The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (13 page)

“Very good, milady,” Jones replied, wondering how long he had been sleeping. Refreshed by his nap, he watched as Lady Evangeline escorted Lord Sommers to the front door and gave the man his hat. He watched as the baron leaned over her hand and kissed the back of it. And he watched as she curtsied and watched Jeffrey Althorpe take his leave of Rosemount House before she closed the door. He watched as she leaned against it for several moments. Then he watched as she made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Never in all his years as the Everly butler had he seen Lady Evangeline look so content as she did just then. Whatever had happened in the parlor that evening had happened without him paying witness to it, he realized. Perhaps the two had simply read the book as he was led to believe. Or perhaps they had engaged in inappropriate behavior, perhaps even kissed whilst he slept. But he doubted it. What was the likelihood that any member of the
ton
would find Lady Evangeline attractive enough to take advantage of her?
Her spectacles would certainly deter any man
, he considered.

Jones went about his evening duties, stopping only for a moment when he suddenly remembered something.

Lady Evangeline hadn’t been wearing her glasses when she was in the parlor. Nor had she been wearing them as she escorted Lord Sommers to the front door.

Jones sighed.
Damnation!

Evangeline allowed Annabelle to remove all the pins from her hair and help her into her night rail before she dismissed her for the night. As she climbed onto her bed, the linens turned down to expose the white fabric, she felt the same shudder pass through her body as the one that Lord Sommers had incited in her earlier that evening.

How could she have allowed him the liberties she had?

How could she not?

She had awoken when her body was suddenly aware – suddenly alive– with the realization that she was pressed against a man. Even now, his scent of amber and citrus and tobacco reminded her of how his hand had caressed her breast, of how his lips had felt pressed against her own. Of how they’d felt as they pressed against the soft skin of her breast. Of how his tongue and teeth had gently nipped her engorged nipple and sent her into a rising tide of erotic shivers, each one more intense than the one before it, until she had thought she might faint from the sheer pleasure his erotic touches had incited. Even now, her entire body vibrated with the memory of it.

If only Jones hadn’t been in the parlor. If only they’d been allowed a few more minutes of pure pleasure!

I am as wicked as Geraldine
, she considered, not nearly as scandalized by the thought as she probably should have been.

What a delightful night.

The thought had Evangeline smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 23

A Butler Summons an Earl

“I came as soon as I received your missive,” Grandby said as he stepped into Rosemount House, handing his hat to Jones.

The startled butler resisted the urge to say, “Obviously,” since he had dispatched a footman with the note only the hour before – and the footman hadn’t yet returned. “I remembered your orders that I should inform you should anyone ... unexpected ... pay a call on Lady Evangeline, my lord.”

Still a bit breathless from his quick trip, the earl gave the butler a nod. “Is she here now?” he wondered, keeping his voice low in the event the subject of their discussion was within earshot.

“She is not, my lord. She has gone to pay a call on Lady Pettigrew,” Jones responded with a shake of his head. “She timed her departure so that she would arrive promptly at ten o’clock,” he added with a lifted brow, as if he found her punctuality amusing. “May I ring for tea? Or perhaps you’d like something a bit stronger?” Jones wondered as he led Lord Torrington to the parlor.

Grandby gave the man a look of annoyance. “I don’t suppose Everly keeps his scotch out where just anyone ...” He stopped speaking as the butler moved to the sideboard and lifted a crystal decanter from a silver salver. Jones poured a dollop of the amber liquid into a tumbler and offered it to the earl. “Lord Everly has sent word that he is on his way back to these shores. I expect him within the week, my lord,” he explained with a wave toward the sideboard.
So the spirits aren’t usually so available,
Grandby realized.

Swirling the scotch in his glass before taking a careful sip, Grandby regarded the butler for a moment. The man was rumored to be one of the best among the households of the
ton
, his no-nonsense manner and stern countenance tempered with fair treatment of the younger servants in the house. He was also the reason Lord Everly could spend so much time away from London – and his sister – given his responsibility for Evangeline. Their parents had died before Evangeline was even out of the schoolroom, so it fell to her brother to provide protection. But his frequent and lengthy absences from London meant others looked after the girl in his stead. The only reason Grandby was involved in the girl’s life was due to his status as her godfather.

Having agreed to be a godfather to nearly every child born to the
ton
whilst he was in his early twenties, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, had become something of a celebrity. During those few years when he so willingly said ‘yes’ to the queries, he was blissfully unaware of what he’d have to deal with once those godchildren were of marriageable age. T
wenty-one goddaughters,
he thought with a scowl. And all of them of marriageable age. At least six were now married, with two of those making up a ducal couple. With any luck, a few more would join their ranks before Parliament’s recess for Christmas.

“So, who paid a call at the unfashionably late hour of nine o’clock?” Grandby wondered before taking another sip of the scotch. He rarely drank before noon, but for scotch as good as Lord Every’s, he made an exception.

“Lord Sommers, my lord,” the butler replied, straightening to his full five-foot, seven-inch height as he stated the name.

Grandby blinked.
Sommers?
“Did you ... let him in?” he asked, wishing the butler would tell him everything without having to be prompted.

“I did,” Jones admitted reluctantly, “But only because Lady Evangeline insisted I do so. She happened to be on the landing at the top of the stairs,” he said as gestured toward the hall, “And heard his arrival.”

Grandby’s eyes opened wider. “And, did you tell him Lord Everly was not in residence?”

The butler tried hard not to roll his eyes, but failed and nearly interrupted the earl with his reply. “Of course, my lord, but it seems he was here to see Lady Evangeline.” This last he said in a whisper, as if he thought he might be overheard by a servant.

The earl stilled himself. Lord Sommers had an occasion to call on Lady Evangeline at nine o’clock at
night?
“And?” he prompted, his head canting to one side. At this rate he would miss luncheon with his wife, a meal he especially enjoyed sharing with the former Lady Worthington because of what usually happened after the meal.

“They came in here and ... they read a book,” Jones said with a shrug. “The baron took his leave about ten o’clock, apologizing profusely for having come so late,” he added.

“A book?” Grandby repeated. At the butler’s nod, the earl suddenly left the parlor and walked into the library. He glanced about, secretly wondering if the two had been secretly reading one of Everly’s many books on sexual congress. The man was said to have one of the most extensive collections on the topic, although some of the tomes apparently had to do with the mating rituals of creatures other than humans.

When he determined that all the books seemed to be in their place on the shelves, he suddenly remembered the book the two had been reading in Finsbury Square earlier that week. He went back to the parlor and turned his attention to the furniture. On the settee, he found
The Story of a Baron
, its pages opened to the end of a chapter.
They’re still reading the book,
he realized, surprised Evangeline hadn’t purchased her own copy. Or perhaps this was her copy and the baron hadn’t purchased one of his own.

The Temple of the Muses might have been sold out since the day the book made its debut, but Hatchard’s had them. He was sure that’s where his wife had purchased hers.

Humph
, he thought as he repositioned the book on the settee. Sommers was a baron, he considered as he studied the tome. Grandby opened the front cover and read the title page, noting the date of publication.
A new release,
he confirmed. He shook his head when he saw the work was attributed to Anonymous.
That could be anyone
. Someone who really was a baron or another member of the
ton
or ... or not, he considered as he closed the book. The author could just be a hack making his living writing bad books.

Grandby was about to return the book to its resting place when he noticed the indentations in the cushion of the settee. Two distinct impressions had been left, one deeper than the other, and the lighter one indicative of a woman’s derriere.
Had the two simply been reading the book as the butler claimed?
he wondered suddenly.
The Story of a Baron
. Grandby took up the book again and opened it to the first page of the first chapter. He read the first line.

Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine, entered his favorite bookshop in search of a particular new title.

Grandby lifted his head, wondering if Winters was really Sommers. He dared a glance at the very last line of the book.

Forever
.

Grandby slammed the book shut, the sound breaking the silence in the parlor.
What was the author thinking?
he wondered with a great deal of annoyance.
That certainly didn’t tell the reader very much
. But it was an ending that held promise, he had to admit. Which was saying a good deal if the story was truly about a baron. And apparently the baron and the sister of an earl were reading the story. Together.

What else might they being doing together?
Grandby wondered suddenly. There hadn’t been a whiff of scandal surrounding Lady Evangeline – poor girl was lucky if she was ever able to step foot in a ballroom given her brother’s propensity for being out of the country so much. Everly never seemed to have someone lined up to look after his sister, trusting that she would spend her days calling on other young ladies of the
ton
, and ...

Grandby inhaled sharply.
And what?
Did anyone call on her? Did she ever go shopping in New Bond Street? Or have an ice at Gunter’s whilst some young buck regarded her from the side of her carriage? Or take in a play in Drury Lane? Or visit a chocolate shop? He knew about her morning treks to the bookshop and to Lady Samantha’s and Lady Julia’s for tea, for those trips coincided with his own morning strolls. But where else was she going besides the parlors of those on whom she paid calls?

Suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone in the parlor, Grandby turned to find the butler regarding him, one bushy eyebrow arched in question. “How often does Lady Evangeline leave the house after she pays calls?” Grandby asked with an eyebrow arched to match the butler’s.

Jones eyes looked to the coffered ceiling for a second before he replied, his brows briefly furrowing. “Every day, my lord. She likes to go for walks.” He dared another glance at the ceiling and made a mental note to speak with the housekeeper about the cobwebs that had attached themselves to the coffers.

A bit surprised by the butler’s response, Grandby allowed his face to show it. “Does anyone go
with
her?” he wondered, realizing the poor girl didn’t have a chaperone. Although that was probably a good thing. Some chaperones would just as soon lock up their charges behind closed doors and never let them out than spend the time to introduce them into Society.

“Usually she is accompanied by her lady’s maid. When Winslet is unable to due to her duties, the other maids take turns, my lord,” Jones replied. “Some don’t mind the walk whilst others are ... less
enthusiastic
about the exercise,” he added with a roll of his eyes.

“And, at night? Does the lady ... go out?” the earl asked, glad to hear that at least his goddaughter was getting some air everyday. Although, given the amount of soot in the winter, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, either.

“Not unless Lord Everly escorts her, my lord,” Jones responded, “And that does not happen very often.”

Grandby inhaled, the scent of scotch still evident on his breath. There was really only one solution to the problem of Lady Evangeline. “’Bout time the chit was married, don’t you suppose?” he asked rhetorically.

The butler clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze directed at the cobwebs decorating the ceiling. “I suppose,” he answered quietly as he resisted the urge to inhale sharply. The cob webs were positively ghoulish!

The earl gave Jones a quelling look. “As her godfather, I’ve a mind to find her a husband myself,” he warned, not realizing that most would find his threat a preferable alternative to Lord Everly taking on the task. At nearly thirty, the earl was still a bachelor, and he wasn’t courting anyone ... unless he had met someone on his most recent travels to the Indian Ocean and southern coast of Africa.

“Very good, my lord,” Jones replied with a nod. “Shall I inform my master when he returns from his trip?”

Grandby regarded the butler for several moments before finally saying, “No. I’ll see to it.”

With one more glance around the parlor, the earl took his leave of Rosemount House, anxious to have luncheon – and then dessert – with his wife.

Chapter 24

On Kisses and Dowries

“I don’t suppose there is a single lady among the entire
ton
who tells a man to kiss her,” Evangeline murmured, still mortified by what she had asked of Lord Sommers the evening prior. And a bit surprised at herself this morning when she had told Jones she was on her way to Lady Samantha’s when in fact she was planning to meet the baron in Grosvenor Square.

Jeffrey started to raise a shoulder to shrug, not sure how to put the earl’s sister at ease. He hadn’t minded being asked for a kiss in the least. He had been a bit surprised at his own reaction, though. Even knowing the butler was in the room, he hadn’t declined her invitation – and if he had to do it over again, he still wouldn’t. He had simply done her bidding and a bit more, but with her help.

What she had done to him ... the memory of it now filled both his heads.

“Oh, dear,” Evangeline sighed, her face pinking up even more. “Will you ever forgive me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

Jeffrey shook his head. “No, milady, for there is no need to apologize,” he assured her. “So there is nothing to forgive. And, as for ladies asking for kisses, Lady Bostwick does it all the time with her George,” he said, relieved that he could give the earl’s daughter at least one example of another lady who asked to be kissed.

Evangeline seemed overly concerned at having told him to kiss her, and although he was a bit shocked at the demand, he’d also felt just bit ... thrilled. Even more so when her hand had done such wonders for his manhood – literally and figuratively. Given her ready and positive response to his early morning missive about reading the book in Grosvenor Square if the fine weather held, he thought she was completely unaware of what she had done – apparently all in her sleep. “Or, so the
on-dit
would have it,” he added with a nod, having to return his mental attention to George Bennett-Jones or risk a repeat of the night before. Right out in front of everyone in the square.

Evangeline straightened on the park bench. “Lady Bostwick?” she breathed. That would be just like Elizabeth Carlington Bennett-Jones, Evangeline realized. The founder of her own charity, she was said to be very devoted to Viscount Bostwick. Devoted, no doubt, because George Bennett-Jones doted on her. Because he saw to it there was constant funding for her charity. And because he was said to leave little gifts for her to find throughout the house they shared in Park Lane – gifts he left for no particular reason other than he liked his lady to be happy.

The ladies of the
ton
knew such things because Elizabeth always spoke rather highly of her husband whilst in the parlors of Mayfair. “I should think Lord Bostwick would be the one demanding kisses given how generous he is with Lady Bostwick,” Evangeline commented.

Jeffrey regarded her with a grin. “Oh, not George,” he said with a shake of his head. “The man has been in love with his wife since the first time he spotted her at a ball.” He turned on the park bench so he faced her. “She was dancing with Lord Trenton at the time,” he said with a smirk. “Although, I often wonder if his affections were more due to her charity. One of his close friends was its first beneficiary.”

Evangeline turned her own body on the bench so she could regard the baron. “Indeed?” she replied.

“One day, we were in the middle of a session of Parliament when a footman arrived looking for him. Seems his lady was feeling some discomfort – she was with child at the time – and requested his immediate presence at their home.”

Suppressing a knowing smile, Evangeline wondered if Lord Sommers knew what George had done to help relieve his wife’s pain. “Did he leave the chambers, then?” she wondered with an arched eyebrow, knowing in fact that he had.

“He did!” Jeffrey replied with widened eyes, obviously happy to share his tale. “And then he returned an hour-and-a-half later. Had a rather satisfied look on his face, too,” he added with a sudden hint of derision.

Evangeline cocked her head to one side. “Would you do such a thing, do you suppose?” she wondered, an expression of curiosity on her face.

Jeffrey regarded her for a moment, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Whatever do you mean?”

Not able to prevent the blush she could feel coloring her face, Elizabeth lowered her head. “Would you hurry to your wife’s side should she need sexual congress to relieve her back pain?” she wondered in what she hoped sounded like a teasing tone.

Jeffrey Althorpe was suddenly aware his mouth wasn’t completely closed. And over the course of the nearly ten seconds it took him to consider how to answer Lady Evangeline’s question, his jaw dropped a bit more, leaving his mouth wide open. “My lady,” he struggled to get out, his words meant to scold when in fact they made him sound as if he were in awe. “I ...” He stopped when he realized Evangeline was waiting for his answer with baited breath, as if she weren’t teasing him at all but truly wondered if he would do his wife’s bidding. “I would, I suppose. If she thought it would ... help,” he struggled to get out.

Good God!
Had the chit actually asked him if he would have sexual intercourse with her?

No.
No
, she most certainly had not.

She had merely asked if he would hurry to his wife’s side. Well, if he would hurry to her side because she needed sexual intercourse, then of course he would
accommodate
her!

Evangeline took a breath, forced to do so when a pleasant little shiver suddenly shot down her spine and settled between her thighs. “I should think you will have a happy wife, then,” she murmured with a nod, hoping the baron hadn’t noticed her entire body vibrate just then.

“Happy wife, happy life,” Jeffrey countered, the words coming out before he’d had a chance to think where he had heard the expression before. At the gaming tables, no doubt. From one of his married friends. Lord Devonville, no doubt.

Evangeline giggled, the musical sound making Jeffrey smile. “What is it that has you so amused?” he asked, finding her happiness infectious.

“You, my lord,” she answered, a smile still gracing her face. “How is it a man of your good humor and handsome appearance is still unmarried?” The words were out before Evangeline could censor them, before she realized they sounded exactly as if they had been spoken by Geraldine Porterhouse. “Oh, do forgive me, Lord Sommers,” she added, hoping he hadn’t heard a word of what she’d just said. “I do believe Miss Porterhouse’s behavior is having an ill effect on me.”

Jeffrey stared at Evangeline for a moment, stunned by her question.
She finds me of good humor? And handsome?
His heart suddenly beating at twice its normal speed, Jeffrey found it hard to hear himself think.

What was the question again?

How is it a man of your good humor and handsome appearance is unmarried?

“I am a baron,” he answered simply, as if being a baron precluded him from being married. “A baron of a barony that seems to be lacking funds on a regular basis. And given my position in the
ton
, I find I cannot work and remain in good stead with other members of the
ton
,” he continued as if suddenly on a roll. “Had I Michael Cunningham’s head for business and ability with my fists, I might have taken his stance and simply aligned myself with a savvy businessman and earned some money through doing business in coal gas and smelting and taking the occasional bet in a bare knuckle mill. The
ton
be damned! Or,” he continued, apparently unaware he had cursed in the presence of a lady, “Had I known how little my father had in the way of a fortune, I could have taken Lord Norwick’s position and built one with a popular brothel and gaming hell, and then sold it when I inherited so there would be plenty of working capital for the rest of my life,” he explained with a wave of his hand. He stared at Evangeline for a full second before adding, “But I didn’t. I didn’t know how destitute he was. So, instead ... I find myself with a continuous stream of bills and a slightly less continuous trickle of income.”

With the last statement, Jeffrey settled back into the bench, crossed his arms, and took a deep breath, his eyes closing as if he regretted having spoken every word.

Lady Evangeline regarded the baron for a very long time. From the anger in his voice, she sensed the man wasn’t looking for sympathy but rather a solution to his problem. And she had the distinct impression he would embrace it should she have a workable suggestion for him.

“I do believe you need to find a wife with a substantial dowry,” she offered, not able to think of anything else she could say to assuage the baron.

Jeffrey stared at Evangeline for a very long time, amazed that she knew enough not to speak words of sympathy or suggest he set up a brothel and a gaming hell or contact Cunningham about how to go about setting up businesses based on coal gas and smelting.

Or learn how to fight.

Thank the gods!

“A wife?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Yes,” Evangeline replied with a nod.

Stunned by her simple reply, Jeffrey stared at her for several seconds. “Who would marry
me?
” he asked, thinking his circumstances precluded anyone from seeing his worth as a husband.

Evangeline took a breath, wondering why the baron couldn’t be a bit more perceptive. “The daughter of a very rich tradesman,” she offered, thinking that’s what Michael Cunningham had done when he married his wife, Olivia. “Or the young widow of a coal baron,” she continued, noting his brows furrowing in contemplation. “Or a daughter of an earl who hasn’t yet found a suitable match,” she finished, hoping he had enough sense to realize she meant her.

Jeffrey shook his head as if he’d been hit by one of Michael Cunningham’s left hooks. “A young widow?” he repeated.

It was Evangeline’s turn to close her eyes. “I don’t know of one in particular,” she said with a shake of her head. “The Marquess of Devonville married one,” she said, thinking of Cherice Dubois, the former Lady Winslow. The widow’s mourning period had been over for exactly one day when William Slater, Marquess of Devonville, made it clear to her and everyone else in the
ton
that she was to be his next marchioness.

Just as Jeffrey was about to consider unmarried daughters of the aristocracy, he realized the idiocy of their discussion. Lady Evangeline was just such a woman. Unmarried. The daughter of an earl. And probably very able when it came to carnal matters, he considered suddenly, remembering what her hands had been doing whilst she napped in the parlor the night before. Perhaps the boldness in how she spoke just then might be matched with her behavior in the marriage bed.

Like Geraldine
, he thought suddenly.

Bold, brash Geraldine. Evangeline was just like her in so many ways. No wonder she had been such an appropriate inspiration when he wrote the character. She was perfect for him. He had practically ruined her in the parlor the night before. It only made sense he marry the chit.

The thought of Evangeline’s brother forced him to sober up a bit, though.

The Earl of Everly.

Damn the man!
He wasn’t even
in
England at the moment. Who knew when the earl would return so that Jeffrey could ask for permission to court Evangeline?

“When will your brother return to these shores?” he asked suddenly.

Evangeline lifted one shoulder, surprised by the query. “I expect him in the next few days,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

The next few days?

Jeffrey bit his lip. Well, it wasn’t as if he needed time to think about it. Perhaps Lady Evangeline would need some time, he considered. But why would she suggest ‘the unmarried daughter of an earl’ if she wasn’t referring to herself?

“I need to speak with him when he returns is all,” Jeffrey replied with a shrug.

Evangeline realized the baron would not be continuing any talk of a potential wife just then, which was just as well given her brother’s continued absence. She indicated the book. “Shall we find out how Ballantine and Lady Geraldine fare on their ride in the park?” she asked, realizing she would need to read from wherever she was when she dozed off the night before.

Noting the book still lying open on his thigh, Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, let’s,” he replied, even though he would rather have spent their time together in conversation. But there was the book, and he was rather curious as to how much his publisher might have changed in this chapter. 

He glanced at Evangeline, realizing she was regarding him with a rather odd expression. He stared at her for a very long time, knowing he should say something – anything – but to do so right now wouldn’t be proper. He needed to speak with her brother before he put voice to his plan.

The two slowly lowered their eyes to the book and began to read – both from the very beginning of the same chapter they had supposedly read the night before.