My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) (5 page)

Poor Samantha. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but she was brunette and brown-eyed and comfortable in her own skin.
Confident
, Julia thought suddenly. She would make a good wife to a man who appreciated her quick wit and assured manner.

Julia had thought to invite her for the ride in Hyde Park, but Samantha had made it clear the day before that she had no intention of riding today – she wasn’t particularly comfortable in the saddle, and her aunt and uncle were due back from Kent in time for tea. At one-and-twenty, Samantha wasn’t yet on the shelf, and probably wouldn’t be for a few years. If she wasn’t married or at least betrothed by then, Julia wondered if Samantha would accept a life as an old maid or take the first offer for her hand in marriage.

Julia was deep in thought when she realized the groom had slowed so his mount was alongside hers.

“Are you well, milady?” he asked, his eyes taking in her mount from head to tail, as if he expected something to be wrong with Buttercup. The horse might be old, but she wasn’t lame.

Julia glanced around, her face blooming with color. Had she been so deep in thought over Samantha that her horse had nearly stopped? Or was the groom just being overly cautious? “I am fine, Mr. Comber,” she replied with a forced smile.
How dare he?
she found herself thinking, a bit of annoyance accompanying the uncharitable thought. But then she glanced around and realized more than a dozen riders had joined their parade to the park.

“Very good, milady,” Mr. Comber replied, urging his mount to move up ahead so he was directly in front of her. Alistair glanced around, secretly smiling as he realized no one had given him a second look. Livery really was the most effective disguise when it came to hiding amongst the
ton!
He had to admit to a level of concern over Lady Julia’s behavior, though. Her attention was obviously not on the present when he realized she had fallen too far behind after her brief visit with Lady Devonville.

Alistair had to suppress a smile at the thought of the marchioness. As Lady Winslow, she’d been widowed after only a few years of marriage, her much older husband, a baron, expiring after what had been rumored was an intense afternoon at a brothel in Covent Gardens.
How could a man choose a prostitute over the delicious lady who was at least twenty years his junior?
Alistair wondered. She couldn’t be more than five years older than Alistair. And he might have made a move to bed the woman himself, had he not been on the Continent, but the Marquess of Devonville had obviously had his eye on the lady for some time – and his eye on the calendar – for on the one-year anniversary of her husband’s death, William Slater had claimed Lady Winslow as his own, seeing to it no other man would occupy her bed. The two were married within weeks of their courtship, within weeks of his own daughter’s marriage to the Earl of Gisborn.

Alistair dared a glance back at Lady Julia. Her eye’s widened and she turned her head to regard a nearby rider, her face suddenly blooming with a pink blush.
What had she been thinking to bring on such a delightful blush?
Alistair wondered, his gaze darting about to see what rider might have captured her attention.

His own attention was diverted to Lord Wellingham, though, and he realized the earl was probably the source of Lady Julia’s blush.
Damnation!
The peacock of an earl was too damned handsome and too cocky for his own good, Alistair thought with annoyance. Would the earl expose him if he realized his identity? When last they spoke at the tavern, Alistair was left with impression the earl would be on his way back to Bilston within the next month. He wondered if this ride in the park might be Gabriel’s last before heading for Staffordshire.

Alistair had heard the recent
on-dit
suggesting the man had met his match in the Marriage Mart and wasn’t nearly as coveted as husband material as he had been the Season before. Gabriel had as much as admitted it when they last spoke. The man was rumored to be a hot-head in Parliament and a poor lover in the bedroom; Alistair had to suppress a smile at the thought of the blond, blue-eyed, very rich and very spoiled earl finding difficultly when it came to landing a wife. His purse alone should have ensured a bride of utmost quality. How could Gabriel have made such a cake of courting Elizabeth Carlington?
Perhaps Lady Julia will grant him a dance or two at this Season’s balls if the earl returned to London
, he considered.

His gut suddenly clenched.

The thought of Lady Julia with the Earl of Trenton made his blood boil.
She couldn’t
, Alistair thought with a shake of his head. No matter how spoiled or how self-centered he imagined Julia to be, the woman deserved better than a rake like Gabriel Wellingham. The earl might have been a friend, and perhaps he really was a bit humbled by all that had happened with regard to Lady Elizabeth, but ...

When Buttercup suddenly slowed for no apparent reason, Alistair was forced to come out of his reverie and glance around. Buttercup tossed her head as if to remind him that he was riding her, and that he needed to pay attention.

Alistair realized why right away.

The gates to Hyde Park were directly ahead, and dozens of riders, several phaetons, a few carriages and one barouche were attempting to enter all at the same time. “Whoa,” he called out, raising his right arm as he did when he was in the army, halting the men who rode behind him.

Julia, still in a reverie of her own, saw her groom’s raised arm and immediately slowed her mount.
Who did Mr. Comber think she was? A member of the calvary?
But she realized just how effective the man’s motion had been. For if she hadn’t slowed Blossom’s forward movement, she might have been crushed by a barouche that had pulled up along her right side, apparently in a hurry to get through the gates and onto Rotten Row before the mass of other horses around her could make their entrance. She was about to call out to scold the driver of the barouche when she heard Mr. Comber call out, “Hold up there!”

The barouche slowed a bit, the driver hauling back on the reins. “Now, see here, you,” Lord Barings called out, gesturing toward Alistair in a less than polite manner. “Out of my way!” The barouche surged forward, and Alistair was forced to pull back on his reins. He glanced back at Lady Julia, alarmed at how close the wheels of the barouche were to the legs of her mount. “Milady!” he called out, hoping to get her attention. But Lady Julia’s expression indicated her anger at the driver of the barouche. She wisely pulled back on her own reins and allowed the barouche to pass completely before joining Alistair.

“Are you unharmed?” he asked, his voice rising over the din of nearby activity.

Julia was about to admonish him for speaking so loudly. The entire
ton
within a four block radius had probably heard him. But she saw his worried expression and thought better of it. “I am fine, Mr. Comber,” she replied with a hint of boredom. This wasn’t her first visit to Hyde Park during the fashionable hour, after all. Her leg had actually been touched by Lord Baring’s phaeton on her last visit, a move she thought might have been deliberate on the part of the viscount. He had given her a look that spoke volumes, as if he was apologetic at what had almost happened as well as happy it had.
The nerve of some married men
, she thought with a sigh.
And the nerve of her groom!
The man was suddenly at her side, his eyes taking in the traffic in all directions as if every piece of equipage was out to crush her.

“Pardon, milady,” Alistair spoke as he held out his arm. “Lord Fendleton seems in a special hurry to gain entrance to the park, and I dare not allow us to be in his way.” As if to prove his words, the Duke of Fendleton suddenly barreled past Julia on her right, barely slowing in time before almost rear-ending Lord Baring’s barouche that had just passed her. Julia’s mount wasn’t as calm as Julia, though, and nearly reared at the sudden appearance of a team of four horses pulling a town coach.

Julia quickly got Buttercup under control, but Alistair realized they needed to get out of the traffic. He motioned to Julia as he moved to his left, making a path for them to enter the park from a different vantage. Once they were past the iron gates, she watched as Alistair once again took stock of the traffic around them before relaxing in his saddle.
Was the man always this tense on a ride?
she wondered.
Or is he really just concerned for my sake?
The last thought caused a little flip in her belly, the pleasant sensation bringing a smile to her face.

Unfortunately, Lord Tuttle spotted the smile and thought it was meant for him.
Damnation!
The man had already directed his mount toward her. Apparently, Mr. Comber had noticed the viscount’s move in her direction and slowed his mount so he was along her left side as Tuttle merged on her right.

“Lady Julia,” Lord Tuttle greeted her as he tipped his overly-tall beaver. “So good to see you today,” he added, not giving her groom a single glance.

“And, you, Lord Tuttle,” Julia responded, her eyes still directed at the traffic ahead.

Lord Tuttle seemed undeterred at the cut. “I did not see your beauty among those in the park yesterday. It made for a rather gloomy ride,” the bounder commented, obviously oblivious to Julia’s indifference.

“Oh, I am quite sure that was just the weather,” Julia replied with a shake of her head. And then she dug one heel into Buttercup so her mount surged forward, leaving Lord Tuttle and her groom side-by-side.

Alistair dared not glance at Tuttle directly. He was sure the rake would recognize him from their days at Oxford, even if Lord Tuttle had only lasted two years at the institution. The rake had developed an appreciation for drinking and gambling, racking up debts that would probably bankrupt the viscountcy before he had a chance to inherit it. Any interest Tuttle showed toward Lady Julia was probably due to her dowry. 

Alistair held his breath as he tried to see in what direction Lord Tuttle’s attention was directed. Had the man taken the hint and given up on trying to impress Lady Julia? Or was he about to make a move to rejoin her? Alistair was about to glance in the man’s direction when his own attention was suddenly diverted by a horse that was pulling a sporty phaeton just to his left. The horse, a stunning Thoroughbred he thought might belong to the Earl of Trenton, was moving much too fast for the leisurely pace established by the typical afternoon ride in the park. He was about to call out to the driver to slow down when he realized his warning would be too late – the grey horse was almost alongside Lady Julia’s mount in an instant, spooking the bay. To the right of Julia was just a bit of room she might steer her mount toward in order to allow the high-perch phaeton to pass.

Calling out his alarm, Alistair spurred his horse forward, hoping to come up along Julia’s left in an effort to protect her from the wheel of the phaeton. “Milady, track right,” he yelled out, pulling back on his own horse’s reins so he wouldn’t collide with Buttercup’s back end. His own mount, confused and with no place to go, started to rear. Cursing, Alistair got him under control just as Julia looked to her left and realized the problem. She deftly glanced right and moved her mount in that direction, allowing the phaeton to pass without the wheel catching her riding habit.

Alistair wasn’t as lucky, though. In an effort to keep Lord Tuttle from realizing his identity, he had neglected to account for the position of the man’s mount, forcing the two horses much too close. Lord Tuttle’s horse reared just after Buttercup had settled down, nearly unseating the man.

“Damn it, you fool!” Lord Tuttle called out, yanking his mount to the right to get away from Alistair. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Alistair had to suppress a curse of his own, one that should have been directed at Gabriel Wellingham. He quickly glanced back at the phaeton, it’s rear just to his left. Just as quickly as the equipage had passed him, the hub of its wheel scraping the side of his boot, it suddenly came to a halt so that its driver was directly across from Lady Julia. Alistair had to slow his own mount to a halt, upsetting Blossom so that he tossed his head from side to side, obviously displeased with what should have been a pleasant ride in the park.
If only I’d been allowed to ride Thunderbolt!
The larger mount would have allowed him a higher perch from which to watch the traffic, a larger mount to prevent this kind of potential accident.

About to ask as to Lady Julia’s health, Alistair stared at the yellow phaeton’s driver. The Earl of Trenton had simply stopped the damned phaeton and was leaning down to greet Lady Julia as if he hadn’t just about caused her demise! “Milady!” Alistair called out again, hoping he could get her attention and move them off the path and out of harm’s way.

But Julia seemed to ignore his shout, her attention entirely on Lord Trenton.
Damn it! Didn’t she know the man was a rake of the worst kind?

Lady Julia heard the phaeton long before it came up from her left. The sounds of its wheels gave away the fact that it was new, and the hoof beats were those of a lighter horse, much lighter than a Friesian. She smiled to herself, figuring it had to be Gabriel Wellingham.
The bounder! Does he not realize that everyone in the ton thinks him a fool after what had happened during the Little Season last year?
There was a reason the chits from her age group wouldn’t consider him a suitable husband.
Pity the poor debutantes this Season
, she thought, with not a lot of pity.

What color will his phaeton be this year?
she wondered happily, remembering some comment the man had said at a ball the year before.
A new year, new equipage
, as if he could afford to purchase entirely new coaches, barouches, and phaetons every Season. And he probably could. She had heard the man was worth thirty-thousand pounds a year.

“Lady Julia, you are looking ever more beautiful this fine afternoon,” Gabriel spoke as he reached for her gloved hand and pulled it to his lips. The fact that he could make such a move from his seat without having to lean over too far was a testament to just how close he had driven his bright ...
yellow?
Julia had to do a double take when she realized how hideous the equipage looked. The spokes of the wheel were yellow with red painted along the inside of the hub, and the rest of the body was yellow. She had a passing thought of how it might glow in the dark should the earl be so inclined to drive it after twilight. Hopefully he would know better than to do so. A highwayman would spot the phaeton from at least a mile away and know an easy mark when he saw one.

Gabriel Trenton didn’t strike her as a man who could defend himself. He wore bright satin evening clothes to balls and sported a head of blond curls that made him appear as if he’d stepped out of a Gainesborough painting. Julia briefly wondered if he’d been a cherub in his younger days. She could imagine his cheeks all pink and puffed out, a bow and quill of arrows hung over one chubby shoulder. The thought brought a smile to her face, but she quickly tried to hide it. She didn’t want the bounder to think she was the least bit interested in him
in that way
.

“Ah, Lord Trenton. I do hope this day finds you well,” Julia answered automatically, pulling her hand away when the earl didn’t give it up right away.