The Charity of a Viscount

by Sande, Linda Rae

  “Hello, Father,” Analise said as she bounded up from the settee and hurried over to him. She kissed him on his cheek and said, “Luke has come to take me for a ride on his phaeton.”

  The mention of her fiancé brought up a sudden volcano of anger, and Marcus was about to erupt and spew it all over the younger viscount when he saw how Luke was regarding him.

  “What happened?” Luke asked as he jumped up from the chair in which he was seated. “Were you robbed?”

  Marcus blinked and gave his head a shake. He glanced at his daughter, then at her maid who sat sewing by the window. Then he turned his attention back to Luke. “How... how long have you been here?”

  The young viscount dared a glance at the clock on the mantle and said, “About half-an-hour. We were waiting for your return to let you know we were heading to the park.”

  Half-an-hour?

  “You’re not with Lady Wadsworth.” Marcus couldn’t help how the words spilled out, nor how they must have sounded.

  Analise and Luke exchanged worried glances. “I am never with Lady Wadsworth,” Luke replied. “I’ve never even been introduced to the countess.”

  Another thought—nearly as awful—crossed Marcus’s mind just then. If Luke Merriweather wasn’t the one having an affaire with Charity Wadsworth, then that meant...

  “Your valet.”

  Luke scratched the side of his eye. “Well, he admitted he is one of her clients, although I can’t imagine how Lady Wadsworth is going to find a woman who meets his criteria.”

  All of his energy having been spent on the myriad of emotions he had experienced this past fifteen minutes, Marcus fell into the nearest chair and allowed a long sigh. “Let me guess. She has to have long, dark hair and be willing.”

  His eyes widening in surprise, Luke asked, “How did you know?”

  And then, because he didn’t know what else to do, Marcus chuckled. His chuckling soon turned to laughter, an infectious laughter that eventually had Analise grinning and Luke wondering if his father-in-law-to-be had become a candidate for Bedlam.

  Chapter 39

  A Viscount and a Valet Plot

  Later that night

  Luke Merriweather stepped down from his phaeton and handed the reins to the stableboy, pleased the urchin was so quick to meet him. Although he could have parked out front, he preferred to drive his equipage to the mews, especially with how spirited his horse could be.

  He fished a coin from his waistcoat pocket and held it out. “I’ll give you another if you have this shined up for tomorrow at four, o’clock,” he said by way of a bribe.

  The stableboy regarded the coin, his eyes wide. “You’ll see your reflection, guv’nor,” he replied, displaying a mostly toothless grin as he took the money.

  Making his way into his townhouse by way of the back door, Luke met his valet at the bottom of the stairs.

  “My lord. I apologize. I didn’t hear the knocker,” Roger said as he glanced toward the front door.

  “I sneaked in by way of the back,” Luke said, his eyes narrowing on his servant. He was about to make his way up the stairs but paused. “Are you... ?” He stopped, thinking how ridiculous his query would sound. Roger Weatherby wouldn’t be in the market for a wife if he already had a lover, would he? The idea of his valet with Charity Wadsworth seemed far-fetched at first, but stranger couplings had happened. “Never mind.”

  Furrowing a brow, Roger asked, “What is it, my lord?”

  Luke was several steps up the stairs when he turned and regarded his valet. “Did Lady Wadsworth pay a call here today?”

  Roger nodded. “She did, my lord.”

  Luke blinked, one of his hands moving to clutch the bannister. “Does she... does she do so on a regular basis?”

  His valet angled his head to one side. “Not that I’m aware. I’m quite sure I would know if she did.”

  Immense relief settled over the viscount just then. “Was she... looking for me?”

  Roger shook his head. “She was here to see me, sir. She believes she might have found a young woman for me to court.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve... I’ve made arrangements to pay a call on the young lady—a maid—on the morrow. At three o’clock, if that’s acceptable.”

  Luke’s eyes widened before a grin erupted. “Good on you,” he teased. “Someone close by?”

  The valet shook his head. “In Park Lane. At Stanton House. I wondered if perhaps I could borrow your horse— ?”

  “Stanton House?” Luke repeated, immediately recognizing the name. He had just come from there! Oh, this was rich, indeed.

  “My lord, is something... amiss?”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “I think I was about to be beaten to a bloody pulp by my betrothed’s father because he thought I was having an affaire with Wadsworth’s widow,” he replied.

  Roger dipped his head. “Well, her coach was parked directly in front of this house,” he replied with a nod. “My apologies. She came seeking me. She didn’t even come into the house. I went out to speak with her in the coach.”

  “Clever of you to do that, although it apparently didn’t help,” Luke replied. “Whatever you do, steer clear of Lord Lancaster when you’re under his roof tomorrow. As for the horse...” He stopped, remembering he would be taking the phaeton at four o’clock to pick up Analise for their ride in the park. “You’re welcome to take the phaeton if you have it back by four. Doesn’t give you much time there, though.”

  The valet regarded his master with awe. “That’s very generous of you, sir,” he said. “Since I’ve only plans to meet the maid, I rather doubt there will be time for a ride. Besides, if we don’t suit, I will have the best of excuses to take my leave after ten minutes or so.”

  Luke nodded. “So, long dark hair and willing?” he teased.

  Roger’s eyes widened, and his cheeks displayed a sudden bloom of color. “My lord, may I ask that you afford her a bit of respect? You could be speaking of my future wife.”

  Blinking, Luke sobered and allowed a nod. “I apologize. But you have made your wishes known,” he countered. “Given your requirements for a wife, do you have plans to—?”

  “I do not, my lord,” Roger interrupted. In truth, he had wondered how they might go about getting to know one another, at least in an intimate sense. How would they know if they would enjoy one another in bed if they didn’t at least give it a try?

  “And what about when you’re not in bed? I should think there might be other considerations you should be... considering,” Luke murmured. “Such as how you two might suit one another.”

  Roger inhaled and dipped his head. “May I remind you I am a servant? I spend my days in service to you and to this household,” Roger explained. “Meanwhile, Miss Baker is a housemaid, and is in service to the Lancaster household until such time as she’s dismissed for the evening. I rather doubt the two of us will have waking time to spend in one another’s company. So it probably matters not if we suit in any other regard besides a bed.”

  Luke frowned, suddenly feeling sorry for the servant. “You’ll both have Sundays off,” he argued.

  The valet looked as if he’d been punched in the gut. “True,” he hedged. He allowed a sigh. “Well, I suppose that’s the reason I shall spend what little time we have together learning what we might have in common.”

  Nodding, Luke regarded his valet another moment before one of his eyebrows arched up. “I do have some influence over Lord Lancaster,” he hinted. “He’ll be my father-in-law before long. Should you require some time together, I’m sure I can arrange for you and her to have time off. At the same time. During the day.”

  Roger dipped his head. “Very good, sir. But only if Miss Baker and I suit. I haven’t married her yet.” He paused before his eyes widened. “I haven’t even met her yet.”

  Luke allowed a chuckle. Although he had memory of seeing the happy maid—servants always just seemed to blend into the background—he figured his valet would be pleased when he finally met her
on the morrow. “I am so relieved I’m already betrothed,” he breathed. “I can’t imagine having to go through it all over again.”

  Furrowing a brow, Roger stared at his master. “I wasn’t aware you suffered, sir,” he murmured. Indeed, Lord Wessex had seemed in the very best of moods since Lord Attenborough’s ball.

  The viscount considered his valet’s words a moment. “Suffered might be too strong a word,” he admitted, even if there had been that punch in the gut he had endured by the fist of Lord Haddon. He deserved that one, though. He had been an ass to think the young earl was pursuing any young lady with an idea of ruining her. “Prolonged uncertainty does weigh on a man’s mind, however.”

  Roger nodded his understanding. Even though his wait to meet Miss Baker might only be a day, he felt as if he’d been waiting to meet her far longer. Like half his life. If she wasn’t what he was hoping for in a wife, then he would simply have to wait longer.

  He didn’t want to have to wait for the rest of his life, though.

  Living in quiet desperation had him struggling to get out of bed in the morning, knowing every day would simply be exactly like those that had come before. “May I ask... do you feel as if you have something to look forward to now that you will have a bride?”

  Luke angled his head to one side and wondered about his servant. Despite the older man having worked for him as his butler and valet since his departure from the Middleton country estate in Surrey to take up residence in London, the two of them hadn’t ever engaged in such a serious discussion before. “Are you feeling old?” he asked in concern.

  Wincing, Roger finally allowed a nod. “Perhaps I am,” he admitted.

  “Well, stop it. You’re no where near Death’s door, and I shouldn’t want you getting there before me.”

  Roger’s brows went up in surprise. “Very good, sir.” He paused a moment. “Speaking of... doors, may I enquire as to if you and your betrothed will live here? Or will you be looking to find a larger townhouse?”

  Luke’s good mood disappeared in an instant. “Larger townhouse?” he repeated. His eyes darted to one side. At some point, he would inherit the Middleton earldom. But his father didn’t live in a lavish house in the capital. He, too, only inhabited a townhouse suitable for a bachelor since his countess preferred the country and spent her days in Surrey. “Do you think this too small? There is a mistress suite.” He knew this because he had ended up in that bedchamber after a particularly long night of imbibing brandy at a public house. When he awoke, Luke thought he was in the wrong house, not recognizing the pink and gold decor that surrounded his pounding head. “Is there a nursery, do you know?”

  Suppressing the urge to grin, Roger said, “There is a room suitable for a nursery, as well as one for a nursemaid,” he replied. “And a room for a lady’s maid in the servants’ hall.” There would be another if he married and moved to the larger quarters at the end of the hall.

  Luke sighed. “Then I shall not be on the hunt for a house,” he replied. “At least until Miss Analise is a countess. Then we shall search for something appropriate to the station.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Roger replied. “Your mail is in the study. Are you in need of my services at the moment?”

  Not having paid a visit to his study in a few days, Luke dared a glance in that direction. “I am not. Take some time if you’d like. Shopping or... paying calls. I will see to business and then head to my club for dinner.”

  With that, Luke moved back down the stairs and into his study.

  Roger heaved a sigh of relief as he felt for his purse in his waistcoat pocket. If he intended to make the very best impression on a potential wife, he thought he could benefit from a new suit of clothes and perhaps a new cane.

  Taking his leave of the townhouse, Roger made his way down to the corner where he could hail a hackney. A half-hour later, and he found himself among the throngs of shoppers in Bond Street. Two hours after that, and he was headed back to the townhouse armed with boxes of fine clothes and a brass-topped walking cane.

  Miss Baker would hardly guess he was a servant.

  Chapter 40

  A Match Made in Bed

  The following day at 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” Mary murmured, her fingers pleating the fabric of her skirt. “It’s not as if I’ve never met a man before.”

  Rodney, the ginger-haired footman, dipped his head and glanced down the hall, just to be sure there weren’t any other servants watching them. “Are you sure about this? This... courting, I mean,” he added.

  Mary frowned as she regarded the tall footman. “Mrs. Barstow says I haf’ to get married. If I don’t, and she catches me with the likes of you, with my skirts up past my bum, she’ll be forced to let me go,” she argued.

  “What if I marry you?” Rodney replied, his chin lifting in defiance.

  Recoiling, as if the footman had punched her in the stomach, Mary stared at Rodney for several seconds before she suddenly burst out laughing. When she saw how seriously he stared at her, though, she sobered. “You funnin’ me?” she whispered.

  “No,” Rodney replied, his head shaking from side to side. “I like you, Mary Baker. I already know I like tuppin’ you. Marry me, and we can do it every night and whenever we can sneak away,” he reasoned.

  Mary’s eyes widened. “And where would we live?”

  Rodney shrugged. “Upstairs. You can move into my room—”

  “It’s smaller than mine!”

  “Perhaps Harrison will let us move into a larger room,” he countered. “There’s one at the end of the hall.”

  Mary furrowed a brow, wondering if she could abide being married to Rodney. “You would have to give up tuppin’ Jones,” she warned, referring to the second floor housemaid.

  The footman’s gaze darted to the left. “I would?”

  Angling her head to one side and pinning him with a glare, Mary allowed an audible sigh. “There are vows to say when you marry someone, you dolt,” she replied.

  Rodney winced at her rebuke and simply shrugged. “If it don’t happen with this... just who is supposed to come meet you?” he asked.

  “A valet. Butler, too, I think,” Mary replied, deciding she wouldn’t share the man’s name. Should Rodney learn of it, he might spread the gossip with the neighboring footmen. Within two days, every household in Park Lane would know she had a caller.

  The sound of heavy footfalls on the stairs had Rodney disappearing into the nearest bedchamber. Mary rolled her eyes as she smoothed her skirts and faced Harrison when he made it to the top of the stairs.

  “You have a caller, Baker. I’ve ordered tea be brought to the salon on the ground floor.”

  Mary blinked. “You have?” She blinked again. “Why?

  Giving his very best expression of infinite patience, Harrison said, “His lordship said I should afford Mr. Weatherby all the courtesies of any caller at Stanton House.”

  His lordship? How did Lord Lancaster know she was going to have a caller? “He came to the front door?” she asked, still incredulous.

  The butler inhaled slowly. “He did. And I rather imagine he’ll be taking his leave by that same door should you keep him waiting much longer, Baker.”

  “Is he... is he in there?”

  The butler’s eyes rolled heavenward. “He is.”

  Mary Baker dipped a quick curtsy and hurried down the stairs. She almost ran to the small salon at the front of the house, pausing just before the opening so she could catch her breath and paste a pleasant expression on her face.

  A few seconds later, and she stepped beyond the threshold to find Mr. Weatherby regarding the painting above the fireplace. “Good afternoon,” she said as she dipped a curtsy.

  Roger Weatherby turned his gaze onto the younger woman and remembered to give a bow. Being a butler in a bachelor’s townhouse rarely afforded him an opportunity to practice the courtesy with a woman. “Good afternoon,” he replied. Then
his faced screwed into a frown. “Mary?”

  “Roger?” she countered. “What are you doing here?”

  The valet rolled his eyes before he practically fell into the nearest chair. “I thought I was paying a call on a housemaid named Mary Baker,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

  Mary sighed and moved to join him, settling herself into the chair opposite his. “I work here. I thought I was meeting Mr. Weatherby. It is three o’clock, is it not?”

  Roger dipped his head, his eyes closing as if he could erase what was happening. “I am Mr. Weatherby.”

  Blinking several times, Mary regarded him in shock. “Since when?”

  “Since I started my employment with Lord Wessex. And who are you to call yourself Mary Baker?” he added in dismay.

  Mary glowered at her old brother. “Since there were already two Joneses in Stanton House,” she replied. “And what about Weatherby?” The name came out tinged with spite. She let out a squeal of annoyance that made it sound as if she had just been frightened by a mouse.

  Looking suitably chagrined, Roger allowed his shoulders to slump. “Jones is a rather common name for a butler,” he replied. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Here I thought I was going to meet my perfect match, and she turns out to be my baby sister.”

  “What about me?” Mary countered. “I thought I was going to meet a man that was goin’ to like tuppin’ me every night.”

  Roger winced before his eyes widened. “Me? I was told you wanted to be tupped morning and night!” he countered. He was about to chide her for her fast reputation, but the sound of someone approaching had him holding his tongue.

  The two of them stared at one another until it was apparent someone had stopped at the door.

  Miss Parker stood on the threshold with the tea tray. She moved to set it on the low table positioned between the two servants and asked, “Would you like me to serve?”