How to Impress a Gentleman (23 page)

“Poppy cock!” scolded Sir Alexander, vehemently. “Nothing good will come of your reaction. I have taken on the mantle of Bernard. I wish to be called Bernard and continue to go along as we have, perhaps with a small, personal acknowledgement of my status as a member of this family.”

“Well,” laughed Lindsay, “Charles has employed his cousin as his valet and future estate manager, why not employ another cousin as his butler!”

Charles’ eyes narrowed on Lindsay in warning. “John is from a very aristocratic blood line, fallen on hard times. I mean him no disrespect.”

Lindsay grasped Charles’ elbow and leaned against it. “I did not mean to imply so, dear husband, I only meant to state that accepting ‘Bernard’ as a butler is not any more of a leap than accepting John as a personal assistant.”

Charles turned his gaze on his father’s cousin. “You will be butler in name only, ‘Bernard’,” Charles offered dryly. This sits at odds with my conscience, but will endeavor to swallow my pride, knowing that the livelihood of dozens of people rely on us working together to bring this estate into good working order.”

Bernard nodded, smiling. “I was not certain you would see the situation my way, and so dissembled. For that, I offer my apologies. Take comfort in the fact that my days left on this earth are numbered. Your conscious need only feel pricked for a relatively short time.”

Charles snorted and shrugged. “I have found life to be full of grey, where once black and white stood stark in contrast about me.”

“Tis aging and wisdom, that bring out the subtle hues in life’s book of ethics and honor. Sometimes doing the honorable thing is not, in the end ethical. Insight, reflection, and conscious must guide your decisions.”

“I dislike accepting a title that is not mine. It seems we could work to restore this estate without my claiming the title.”

“And let it be known that I lied and forged my own will? I have committed a crime in order to save the servants and tenants undeserved suffering. How will they benefit from my going to prison? If I am stripped of my small title, then that will be the end of the lineage for you and your posterity. Are you willing to hand over your son’s legacy?”

Charles paused, thinking of the consequences of his ‘honorable’ behavior, and was forced to agree. “I concede the point to you, Sir Alexander, but I refuse to allow either you or Lindsay to call me ‘Sir Charles’. There will be honor among us thieves, at least.”

While burdened by the enormity of the secret, Charles was relieved to discover that his father had indeed, been his in every sense of the word. He might not be a baronet, but he was Daniel’s son, and that mattered much, much more.

“Our deeds disguise us. People need endless time to try on their deeds, until each knows the proper deeds for him to do. But every day, every hour, rushes by. There is no time.”

~ John Locke, 18th Century philosopher

A midnight pounding on the door aroused Lindsay and Charles from their fitful slumber. With Betsy and David in the cottage, Bernard in his sick bed, and John and Bobby in their cups, it was left to Lindsay and Charles to cope with the untimely arrival of their guests. Rolling from their bed they staggered into robes and slippers before bustling down the stairs.

“Leah! Grandmother!” Lindsay exalted, hugging each woman in turn and then wrapping her arm around her sister’s waist affectionately. “How is it that you travel in the dead of night? Is that not awful and dangerous?”

Eleanor Beaumont inclined her head, regally. “We threw a wheel and the driver had to repair it, after we were an hour past the last inn. We decided to continue on, rather than back track. The trek was slow-going but we have arrived whole and hale. We will be needing accommodations for ourselves, our abigails, and our driver. We would all appreciate a slight repast, seeing as how we have not eaten since the noon day meal.”

“Of course,” smiled Lindsay. “Give me a moment to rouse my staff and we will see to your needs, post haste.”

Eleanor looked about and sniffed, unimpressed with Lindsay’s ability to establish a competent staff. She would make it a point to offer further guidance on the matter. Quickly, Lindsay roused Dorothy and Molly to see to her guests’ accommodations. Knocking on the attic door emphatically, she rushed to give out orders.

“My family has arrived. Dorothy, you and Molly must haul wash water, while I prepare a repast. As both guest rooms are occupied, Eleanor will need to stay in Bernard’s apartment with her abigail. Leah can share the nursery with her lady’s maid. Charles will see the driver settled into David’s stable apartment.”

Dorothy and Molly moved to pull their gowns over their shifts and Lindsay returned down stairs to face her grandmother. Thankfully, Charles had settled the two ladies in the dining chamber, before heading to the stables. Lindsay smiled and nodded at them, as she slipped past and out into the sunken kitchen.

“God bless you, Mrs. Brown,” Lindsay sighed, as she saw the newly arrived cook had already risen and industriously worked to prepare a tray laden with bread, butter, salted beef, and sugared pears. Lindsay followed her to the house, wine flagon in hand.

Having settled at the table, Lindsay noted her grandmother’s marked lack of stoicism. Eleanor fairly hummed with excitement. Charles lifted his wine glass in an informal toast, “To these two dedicated ladies, who made their way to our humble abode, despite damage and danger.” Eleanor grinned. “The true reason for our haste lies in my own selfish wish to be the first to bring you both tidings of great import.”

Having gained the room’s attention, Eleanor continued. “It seems that the Viscount Dryer has succumbed to a morbid soar throat. Since he is a distant relation of yours, Charles, I took immediate interest and wished to be the first to inform you of the weighty news.” Eleanor again paused for effect and Charles felt obliged to respond.

“I believe that the Viscount was my grandfather’s uncle. He must have been four score, at the least.”

Eleanor nodded, “You have the right of it, dear boy.” Then, shaking her head in mock sincerity, she continued. “Tis a tragedy, really. The poor Lord outlasted his own son, Johan Dryer, dead these ten years past. He died of a broken heart, they say, when his own son, Andrew Dryer, was sent abroad by the Viscount.

Attending to business in the colonies, he met a married without his grandfather’s consent. It seems that Lord Dryer cut all support to his grandson, after Andrew off and married a colonist. One bred and raised there, no less.”

Eleanor shivered in solidarity with the viscount and continued her tale, “Andrew Dryer and his wife were forced to return to England, in hopes of appealing to his father, Jonah for support. Tragically, they never made it, succumbing to fever in route.

“But that is in the past, now, and a new generation arises!” Eleanor smiled and winked at Leah, who rolled her eyes.

“Grandmother, will you please simply say what it is you mean, and cease with this dramatic monologue.”

“Very well,” Eleanor humphed. “It seems that Andrew Dryer, the banished gentleman, had a son. Lord Dryer wanted nothing to do with the colonial get of his traitorous grandson. When the ship arrived, bearing the child and the dead bodies of Andrew and his wife, the babe was foisted off on some impoverished relatives. Money was provided for his education and upkeep, but the young man was given no indication of his status. I suppose he hoped to keep the boy hidden in preference for another family member to inherit. Yet, as he continued to grow older, many of the Dryer family aged and passed away. Few heirs remained. By the time of his death, Lord Dryer had come to the realization that he would have to acknowledge his great grandson or risk losing the ancestral title.

“The viscount delineated all of this in his last will and testament, a portion of which was posted in the London Gazette. Now, all of London is in a twitter, desperate to locate this young man and ingratiate themselves to the up and coming lord.”

“And you are hoping I will know who this young man might be, seeing as how he is a distant cousin of mine?”

“Ha!” Eleanor waved her plump hand in dismissal, “I would not leave such an intriguing matter to chance, dear boy. No! Instead, I penned a few friends and discovered the identity of the new viscount myself.”

“And?” Lindsay prompted, “beyond exasperation at her grandmother’s antics.”

“And the young man in question is none other than John Donovan, legally named Jonathan Reginald Dryer, Viscount Dryer.”

Charles sat up in his chair, aghast. “
My
cousin is the new viscount?”

“Distant cousin, turns out,” Eleanor chuckled, giddy with excitement at the new found connection.

“We must wake him immediately and celebrate the good news!” Lindsay squealed, rapturously happy for her friend.

“I doubt that to be a wise choice,” Charles hedged. “John, or shall I say Lord John and Bobby stayed up quite late, making merry. He is well and truly soused and will not thank us for the waking just now. Let us plan a noonday feast and surprise him on the morrow.”

All persons agreed to the wisdom of the plan and soon made haste to bed.

~ ~ ~

Lindsay stood in front of the window, too excited to sleep. “Do you think he has inherited a vast estate?” Lindsay queried, one of a litany of questions she had posed to her exhausted husband. “It is very likely, now will you please come to bed? My feet grow cold without you to warm them.”

Lindsay turned to her cherished spouse and smiled. “Just one more moment. I would very much like to see the moon set. I have never before been up and about at this hour.”

Turning back to the window, Lindsay gasped and leaned her forehead against the glass for a closer look. Narrowing her eyes she only shook her head when her husband asked “What do you see, my love?”

It was her sister, Leah, clothed only in her white night rail, running from the stable as if her heels were afire. Lindsay did not wish to share any possible indiscretion with Charles, without checking with Leah first. Was Leah having a dalliance with the coachman? Nay! She would never be that fool hardy. Perhaps she had simply gone to check on Chelsea, her mare. Leah took the fool horse everywhere, despite the animal’s poor disposition, she loved it dearly. As one might cosset a lap dog, Leah was oft found cooing and kissing and feeding her skittish beast.

Thus resolved, Lindsay turned to her husband and bed. Charles wasted no time gathering her close and nuzzling her neck in invitation. “Move your hair for me, I wish to see the back of your neck, and that terrible bruise.”

Lindsay complied with a sigh, then shivered as cold medal slid down her nape and breasts. “What?” she wondered, then peered down to see a finely wrought locket dangling from her neck.

Twisting toward Charles, Lindsay grinned. “My first bride’s gift!” she crowed, then grasped the happy ornament in her hands, prying it open.

“Seeing you there, eagerly soaking up the moonlight, I knew the time was right,” Charles chuckled.

A handsome rendition of her husband’s fine face peered up at her from within the oval locket. “There is another compartment just here,” Charles offered, showing Lindsay how to pry open the front and read the message inscribed within.

“Lindsay Diana Donovan, you are, and always will be, the focus of my world. Tell me you are not sorry we wed.”

“If I were immortal as my namesake herself, I could not be happier than to be tied to you for all eternity. You are, and always have been, my light in a dark, uncertain world. Thank you for the locket,” she smiled through her tears, holding it dearly to her chest. “Thank you for being my friend, and my lover.

“Despite our past, we have learned to love and be loved. It is in being bound to you that I am, finely, free.”

And, so, as the moon sunk down below the horizon, Lindsay sunk down into her marriage bed, offering up herself to the currents of passion that flowed between the two forceful souls, both discovering, repeatedly, the rapture of submitting, one unto the other.

For centuries, mental illness has been a much misunderstood and well contended issue. Married women in the eighteenth century had few rights beyond those granted by their husbands. Divorce was not readily available, therefore limiting the avenues through which a man might rid himself of a troublesome wife.

A man of privilege, such as Sir Richard, could send his wife away, or have her committed. It is important to note that the practices that now seem barbaric to our modern sensibilities (bleeding and purging the patient, for example), were well accepted practices for most maladies of the time. George Washington himself was a victim of over bleeding, an ineffectual treatment for a “morbid soar throat”.

I hope that you have enjoyed
How to Impress a Gentleman
. It is the first book in my “A Lady’s Guide to Love” series, in which our charming but impetuous young heroines somehow find the path to our heroes’ hearts, while taking some very misguided steps along the way. Leah and John star as the heroine and hero in the next novel,
How to Court a Viscount
. Aiden and Charlotte’s antics are sure to entertain, in the third book,
How to Romance a Rogue.
Both will be available on Amazon in 2013. To learn about my other novels, or to send me a message, find me on Facebook, under Allie Borne, and on my website at
www.AllieBorne.com
.