My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) (22 page)

Chapter 29

Gabriel Goes Shopping

“This one is especially beautiful,” Mr. Goldwin, the goldsmith, remarked as he pulled yet another ring from a tray containing dozens. Only a few included gemstones. The one he held between his thumb and forefinger included a large sapphire, its oval shape unlike any of the other stones the jeweler had on display.

“Let me see that,” Gabriel spoke in a whisper, offering the plain one he held in one palm in exchange for the one the jeweler held.

“Of course, Mister ...” Joseph Goldwin replied, hoping his form of address would encourage his would-be customer to offer his name. The man’s mode of dress was conservative, his breeches and topcoat in a rich brown and his embroidered waistcoat a cream-on-cream wool, but the fabrics suggested a modicum of wealth.

Gabriel studied the gold ring, holding it up to the light in an effort to determine if the stone was, indeed, a sapphire. The blue color glowed with the candlelight of a nearby lamp. “Wellingham,” he said absently. “And if the band is too large?” he wondered, sliding the ring on his own pinky in an attempt to decide whether or not the band would fit on a woman’s fourth finger. He thought perhaps the band might be too small, but a vision of Sarah’s fingers as they stroked his chest had him deciding that probably wouldn’t be the case. A shiver passed through him, the sensation unexpected and reminiscent of the night he had last spent with the woman he now intended to marry.

Mr. Goldwin straightened. “I will adjust it, of course,” he offered, his manner suggesting he was offended by the question. And then he seemed to suddenly realize the identity of his customer. “My lord,” he added awkwardly. “That particular sapphire is the finest one I have in the shop,” he said, as if he meant to justify its higher price. “I could put it on a different band if ...”

“I will take this one,” Gabriel interrupted Mr. Goldwin, holding out the ring to the jeweler as he gave the man a half-smile. “Is there a matching ... necklace? Or earbobs?” he wondered, trying to imagine the look on Sarah’s face when he presented her with the ring. He knew his mistresses always expected jewelry, and then tried to act surprised when he offered them the black boxes. Sarah would act surprised because she
would
be surprised, he figured.

The jeweler’s eyes widened. “I have a bracelet,” he replied, hurrying to a different velvet covered tray where several bracelets were displayed, their gold chains of varying widths stretched out in rows. 

“That one,” Gabriel said as he pointed to one with tiny chains and a gold filigree design that featured sapphires at every turn. Although it was probably only appropriate to wear at a ball or to the opera, Gabriel smiled as he imagined Sarah wearing it as she went about her daily duties as his countess.

“Very good, my lord,” Mr. Goldwin spoke, his voice almost reverent. He plucked the bracelet from its place in the line up and stretched it out in front of Gabriel. From beneath the counter, he pulled out a black velvet-covered pasteboard box and placed the bracelet inside, securing the clasp onto a tiny circlet of gold at the end of the box. “Would you like the ring in here with the bracelet?” he wondered, “Or in a hinged box?”

Gabriel studied the elegant box Mr. Goldwin offered. “The box,” the earl replied, thinking he would give Sarah the bracelet first and then ask for her hand in marriage. After seeing the bracelet, surely she would agree to his proposal when he showed her the ring.

“Very good, my lord,” Mr. Goldwin replied, hurrying to secure the ring in its box. “Will there be ... anything else?” he asked carefully, thinking he could probably sell another bauble to the earl.

“I should hope there will be, but ...” Gabriel shrugged one shoulder, as if to indicate there might be multiple purchases in his future. “I suppose it depends on the lady,” he said in a hoarse whisper. The thought that Sarah would turn down his offer was a fleeting one. Of course, the chit would agree to his proposal! She had borne his son. Her station in life would be greatly elevated, from that of inn manager to countess. How could she refuse? He had a brief memory of Lily’s reaction to his news that he would see to her come-out, and he wondered if Sarah’s reaction would be the same.

As if he read the earl’s mind, the jeweler said, “She cannot refuse you,” realizing the gifts were not for a mistress but for a potential wife. And the woman would have to know a proposal was in the offing if she was willing to accept the bracelet. Propriety wouldn’t allow her to accept such a generous gift from a gentleman unless she was his intended. Or his wife.

Gabriel regarded Mr. Goldwin for a moment. “Let us hope not,” he replied simply. “You can send the bill to my man,” he added as he removed a calling card from his waistcoat pocket and slid it across the counter to the jeweler.

“Very good, my lord,” Mr. Goldwin replied with a nod as he took the card. He pushed the boxes in Gabriel’s direction. “And thank you for your patronage.”

Gabriel took up a box in each hand a gave a nod to the goldsmith. “Good day, sir,” he said as he took his leave.

Chapter 30

Arranging a Reconnaissance Mission

“Would you like to go for a ride with me?” Julia wondered, her feet dangling from the edge of Samantha’s bed.

Her best friend turned from where she sat at her vanity. “When?” she asked, pausing the brush she was pulling through her long hair.

“Tomorrow afternoon. Say ... about one o’clock,” Julia answered. “We could go in your father’s old coach,” she suggested suddenly, realizing they couldn’t very well go in one of the Harrington coaches – Mr. Comber would probably end up having to hitch up the equipage, and then he might recognize it– or certainly the horses – as it followed him to wherever his ‘previous engagement’ was located. Julia was determined to discover what – or who – had the groom’s attention on his afternoon off.

“Why would we need to take my uncle’s oldest coach?” Samantha asked, angling her head to one side as she regarded her best friend. An expression of disbelief crossed  her face. “What are you plotting now?” she wondered, rolling her eyes before she turned her attention back to the looking glass above her vanity.

“I don’t wish to be ... noticed,” Julia replied with a shrug.

Samantha arched an eyebrow. “If we take Uncle’s old town coach, we won’t need to be concerned about being
noticed
,” she countered. “We’ll have to be concerned about finding an alternative transport to get us home. I rather doubt the wheels will last for a trip through the park.”

Julia smiled, knowing her friend made the comment in jest. “So ... does that mean we can? Go for the ride, I mean?” she wondered, holding her hands together as if she was pleading for her friend to agree.

Rolling her eyes again, Samantha sighed. “On one condition,” she replied. When Julia gave a tentative nod, Samantha said, “Tell me who we’re going to visit.”

Her eyes widening, Julia shook her head. “We’re not going to visit anyone.” When Samantha cocked her head to one side, as if she didn’t believe her friend’s claim, Julia dropped a shoulder. “We’re simply going to follow someone.”

Her own eyes widening, Samantha straightened at the vanity. “Who are we following?” she asked, abandoning her brush to the vanity top.

Julia sighed. She would have to tell Samantha. In fact, she would have to tell the driver of the equipage they were about to borrow so that the man would know whom to follow. She could only hope the man could keep up given the Harrington House groom would be on horseback. “Mr. Comber,” she finally spoke, her voice kept deliberately low.

“Julia!”

“He said he cannot be present for tomorrow’s dance lesson because he had a
previous engagement
.”

Samantha blinked. “We’re going to follow a servant because he has a previous engagement
?
” she questioned, her voice a clear indicator of her surprise.

“Well, it can’t be just any engagement,” Julia retorted, hoping she could make her case with Samantha. “He has the afternoon off from his work in the stables, and rather than spend that time learning to dance, he arranged an engagement.”

Shaking her head, Samantha whispered, “Can’t say I blame him for wanting to avoid Monsieur Girard.”

“And I intend to discover the nature of it,” Julia continued, ignoring her friend’s remark.

Samantha shook her head. “And what if he discovers the nature of our business when he finds us following him?” she countered. “Indeed, what would you say should he suddenly stop in his tracks and come to the coach?”

Julia’s mouth dropped open in alarm. “He won’t. He wouldn’t. He ... He wouldn’t
do
such a thing. And he won’t have the chance because our driver will simply continue along as if our destination is beyond his own,” she explained, as if she’d already considered the possibility.

Taking up her brush again, Samantha studied the bristles. “Why are you so ...
interested
in the groom’s business?” she asked carefully. “In all the years I’ve known you, I cannot recall a single instance of you giving a servant a second look,” she added in support of her argument.

Julia stood up and began pacing along the bed. “I do not know,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I do not know why, except that he ... he kissed me, and ...”

Samantha was up from the vanity so quickly it caused Julia to stop in her tracks. “He
kissed
you?” Samantha  repeated, her eyes once again wide. “On the ...
lips?
” This last was said in a hoarse whisper, as if she feared being overheard by a servant.

Bobbing her head back and forth, Julia finally gave a nod. “I was angry with him, and he ... I think he meant it as an apology of sorts ...”

“Did you slap him?”

Julia blinked.
Slap him?
Why ever would she slap him? She quickly came to her senses, though, when she remembered her initial reaction to his impertinent behavior.

She had been angry with  him.

“I pushed him away, of course,” she said in her own defense. “He apologized, as he should, and ... that was that,” Julia explained, hoping her friend wouldn’t notice how her face was suddenly red with embarrassment.

“That was not it!” Samantha countered, nearly stabbing a finger into Julia’s arm. “You kissed him back, didn’t you?” she accused. “The poor man,” she went on. “He has to put up with Monsieur Girard and all manner of humiliation in order to become a gentleman for you, and then you put him in an impossible position and kiss him.”

Julia stood staring at Samantha, shocked by her friend’s accusation. “He knew ..,” she started to say.

“So, you
did
kiss him?” Samantha half-questioned in awe. “Your first kiss, is it not?” she whispered, a hint of jealousy and maybe a bit of awe sounding in her voice.

Staring at her friend, Julia realized she was caught. There would be no keeping the truth from Samantha. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “As long as you don’t count my uncle’s attempt last year at Christmastime.”

Her eyebrows nearly into her hairline, Samantha thought a moment. “But you turned at the last minute, did you not?”

“Oh, I did,” Julia replied with a firm nod. “He only got my cheek.”

“Then it doesn’t count,” Samantha agreed.

“Thank goodness.”

“But that means your first kiss was with a ...
servant
,” Samantha whispered carefully, finally understanding why Julia wanted to follow the man. Had they been seen kissing, she would have been ruined!

“My first and second and ...” Julia tried to decide if she should admit there was a third and maybe a fourth whilst she and Mr. Comber kissed in the stables. She wasn’t exactly sure how to count kisses. Where did one end and another begin? Had their lips parted for even an instance? Or was it all just one long, luxurious ...

“Julia!”

Samantha’s admonition brought Julia out of her reverie. “I rather like kissing,” she admitted sadly. “That makes me a wanton, doesn’t it?” she whispered, her expression at least showing she might feel a bit scandalized.

Frowning, Samantha gave the question some thought. “Would you kiss just ...
anyone
... knowing that you like doing it?” she wondered, crossing her arms and leaning against a bedpost.

“No!” Julia replied with a shake of her head. “Of course, not.”

“Then you’re not a wanton,” Samantha announced, as if she had some experience in the matter.

Julia shrugged in response. “But Mr. Comber ...” She sighed, remembering for the hundredth time the feel of his firm lips against hers, the sensation of his tongue as it touched her teeth and tangled with her tongue.

“He is rather handsome,” Samantha agreed, as if she was imagining the same thing as Julia. “Too bad he’s a
groom
,” she said with a good deal of emphasis on the word ‘groom’, forcing Julia to return her thoughts to the present. “Are you afraid he’ll be off kissing someone else tomorrow?” Samantha wondered, one eyebrow arching up.

What if the groom was using his time off to spend an afternoon at a brothel with a lightskirt? Samantha wouldn’t know of such things except her older brother seemed to want it known that he did such a thing on frequent occasions. What if the man was betrothed? Or worse, what if he was
married?
Perhaps he was off to visit his wife!

“No!” Julia replied with a shake of her head, her tone suggesting she was trying to convince herself as much as Samantha. “He’s merely running an errand,” she insisted. But should the man’s previous engagement take him to some brothel in Covent Gardens, Julia decided right then and there that she would have nothing more to do with the man – the dare be damned.

Now as curious about the groom’s destination as Julia, Samantha crossed her arms. “We’re going to follow that man until we discover exactly what his previous engagement is,” she announced. And, hopefully, it wouldn’t involve a harlot. Or a fiancée. Or a wife.

Chapter 31

Charity Ponders a Baby Over Luncheon

“He looks exactly like my dear Gabriel did when he was that age,” Charity said to no one in particular as she perused the tray on which several slices of cheese, a collection of cut fruits and a small loaf of hot bread were artfully arranged.

Fuller regarded the cold collation with a cocked eyebrow. “The fare seems rather better than most taverns,” she remarked, not sure if she was expected to agree with the  dowager countess’ comment about the baby.

Charity reached for some cheese and a slice of apple. “About six months, wouldn’t you say?” she wondered, apparently oblivious to her maid’s comment.

“Yes, milady,” Fuller agreed. Not that she had any doubt the baby she’d seen in the manager’s office was anyone other than the son of Gabriel Wellingham. The earl had been quite earnest in his description of the boy – and rather insistent about his affections for the mother – when Fuller had listened in to the conversation from the adjoining room in Trenton Manor the day before. The timing was certainly accurate – the earl had been on his way to London after a brief visit to Stafford the December before last, and had even sent word he was stopping in Stretton before proceeding south on his trip to London to meet with his solicitor. Fuller remembered the earl’s itinerary since it was Gabriel’s first trip outside of Staffordshire since his father had died.

“He looks healthy,” the countess remarked, helping herself to a hunk of the bread and spreading it with a generous amount of butter.

Fuller’s eyes widened. The countess rarely ate bread and never used butter at Trenton Manor. But the scent of the fresh-baked bread had the maid helping herself to a portion of the remaining loaf. “And well cared-for,” she murmured, placing a piece of the cheese on to the bread before taking a bite. She closed her eyes as she savored the treat; the cook at Trenton Manor was obviously unaware how bread should taste and smell, she considered. She felt a hint of pride that her only son was an employee of the establishment.

Then she wondered how they might convince the cook to work at Trenton Manor.

“It’s rather unfortunate the mother is ...” Charity allowed the sentence to trail off, as if she couldn’t say the words,
a commoner
. The idea that her son wanted to marry the chit shouldn’t have rankled her, but it did just then, bringing her out of her reverie. “I wonder if it always takes this long for supper to be served?” she said with a hint of annoyance. As if on cue, there was a knock at the parlor door.

“Come,” she called out, helping herself to another apple slice. The fruit was rather good, she thought, and then she noticed the loaf of bread.

Or what was left of it.

“Goodness, Fuller, you must be quite hungry,” she murmured.

Her maid lifted her head and displayed a look of surprise, but she clamped her mouth shut when she realized the countess had no memory of eating the bulk of the bread.

The door was opened by the woman who had introduced herself as the inn’s manager. With the door open, Fuller could hear the general hubbub of a full public room. The mail coach had probably arrived after she and the countess had taken their rooms and moved to the parlor for their late luncheon.

The manager carried a bottle of wine wrapped in a linen, and she was followed by a man who carried a tray laden with steaming dishes.

Fuller looked up to see her son regarding her with a lopsided grin. He nodded in her direction but said nothing as he set down the tray onto the dining table. The manager poured the wine while Fuller’s son placed the dishes onto the table. They curtsied and bowed before taking their leave of the parlor.

Charity glanced over the simple inn fare – slices of roast beef, potatoes in a cheese sauce, another loaf of bread, a tartlet made of strawberries, and two cups of tea. Her eyes widened when she saw Fuller remove the lid from a sugar bowl to reveal a generous amount of sugar. “Well, they are civilized, I’ll give them that,” the countess remarked before she allowed Fuller to fill her plate. In normal circumstances, her maid would not eat at the same table as she did, but when they traveled, she preferred the company of her maid.

“If Cook should meet her Maker, I would recommend her ladyship hire the one that works here,” Fuller said as she took her first bite of the roast beef.

Having already taken a bite of her own, Charity nodded. “Agreed,” she murmured, surprised at the flavors. Everything proved delicious as well as generous. The two were soon full. “I do believe I need to lie down for a bit,” Charity said as she finished off the tartlet.

Suppressing a smile when she realized the countess had eaten the entire tartlet herself, Fuller nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

As the two made their way to their rooms, passing the stairway that led down to the public room, Charity was surprised at how quiet the inn had become. When she turned to ask Fuller why that might be, she heard the rattle of the mail coach leaving the inn yard. “Tell me, Fuller,” the countess murmured, “How often does this inn see a mail coach?” she wondered.

Fuller stopped in front of the corner room’s door and slid the key into the lock. “Why, every afternoon, my lady,” she replied, wondering at the question.

Charity Wellingham gave her maid an arched eyebrow. “How convenient,” she replied. “How very convenient.”