The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (18 page)

Chapter 32

Chapter Nine: Convent or Altar

Richard Porterhouse, Earl of Afterly, was nursing a brandy in the card room at Black’s when Matthew found him. There was talk the man was after funding for his next archaeological expedition and rumors the Royal Society might back him.

“What’s this I hear about you wanting to leave again so soon?” Matthew asked as he joined the earl.

Richard clapped his friend on the back. “Good to see you again,” he said with a huge grin. “And, yes, the rumors are true. It looks as if I’ll be able to return to Italy,” he acknowledged.

“Back to Rome?” Matthew asked, surprised at the earl’s mention of his destination. “Weren’t you just there?” He recalled Geraldine mentioning it the morning they met at the Palace of Prose.

Richard didn’t try to hide his surprise at Matthew’s question. “I was. But I spent most of my time in Greece. Near Athens. What do you know of Rome?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Suddenly nervous, Matthew shrugged. “I believe your sister mentioned it when we ran into each other at a bookshop a few days ago,” he replied, deciding the truth was easy enough.

The earl nodded. “I passed through there on the way back here. The coliseum was a mess. Trajan’s Column is disintegrating. But most of the churches seem to be intact,” he said as if Matthew should have known what he was talking about. “I was there on a bit of a reconnaissance mission, if you will. There’s some interesting work being done in one of the cathedrals there. Seems a fresco has gone missing,” he said, his voice lowering just then, as if the missing fresco were a secret not meant to be shared.

Matthew merely nodded his understanding, even though his first thought had him wondering how a fresco, presumedly a painting in plaster on a wall, could disappear. Unless the entire wall had disappeared. Which meant an entire building was probably gone as well. “I hope you’re able to find it,” Matthew said. He wondered how to bring up the topic of Geraldine, but Richard did that for him.

“Tell me, Ballantine. What ... what have you heard regarding Jerry?” the earl asked,
sotto voce
.

Matthew had to resist the temptation to inhale sharply. “Heard?” he repeated. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

The Earl of Afterly rolled his eyes and moved closer to the baron. “
The gossip?
” he clarified. “Is it true she was parading about
au naturel
at Vauxhall Gardens?” he whispered with a hint of disgust.

Shaking his head, Matthew gave a sigh. “I believe you’re referring to an incident involving Lord Atherton and his mistress,” he explained. “Lady Geraldine was not in the Gardens that evening,” he added.

The look of relief on Richard’s face passed quickly. “And I suppose you heard about the bare nipple. Apparently during a dance?”

Matthew swallowed. Hard. The thought of one of Lady Geraldine’s nipples being on display had another part of his body reacting in a way his tight leathern breeches could not abide. “I heard, although, from what Lord Abdington said, it was brief and entirely the fault of an ill-fitting gown,” he responded carefully. “And the duke, of course, since he was the one to step on the hem of her gown.” He paused a moment, wondering if a bit of advice might be welcomed by the earl. “I do believe your sister would be better served by Madame Susanna in Oxford Street,” he offered, remembering how Lady Atherton always gave credit to her modiste whenever anyone commented on her fashionable gowns.

Richard Porterhouse responded with a grunt. “Is that where your mistress goes for her gowns?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

Matthew shook his head. “If you recall, my mistress is now
your
mistress. I ... I’m not currently employing one,” he managed to get out. And then realized too late that his lack of a mistress would have the earl wondering. “I am afraid she would just be neglected,” he added quickly.

The earl eyed him with a bit of suspicion. “Because?”

Realizing he had to give the man an explanation, Matthew shrugged and said, “The business of the barony has been taking so much of my time, I have none left for such endeavors as keeping a mistress happy.”

Richard shook his head. “That’s what estate managers are for,” he chided before glancing about with his almost empty brandy balloon raised in the air.

Acknowledging the comment with another shrug, Matthew said, “As long as they can be trusted.” He arched an eyebrow to emphasize his point, hoping the earl would drop the subject.

The Earl of Afterly gave him a solemn nod. “I understand,” he replied in a quiet voice, leaning in just a bit.

Relieved that he wouldn’t have to admit his need for funds of his own, Matthew remembered the topic of Geraldine – the topic having to do with her lack of a betrothal – hadn’t yet been addressed.

“Speaking of your sister,” Matthew began before glancing around quickly. “Have you lined up a suitable match for her?”

Richard drained the brandy he’d been holding. “Given the amount of gossip about her, I’m thinking it was time I sent her to a convent,” he replied, his tone suggesting he was rather proud of his solution.

Matthew blinked. And blinked again. “Are you ... are you
serious?
” he asked, stunned by the earl’s statement. And perhaps a bit by the man’s attitude. How could he think a convent was an acceptable solution for Lady Geraldine?

“Of course. The chit is practically ruined,” Richard replied as one shoulder lifted in a devil-may-care shrug.

“But, she is not,” Matthew countered with a shake of his head.

The earl leaned back, surprised at the baron’s vehemence. “Who would marry her, given her reputation and all?” Richard asked, the question meant as a challenge.

Matthew stared at the earl for several seconds before giving the man a nod. “I would,” he replied firmly.

The earl took a step backward as if he’d been punched in the gut. “
You?
” he replied, obviously surprised.

“Yes, me,” Matthew said, not hearing his simple response due to the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.
Good God, what am I doing?
But the thought of Geraldine Porterhouse living her life in a convent was ... was simply not a thought he could begin to imagine.

The chit would look terrible in a habit.

And those legs, constantly bent and kneeling – he couldn’t abide the thought that they wouldn’t be bent and clasped about his thighs whilst they made love.

The earl frowned. “Have you been bedding my sister?” he asked suddenly, his voice raised so that anyone within fifty feet – which was pretty much the entire card room at Black’s – could hear him.

“Yes,” Matthew said as he scratched his chin. “I mean,
no,
” he managed to get out with a shake of his head. “I haven’t. Truly. But ... But I would like to. Within the confines of marriage, of course.”

Richard stared at the baron for a very long time, his brows furrowing into one long caterpillar across his forehead. “Do you ... feel
affection
for her?” he wondered, his voice back to its quieter level but containing a hint of disbelief.

Shrugging, Matthew considered the question.
Do I feel affection for Jerry?
He knew he felt lust for her. He had since the moment he laid eyes on her at the Palace of Prose. The way she had been standing in the beams of light, angelic and slightly devilish all at the same time – he couldn’t get that vision out of his head. “I ... I can’t answer that just yet,” he finally replied. “As you know, I’ve known her since she was ...” He held out his hand near his hip. “She was the first girl I ever kissed,” he added.

“She slapped you so hard, you had a bruise for a week,” the earl countered with another raised eyebrow.

Matthew shrugged again, not quite sure how to respond to that comment since there had been more than just that one time. That one time had been the last, though. “But then she kissed my cheek. Said it would help it heal,” he whispered, his cheeks reddening more than the day he had been slapped by the earl’s sister. “Haven’t tried again since,” he murmured, not adding that he had been tempted more times than he could count.

“Christ, Ballantine. You’re in love,” Richard accused with a hint of disgust in his voice. “You’re doomed.” The earl regarded Matthew for a moment more, his gaze softening. “Remember when we used to play at the river’s edge?”

Matthew’s attention snapped back to Richard’s eyes. “When we were boys?” he asked, wondering what had his friend suddenly asking about the past.

Richard nodded. “You had no fear of falling into the water. No fear of the eels or of creatures that might bite or sting,” he said in a quiet voice, as if he were still in the past.

One of Matthew’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “That’s because I was probably too young and too stupid to be afraid,” he replied with a snort. How old had they been back then? Ten? Twelve? “What is this about?” he wondered, realizing the earl’s attention was entirely too serious.

Shaking his head, Richard continued to stare at Matthew. “There are rumors that would suggest she is already ruined,” the earl said, his voice very quiet, as if he thought a footman might overhear their conversation.

“Do you believe them?” Matthew asked, his voice just as quiet.

“Do you?”

Matthew locked eyes with the earl and didn’t respond right away.
What did he believe about Geraldine? Did it matter what he believed?
Jesus! Her brother obviously wanted to get the gel settled if for no other reason than to put some of the rumors to rest. Scandal could be managed, after all. Plenty of women in the
ton
had been the source of gossip in the past, and many were married to peers who saw to it the gossip was squelched, even if it meant a trip to Wimbledon Commons. He rather doubted he was up for a duel against anyone who put voice to rumors about Geraldine, but he could certainly shoot straight if need be.

Would he take a bullet for her, though?

“You just jumped in and rescued her,” Richard said suddenly, his eyes once again glazed over. “Did you even think about the possibility you might drown in the process of saving her that day?”

Matthew stared at Richard for several seconds, at first wondering what he was talking about and then suddenly remembering the incident on the River Clun. Geraldine was humming, picking flowers that hung over the edge of the river as she tagged along behind her brother and Matthew as they made their way along the riverbank, barefoot, their trousers rolled up to their knees. Neither knew how Jerry ended up in the water – one minute she was hopping along the rocks and the next she was suddenly in the water, one arm waving above the surface as the rest of her disappeared below. Matthew no longer had a memory of what he had done next, for he could only remember pulling her to the steep bank, his arms under hers as he dragged her along. There was a fleeting thought of how angry her mother would be when she saw Jerry’s muddy dress. A thought of where Richard might be, although he appeared a moment later, breathless, as if he had run a great distance. And the curse he had uttered when he caught sight of his sister, at first thinking she was dead. But Matthew hauled her another foot up the riverbank when she started coughing. River water oozed out her mouth and nose as she sputtered, her eyes squeezed shut as she started to cry. Her body shook, whether from shock or cold, he didn’t know. Pounding on her back with an open hand, Matthew began yelling as loud he could, cursing her for having scared him so. And once she had her feet under her, Jerry had scampered away, tears leaving streaks through the dirt and mud that covered her cheeks. He didn’t see her again until the following summer. And none of them went near the river.

Matthew lifted his gaze to Richard, his brows furrowed in concentration. “I didn’t think about it, no,” he finally answered. “But I suppose I would give up my life for her, if I had to,” he added, looking away to hide his embarrassment.

“Whatever you decide with regard to my sister, you have my blessing,” Richard offered then, one hand clasping Matthew’s arm. “But whatever happens, don’t drown.”

Matthew nodded, stunned at the earl’s comment. He was drowning now, he knew, even though it was in debt and not some deep, slow moving river. Geraldine could save him, he was sure of it. She owed him, after all. She owed him her life.

Acknowledging the earl’s words with a nod, Matthew let out the breath he had been holding. “So, I take it I have permission to court her?” he wondered, struggling to keep his voice from wavering.
Christ!
He hadn’t intended to ask permission just yet. Tonight was supposed to be a fishing expedition. A query just to discover if the earl knew of any suitors for Geraldine. Instead, he was suddenly the one and only.

“Marry her within the month, and I’ll double her dowry,” Richard whispered quickly, his attention on the butler who was delivering his next brandy.

His eyes widening in alarm – and pound signs – Matthew nodded. “Very well,” he said as he held out his right hand.

The earl shook it and clapped him hard on the back with his left hand. “You still have to convince my sister, though,” he warned, one eyebrow arching up in warning. “In fact, I’ll let you be the one to tell her.”

Matthew stilled himself. How much convincing would it take? It was him or a convent. Geraldine would certainly choose him. He hoped.

The baron nodded to the earl. “I understand.”

Chapter 33

Chapter Ten: Before the Ball

Matthew regarded his image in his shaving mirror, wondering what Lady Geraldine would think of his shorter sideburns and even shorter hair, now cut in the Titus style. His valet had finished the haircut only moments ago, and he gave a start when he first saw his reflection. He decided the change made him appear a bit younger – not a bad thing – and a bit less ... stodgy.

Perhaps his time in Parliament had been too sobering these past few weeks. Attending a ball, if for no other reason than to have a bit of fun, would be good for him.

It would be even better if Lady Geraldine were there as well. He had no idea if the chit would attend. Although he had spoken with the newly returned earl only the night before, the subject of the ball hadn’t come up in conversation. But Geraldine had, although the earl seemed more concerned about where he would secure funding for his next archeological expedition, a trip he intended to make in only a few months.

Matthew stared into the shaving mirror, still a bit stunned by the news of the night before.
Good grief!
He was about to go to Lord Tetherpound’s ball where he could only hope he would find Geraldine so he could make his intentions known.

Marry her within the month and I’ll double the dowry.

It seemed he would be a married man very soon, but only if Geraldine would accept his offer. First, he had to discover if she was willing to be courted.
And if not?
There was always ruination, he supposed.

Geraldine regarded her image in the cheval mirror, wondering if Lord Ballantine, or anyone, for that matter, would appreciate the amount of time it had taken her maid to create the elaborate coiffure she sported. Would he notice the diamond drops she wore dangling from each ear and the one that rested in the hollow of her throat? Would he notice the delicate beads embroidered into the bodice of her gown, or the gold threads that decorated the silk skirt? She had considered watering the silk so it might cling to her long legs, but decided against it on the grounds that others besides Matthew Winters would notice. The baron wasn’t always so perceptive. Or, if he was, he hid it well, she thought, wondering how much of his behavior was an act and how much was because he truly was unaware of what went on around him.

“You look lovely,” Lord Afterly said from where he leaned against the bedchamber’s door frame. “And who might be your target this night?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Geraldine gave her brother a quelling glance and then noted that his evening clothes were especially fine for a run-of-the-mill
ton
ball. “I might ask you the same,” she said with her own raised eyebrow. “Hunting for a wife? Or your next mistress?” she added before reaching for her shawl. The length of silk was the same fabric as her skirt and felt sensuous against her bare shoulders as she quickly wrapped it around her arms.

“I could say touché, sister,” the Earl of Afterly replied as he pushed himself away from the door frame and stood on his own two feet. “But it’s neither. I am after a bit of funding for my next adventure is all. Thought I’d better put my best foot forward for the duke,” he said as he crossed his arms.

Threading the handle of her reticule over her wrist, Geraldine joined him at the door and placed a hand on his arm. “Then we should be going.”

Richard frowned but led her down the hall, wondering at her reticence. “Look, I know I was gone longer than expected, and I do apologize, but you really must tell me what is bothering you,” he suddenly insisted, stopping at the top of the stairs.

Geraldine considered how to respond. Richard had been gone over six months on his latest expedition, the time spent somewhere in Greece digging up bits of ancient relics. Having received no word from him after his fourth month away, Geraldine feared for her brother’s life, sure he had perished at the hands of an unscrupulous competitor or in the jaws of a wild animal. So when a short missive arrived a few days before his return, she felt a mix of relief and anger.

How could he have so little regard for her when he was supposed to be her protector? And, had he died, what would become of her? Of his earldom? Her godfather might have seen to a betrothal, but given his circle of associates, she might have ended up married to a man near death.

Of course, then she would end up a young widow – not necessarily a bad thing, she supposed.

Geraldine sighed before straightening to her full height. “Tell me truly, brother,” she begged. “Is there money for my dowry?”

Not once since his return from Greece had he asked if she’d had a gentleman caller. Not once had he asked after her prospects. Perhaps he hadn’t been anxious for her to wed because he had no funds for her dowry. Or perhaps he thought she could have no prospects given the rumors that featured her in a number of compromising situations. And positions.

Although she could imagine spending another year or two in spinsterhood, the thought of doing so for the rest of her life had her a bit panicked.

Richard turned to face her, stunned by her question. “Of course, there is,” he replied, not bothering to hide his surprise at her query. “Father saw to it years ago.” He moved to take the first step down and then paused. “And I have not touched a pence of it, I promise.”

Geraldine let out the breath she had been holding. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to accuse ...”

“I admit, I was tempted to raid it,” Richard interrupted suddenly. “Last year, when Lord Warings pulled his share of the funding for my trip to India, I very nearly had to. But our estate manager assured me there were funds from the rents in Herfordshire to cover the expedition,” he explained quickly.

Frowning, Geraldine shook her head. “But ... don’t those rents have to pay for the upkeep on ..,” she waved her hand around. “
This?
” she wondered. “And the house and tenant cottages in Herfordshire?” Her voice had taken on a hint of concern with the last question – the estate in Herfordshire was where she spent more than half of her time.

Just me
. And the servants, of course.

Richard clenched his jaw in an effort to hold back an angry retort. “Really, Jerry,” he chided her. “You make it sound as if the Afterly earldom is near receivership.”

Geraldine regarded her brother with wide eyes. “It is not?” she asked in a quiet voice, a sense of relief obviously showing on her features.

“Christ,
no!
” Richard responded with a shake of his head. “Where ever would you get that idea?”

Lowering her head, Geraldine wondered how to respond. She was sure the gossip she had overheard at Lady Howington’s musicale was about her brother. About his losses at the gambling tables at Black’s. About the massive amounts he spent on his archeological expeditions. And about how no income, other than an occasional fee from a speaking engagement, could come from such endeavors.
How does the man expect to afford a wife?
she remembered the elderly matron asking her friend.

“Gossip, I’m afraid to say,” Geraldine finally answered in a whisper, hoping there were no servants nearby to overhear what she was saying.

Richard shook his head and raised his eyes to the ornate ceiling, silently noting that at least this ceiling was in good repair. “It seems I shall have to start some of my
own
gossip,” he said
sotto voce.
He nodded towards the stairs. “We need to leave, or we’ll be past fashionably late.”

Geraldine nodded, relieved at hearing her brother’s assurances. Within moments, they were in the town coach and on their way to the Tetherpound’s ball.

“Have you been receiving gentlemen callers?”

Geraldine straightened in the squabs, surprised her brother would bring up the topic when he had shown no interest earlier. “Of course not!” she responded with annoyance.

“Jerry. I didn’t mean it like that. Has anyone ... has anyone been
courting
you?” he clarified, wondering if anyone besides Ballantine might be interested in her. “When I left, I thought perhaps Norwood was going to pay a call.” He thought about mentioning the baron, but decided to let Ballantine fend for himself.

Her attention suddenly on the window to her left, Geraldine shrugged. “He did. However, I found his impertinent behavior unacceptable and told him to leave.”

Her brother leaned forward in his seat, closing the space between them. “What the hell?” he responded, his imagination conjuring scenarios that might require him to call out the viscount. “What did he try to do?”

Geraldine sighed and turned her attention back to her brother. “Nothing that would require a trip to Wimbledon Commons,” she said with a shake of her head.
Thank the gods
. She couldn’t imagine her brother would survive a duel with pistols at dawn. Or any other time of the day.

Richard frowned, not sure if he could believe his sister. “Just who are
you
trying to impress this evening?” he wondered suddenly. “You look as if you were vying for the role of the Duchess of Sumptershire.”

Geraldine gasped. The Duke of Sumptershire was at least fifty years old and probably a molly, given the gossip she had heard at Lady Farthington’s last soirée. “I will let a younger girl have at him,” she responded curtly as she turned her attention to the gas-lit street beyond the window.

“And the coronet and other jewels associated with that dukedom?” he chided with a huff. “I cannot imagine you turning down that many sapphires.”

Pursing her lips, Geraldine held back a tart response regarding his lack of imagination in favor of a simple, “Just his.”

Why did her brother think only of the jewels she might acquire when becoming a wife?

Richard settled back into the squabs. “If not a duke, then ... what?” he persisted. “You’re not getting any younger. It’s time we got you settled.”

Bristling at his comment about her age, Geraldine realized she would need to give him an answer or he would simply persist in his questioning. “Merely a baron,” she replied, a look of disappointment coloring her face.

Afterly frowned, surprised at her response. “Ballantine?” he guessed, not knowing of any other baron who was in the market for a wife. Or another baron who had practically claimed he loved her only the night before.

He had known the man since they were children, even attended Oxford with him, although their disciplines didn’t allow for them to share the same class schedules.

“The very same,” she replied, wondering how well her brother knew the man nowadays. “Seems he is ... rather pleasant. Not at all what I expected,” she admitted. “Although, I have no idea if he can afford me.” She dared not add that the man had more than intrigued her, that Matthew Winters had an accepting quality about him that had her believing she would be allowed a good deal of freedom should she become the Baroness Ballantine. Whether or not she would exercise that freedom depended on the baron’s feelings toward her – and his ability between the sheets.

And how often he visited his mistress.

If he has one
, she considered, suddenly wondering if the man had the means to afford one. What if the baron was merely interested in her for her dowry?

The earl regarded her with a quirked brow, intrigued by her comments. “What were you expecting?” he wondered, just as the town coach came to a halt in front of the Tetherpound’s Palladian mansion in Park Lane. Richard had the door open and was offering his arm to Geraldine just as the footman joined them.

Geraldine ignored the question. “Does Ballantine know about my dowry?” she asked instead.

Richard turned them toward the flagstone path leading to the front door. “I can’t say it’s ever been a discussion at our card games,” he commented coyly, not mentioning their conversation the night before. They hadn’t been playing cards at the time. “Why do you ask?”

Pulling her silk wrap more tightly around her shoulders, Geraldine paused before answering. “I should like to think a man might wish to marry me for something other than my dowry.”

The earl gave a grunt in response. “And if it’s half and half?” he responded with a hint of humor.

His sister’s sudden inhalation of breath had Richard stopping in his tracks. “Is that not enough, sister?” he asked, his manner suddenly brusque.

Hurt by his query, Geraldine wondered what to say. If a man merely wanted her for her dowry, then of course she would turn down his offer. If a man wanted her despite her boldness and sometimes brash behavior, then of course she would accept his offer.

But if his reasons were a bit of both?

Could she abide a man that would put up with her because he received twenty-five thousand pounds in compensation for taking her?

“I do not think so,” she finally replied.

Heaving a sigh of disappointment, Richard resumed leading them down the flags to the front door. “If you are not settled by the time I leave for Italy, you will have to return to Herfordshire when the Season ends,” he said with a hint of sadness – and perhaps a hint of warning. He decided not to mention the convent just then.

Geraldine’s eyes widened. Another summer and winter spent in Herfordshire in a barely staffed house and a sorry excuse for a library? She had read every book in the house! “I cannot,” she replied with shake of her head. “I’ll find a companion. I’ll
become
someone’s companion,” she stated firmly. “But I will not go back to Afterly Park for another winter by myself.”

Richard allowed another couple to move ahead of them at the front door. “We can discuss this later. If it’s still an issue,” he added, patting the hand that rested on his arm. “In the meantime, do try to enjoy the ball. Perhaps I’ll catch you kissing Ballantine in the gardens, and he’ll have to marry you,” he gently teased.

Horrified, Geraldine stared at her brother. “You wouldn’t dare!” she countered, wondering how her brother had guessed that she planned to meet the baron in the gardens at midnight.

Just because the baron didn’t know of her plan ...

“I am having a bit of fun at your expense,” Richard replied with an uncharacteristic smile. He handed his hat to one of the footmen in the vestibule whilst Geraldine gave her wrap to another.

Given the number of people still divesting themselves of their coats in the grand entry, Richard realized the Tetherpound’s ball was going to be a crush. “Besides, it sounds as if you’ve already set your cap on him,” he reasoned as he handed her a dance card.