season. Young men who had completed their terms at university, like Lord Haddon. Or some who hadn’t even begun their schooling at Oxford or Cambridge, like Henry Simpson. So he was entirely unprepared when he opened the door to discover Luke Merriweather, Viscount Wessex, standing on the stoop.

  “Lord Wessex for Lady Analise,” Luke said as he held out his calling card.

  “My lord,” Harrison said as he gave a slight bow and stepped aside. “I’ll see if Miss Analise is in,” he added as he left the viscount in the vestibule.

  If she’s in?

  Luke wondered at the words. He hadn’t received a reply and had simply assumed the young lady would be joining him. What if she had made other plans, though? What if she never got the missive? He imagined it still on the salver on Lancaster’s desk and was about to allow a groan of disappointment when his gaze went to the top of the stairs.

  Lady Analise was making her way down, her bright coral carriage gown a perfect complement to her blushed cheeks and lips.

  “Lord Wessex. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” she said when she moved to join him at the threshold of the vestibule.

  Luke blinked. “I’ve only just arrived,” he said, giving her a deep bow. “And call me Wessex if you would.”

  Analise curtsied and offered her hand, which Luke was quick to take. He kissed the back of it and then tucked it in the crook of his arm.

  “I was expecting my father to be home by now.”

  “He’s otherwise engaged, my lady,” Luke replied, not exactly sure Marcus was in the company of Lady Wadsworth. If he wasn’t, then the older viscount was probably at the club licking his wounds.

  “Is he with Lady Wadsworth then?” At Luke’s look of surprise, she added, “He told me he would like to court her.”

  Luke allowed a nod. “You’re not disappointed?” He hadn’t been sure of her reaction when she learned of it during yesterday’s ride in the park.

  “Not disappointed as much as I was surprised, I suppose. He hadn’t said a word about wanting to remarry,” she explained.

  He led her out of the house and to his phaeton before glancing behind them. “Where is your—? Ah, here she is.”

  An
alise paused next to the step of the phaeton and turned around to find Parker hurrying to join her.

  “My apologies,” Parker said as she regarded the equipage. Her eyes widened. “Am I to sit way up there?”

  “Next to me,” Analise replied as she allowed Luke to assist her onto the bench. He smelled of Bay Rum and wool and citrus, and she had to suppress the urge to lean closer so that she might inhale the scents once more.

  She watched as he assisted the petite maid up and onto the bench, his manner never once suggesting he was bothered by the maid joining them on the ride.

  Luke bounded up to the bench from the other side of the phaeton and took up the reins. Given the phaeton was meant to seat only two comfortably, there was no room to spare on the bench. He didn’t mind, but he wasn’t sure about his passengers. “I apologize for the lack of room,” he murmured, when he noticed how the maid had interlinked her arm with Analise as well as clutched the pole next to the bench. Perhaps she thought she would be bounced off during the ride.

  “It’s merely cozy,” Analise replied. “And high. I don’t believe my father’s phaeton is nearly this tall.”

  Luke thrilled at hearing the excitement in her voice. Her smile was infectious. “Once we’re in the park, you can take the reins, if you’d like,” he offered, urging the matched pair forward before merging them into traffic. They headed toward the gate that led to Rotten Row.

  Her smile broadening, Analise gave a shake of her head. “You are kind to offer, but I shall leave the ribbons in your capable hands.”

  “Your father has never allowed you to drive?” he asked in surprise. The young woman seemed far older than he knew her to be, perhaps because her mother had died and she had been forced to grow up a bit faster than others her age.

  “He wouldn’t dream of it,” Analise replied. She furrowed a brow. “And if he did, he would probably imagine the worst.”