The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (6 page)

Chapter 8

On Scandalous Women and Books

Evangeline watched the baron take his leave of the square before opening her parasol. She regarded her maid for a moment. “Did I shock you, Annabelle?” she asked with a quirked eyebrow, not intending her question to be taken seriously by the maid.

Annabelle regarded her mistress for a moment. “A bit, my lady,” she admitted as she moved to walk alongside Evangeline. “But I’ve been thinking it was high time you did.”

Evangeline spun around, a look of shock on her face. She was about to scold the maid, but then she caught the teasing gleam in Annabelle’s eyes. Having been her maid since Evangeline was old enough to have a lady’s maid, Annabelle was usually quite proper. A few years older than Evangeline, she often confessed she would have liked to spend more time dressing her mistress for soirées and balls and musicales rather than for paying calls on a few young matrons and unmarried ladies of the
ton
or for an occasional shopping trip. She had said just the week before that she thought Evangeline would be a married woman by now.

Perhaps it’s time I shocked everyone.

Or, perhaps just some of my acquaintances
, Evangeline considered.

Or maybe just Lord Sommers.

Evangeline bit her lip as she realized she might have a bit to learn from Geraldine Porterhouse. She quickened her step as she hurried from the square.

Jeffrey found the bookshop’s manager sifting through a pile of books just inside the entrance to The Temple of the Muses. The man seemed surprised to see him back in the shop. “Lord Sommers?” he said with a quick bow. “I thought I saw you leave earlier ...”

“I escorted Lady Evangeline into the square so that she might begin reading her copy of
The Story of a Baron
,” he interrupted with a huff. “Was that truly your only copy of the book?” he asked with such vehemence that Mr. Pritchard felt it necessary to take a step back.

“Well, it was the only copy that made it to the third floor this morning,” Mr. Pritchard answered carefully. The manager waved toward a stack of books to his right. “Until just a few moments ago, I hadn’t had a chance to unpack the rest of the shipment.”

Jeffrey’s eyes followed to where Mr. Pritchard’s finger pointed. At least ten copies of
The Story of a Baron
were neatly stacked one atop another. Holding his breath a moment, at once feeling a great deal of pride before suddenly feeling a great deal of panic, Jeffrey shook his head. He could buy a copy, of course. Then he wouldn’t have to read the book with Lady Evangeline.

A sense of immense disappointment settled over him. He
wanted
to read the book with her. Wanted her honest opinion. Wanted to have an excuse to sit next to her for a time. Every day, until they finished reading the book.

If he bought just the one copy, though, that would leave the remaining copies available for sale. Should Lady Evangeline discover someone else had the book, or if she discovered them on the shelves at the Temple of the Muses during her next visit, she might inform him and then rescind her offer of allowing him to read her copy with her.

“I’ll take all of them,” Jeffrey said as reached into his waist coat pocket for his purse. “And can you pack them up and deliver them to Sommers Place?” he added as he dumped a pile of silver from the purse into his hand and began counting.

“
All
of the them, my lord?” Mr. Pritchard asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. “But .. But I thought you ...”

“All of them, Mr. Pritchard,” Jeffrey repeated. “And hide them. I shouldn’t want anyone else getting a hold of a copy until ... until next week at the earliest,” he added as he considered how long it might take him and Evangeline to read the entire book.

Still a bit surprised by the baron’s request, Mr. Pritchard nodded and took the money from Jeffrey. “Very good, my lord,” he agreed with a bow, thinking perhaps the baron intended to single-handedly make his book a bestseller.

Having nearly emptied his purse to pay for all the books, Jeffrey felt a pang of panic. He had written the book with the intention of enriching his barony’s coffers, and now he had just spent over five pounds buying up every copy the store had in stock!

He could only hope Mr. Pritchard would see fit to order more of the books for delivery next week. Many more.

Chapter 9

Tea for Two, Tea for Three

Having walked the perimeter of Finsbury Square three times, the Earl of Torrington was about to begin a fourth revolution when he was suddenly aware that things had changed on the park bench that held Lady Evangeline and Lord Sommers.

The two had been quiet and motionless for nearly thirty minutes, their heads bent over the book they were apparently reading. And now, suddenly, Lord Sommers was up and on his way toward the Temple of the Muses, no doubt to buy another copy of the book, and Evangeline was up and making her way out of the square and off in the direction of Park Lane – with Lord Sommers’ book!

Despite the two sitting rather close together on the park bench, Grandby found their time together rather sedate. At no point had the baron attempted to take advantage of the earl’s sister, and neither had Evangeline attempted to make a rake of Jeffrey Althorpe.

Grandby couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. Then he chided himself.
Some godfather I am.

He lifted an arm to wave at his driver, glad he’d had the black-lacquered coach remain in the square earlier that morning. Checking the time on his Breguet chronometer, he realized if he left the square right away, he could be home in time to have tea with his wife. Still a newlywed, the Earl of Torrington found the thought of having tea with Adele rather exciting.

And just a bit naughty.

As Evangeline made her way toward the Fitzsimmons’ house, she couldn’t help but wonder if Lord Sommers was anything like the baron described in the book. Matthew Winters seemed like an honorable man. His reaction to Geraldine could be expected, she supposed, given the woman was described as beautiful. And with her standing in a beam of light in the Palace of Prose, of course she would appear angelic.

Evangeline had half a mind to revisit the Temple of the Muses, climb to the top level of the shop, and stand under the skylight just to discover if she, too, could appear angelic. But if she did, whom would she query as to her appearance? She had to grin as she imagined her maid rolling her eyes at the odd request. Perhaps if she stood there long enough, a man of Lord Ballantine’s ilk would discover her, fall in love with her, and ask for her hand in marriage.

The thought brought a sudden catch in her throat, and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. How many times had she hoped to be married by this time in her life? To have her own household? To be a wife? A mother? Probably every day for the past couple of years. If her brother didn’t see to a suitable match when he returned to England later that week, or at least arrange for a sponsor or chaperone to accompany her to this Season’s events, she would miss another opportunity to meet the eligible men of the
ton
– and be met by them. At her age, she simply couldn’t afford another Season lost because she lacked an escort.

Feeling ever more distressed, Evangeline walked faster whilst Annabelle rushed to keep up. “My lady,” the maid managed to get out before her breath was gone. She inhaled sharply, wishing her mistress would slow down just a bit. A woman of her modest height didn’t have a chance when chasing a woman of Lady Evangeline’s height and long legs.

Slowing to allow her maid to catch up, Evangeline finally turned her attention to Annabelle. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me back there,” she whispered hoarsely. She glanced about, surprised at the number of nurses and children who milled about, at the number of young matrons walking with their husbands, at the number of footmen who hurried through the square, no doubt running errands for their households. Fumbling in her reticule, a difficult task given the book she held under her arm, Evangeline finally pulled out her time piece. “I told Sam I would have tea with her and Lady Julia today,” she said before stuffing the gold chronometer back into her reticule. “If we hurry, we can be there at eleven.”

Still a bit breathless, Annabelle merely nodded her understanding. Lady Samantha would expect them, she knew. And while her mistress would be enjoying tea in the Fitzsimmons Manor parlor, Annabelle hoped she would be enjoying a few moments in the servant’s hall having tea with a footman. A very handsome footman.

Seated in one of the floral upholstered chairs in the Fitzsimmons Manor parlor, Lady Samantha Fitzsimmons sighed as she removed several stitches from her latest attempt at embroidery. Usually after a few minutes or so of sewing, she attained a rhythm with the needle and thread that allowed her mind to wander without having to be too concerned about the size and placement of her next stitch. Today was apparently not a usual day.

Her best friend, Lady Julia Harrington, never seemed to have difficulty with the intricate sewing. She was also prolific. Julia managed to finish two or three samplers for every one Samantha completed. But the earl’s daughter wasn’t nearly as skilled at painting as Samantha. In fact, Julia had given up further attempts at that particular art when her last piece, a still life of a bowl of fruit, was misidentified by her father as a cairn in Devonshire.

“I wonder what’s become of Eva,” Samantha commented as she dared a glance at the mantle clock. She had expected Lady Evangeline to appear at ten o’clock on the dot, for the sister of the Earl of Everly was usually quite punctual.

Julia lifted her head from her embroidery hoop, absently pushing an errant golden blonde lock behind her ear. “Today is Tuesday,” she remarked calmly. “New books at the Temple,” she added with a lifted eyebrow.

Samantha relaxed. “Of course. How could I forget?” The brunette returned her attention to her stitching. “What topic do you suppose she’ll choose this time?” she wondered, always surprised by the variety of books Evangeline managed to procure – and read in their entirety.

“Barons, in fact.”

Both eliciting gasps of surprise, Julia and Samantha lifted their heads in unison to find Lady Evangeline on the threshold of the Fitzsimmons Manor parlor. “Barons?” Samantha repeated with a grin, setting aside her embroidery hoop and rising from her chair to greet her friend.

Julia did the same, hurrying over to kiss Evangeline on the cheek. “Oh, do tell,” she urged as she took hold of the book that Samantha held on one arm.

“
The Story of a Baron
?” Samantha read from the front cover. “Why, Eva, I had no idea you were interested in barons,” she teased as she moved to ring the bell for tea.

Giggling, Julia rested the book on one arm and flipped it open with her free hand. She read the first line aloud. “Matthew Winters, Baron Ballantine, entered his favorite bookshop in search of a particular new title.” She turned the first few pages, noting how they were already bent. “You’ve already started reading this,” she accused as she flipped to the back page.

Evangeline nodded. “Indeed. And not by myself,” she replied as she moved to take her usual place on the settee facing the fireplace. Although the navy striped velvet was worn, Evangeline found the settee the most comfortable piece of furniture in the parlor.

“Oh?” Samantha waved to a maid who was wheeling the tea cart into the room. “I’ll serve, thank you,” she said to the maid as she leaned over to prepare the pot and pour the tea.

“Who was your companion then?” Julia wondered, returning to her seat with the book still open to the last page. She read the last line. “Forever?” she added before looking up in surprise. “This is a work of fiction!” she exclaimed as she rifled through the pages. “Written by ... “ She flipped to the title page and furrowed her delicate eyebrows. “... Anonymous.”

Evangeline Tennison rarely read fiction; at least, if she did, she didn’t tell her friends about those books. She instead regaled them with information she gleaned from books on philosophy, natural science, and history.

Evangeline accepted the cup of tea Samantha held out for her. “Lord Sommers,” she said as she added a lump of sugar and a bit of milk to the cup and stirred.

Samantha nearly spilled the tea she had just poured for Julia. “Who?” she asked, her own eyebrows furrowing.

“Jeffrey Althorpe,” Julia answered, looking up from the book. “A baron. And a bachelor, no less,” she teased, closing the book and setting it aside, apparently more interested in discussing possible gossip involving a member of the
ton
than learning any more about the book just then.

Taking a sip of tea, Evangeline wondered how to explain herself. “He was at the Temple of Muses, and he wanted to buy that book,” she said as she pointed toward Julia. “But, seeing as how I was there first and had already decided to purchase it, we agreed to read it together until Mr. Pritchard can get another for Lord Sommers.” Rather proud she was able to distill her morning into a simple statement, Evangeline helped herself to a lemon biscuit, sat back and took another sip of her tea.

But Julia glanced over at Samantha, a look of surprise on her face. “You’re reading a book with a ... with an
unmarried
man?” she whispered in shock, blinking as if she might have something in her eye.

Samantha allowed a giggle. “Oh, Julia. It’s not as if they were reading it in
private
,” she said with a wave of her hand. She turned to look at Evangeline. “You
were
reading it in public, were you not?” she asked then, privately hoping that perhaps Lady Evangeline and Lord Sommers were involved in some sort of clandestine reading engagement that might lead to a more scandalous clandestine activity.

Finally!
Some gossip that might involve Evangeline!

“Of course!” Evangeline responded, nearly spilling her tea. “We were ... we were on a park bench in Finsbury Square,” she explained, her face showing a bit of a pink blush just then.

“This morning?” Julia asked, one finger pointing toward the floor.

“Yes. And ... we’re meeting tomorrow morning in Grosvenor Square to continue,” Evangeline replied, figuring she may as well tell her friends the plan for reading the book the next day.

Barely able to contain her excitement, Samantha clapped her hands together. “So, you’ll be sitting ... right next to him?” she asked with widened eyes. “Thigh to thigh?” she added whilst her eyebrows waggled suggestively.

“Sam!” Evangeline scolded, her blush returning to color her face a bright shade of pink. “We don’t sit ...
that
close,” she argued, realizing just then that they really did sit quite close. Scandalously close, truth be told.

Julia sighed. “But I’ll bet the people who saw you thought you two were ... married,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes closing as she imagined the cozy scene in the park.

Evangeline regarded her friend for a moment, wondering why the thought didn’t offend her. She wasn’t sure how many people would have even noticed her and the baron sitting on the park bench, their heads bent over the book spread open on their laps.

A shiver passed through her as she remembered just how snug were the breeches Lord Sommers wore, his muscular thighs straining the Nankeen fabric to near bursting. Her own thigh nearly touched his, although there were layers and layers of muslin and lawn and cambric between them. Their shoulders had touched a few times – how could they not, given how broad his were? – though neither of them seemed to mind enough to beg pardon or make mention of it.

But would a passerby merely think them a married couple rather than the two unrelated members of the
ton
they were? It would be an easy enough supposition to make. “Perhaps,” she finally replied with a shrug, trying her best to seem nonchalant. “And, anyway, what does it matter? We’re merely reading a book,” she said before taking another sip of her tea.

Samantha sighed, her head cocking to one side. “How romantic,” she breathed in a quiet, teasing voice.

Evangeline frowned and set her cup and saucer on the low table in front of her. “Sam! We were reading,” she said a bit too forcefully.

“Ah, but you were sitting thigh to thigh, right out in public, for anyone to see,” Samantha countered, her voice still soft and her brown eyes lifted up.

Daring a glance at Julia, who was doing her best to keep from giggling, Evangeline finally allowed a smile. “It was rather exciting at first,” she acknowledged. “But nothing to write to my brother about,” she added, her manner becoming more serious.

“And speaking of the wayward Everly, just when will he return to London?” Samantha wondered, her interest piqued. Having been orphaned at a young age and raised by a much older aunt and uncle, Samantha relied on her friends to keep her informed of the latest
on-dit
. Given Evangeline’s parents had perished on the Continent before she was old enough for her come-out, Samantha always felt a bit of kinship with her. And a fondness for her brother. Harry Tennison, Earl of Everly, may have spent most of his time on expeditions that took him to the four corners of the planet, but when he was in London, he was the closest thing Samantha had to a brother.

Evangeline smiled, glad the topic had turned to something other than Lord Sommers. And thighs. “I expect him in a week at most,” she replied, helping herself to another lemon biscuit. “But I don’t expect he’ll stay long. He’s already decided on his next trip. He wants to go to some island off of Spain. Minorca, I think he said.”

Samantha shook her head. “He cannot leave until you are settled,” she stated firmly, as if she would see to ensuring the earl did his duty.

“Oh? What’s this?” Julia asked, lifting her eyes from the book. She had
The Story of a Baron
open and had been reading the first page.

Squirming on the settee, Evangeline shook her head. “I don’t expect him to keep that promise,” she replied, referring to her brother’s vow that he would see to a husband for her before he departed for yet another expedition.

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to find a suitable husband for her. What if he arranged for her to marry someone from his club? Some old fart of a lord who still needed an heir? Or some younger twit who needed her dowry to pay off gambling debts? Or a bald, chinless widower?
Oh, the horrors!
It was bad enough she had only attended one
ton
ball and a few soirées the Season prior. Very few of the eligible bachelors even knew of her existence. Which made her wonder suddenly: How many aristocrats were left unmarried? Desirable ones, anyway?

Well, she knew of one, at least.

Lord Sommers.

The thought had her suddenly reeling for a moment. Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, was unmarried. And probably not yet thirty. Handsome. With those muscular thighs and broad shoulders and long sideburns that gave him an air of authority, he was certainly desirable.