My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) (13 page)

Chapter 16

A Groom Asks for Help
from an Old Friend

Once supper was done and he had bid his fellow servants a good night, Alistair signaled to Mr. Grimes that he wanted a word. “I need to pay a call on a friend this evening. Do you suppose I might be allowed to borrow a horse?” he wondered. “I won’t be gone long,” he added, hoping the head groom would agree.

Mr. Grimes gave Alistair a knowing grin. “If yer off to see your ladybird, you best plan to be gone a bit longer,” he said, jabbing an elbow in Alistair’s rib.

Alistair gave the groom a look of surprise and then grinned as if he’d been caught in a lie. “Does that mean I can borrow a horse?”

The head groom shrugged. “Take Perseus. He’s better in the night,” he said. “But don’t be staying out all night. Lady Mayfield is planning a trip to Horsham in the morning, so we’ll have to hitch up the coach.”

Alistair nodded and hurried off to the stables.
Horsham?
He wondered who her ladyship would be visiting.
Viscountess Cunningham,
perhaps? Alistair could think of no other ladies of the
ton
in Horsham proper, although there were several nearby. The Duchess of Chichester? Or perhaps the new Lady Bostwick was in Sussex?

Perseus seemed glad for the exercise when Alistair led him down the alley to the street. He mounted the beast, happy to have the opportunity to ride a horse more suited to his height and skills than the nag he’d been riding in the park earlier that week.

Although the sky was already darkening, gas lamps lit up one after the other as he made his way down Park Lane toward Grosvenor Square. When he arrived at the townhouse featuring a set of dark green double doors flanked by elegantly trimmed topiary, he dismounted and tied Perseus to a post near the stairs to the front door. “Don’t eat anything,” he murmured, giving the horse a quick pat and a carrot he found hidden in his trouser pocket.

Mounting the steps two at a time, he grimaced when he realized he still wore the clothes he had worn to muck out the stables just before dinner. He was about to turn around and head back to Mayfield House to change clothes when the front door opened suddenly.

“Oh!” came a pair of feminine gasps as he was revealed under the lamplight from the vestibule.

Alistair, nearly as startled as the two lovely women who stood before him with their hands over their mouths, immediately bowed. “I beg your pardon, my ladies,” he apologized, straightening and then reaching for their hands. The habit was so ingrained, he already had his lips halfway to the taller woman’s gloved hand when she pulled it back from his grasp. She also took two steps back, pulling her companion back with her. And then a butler managed to make his way between the two gels to regard him.

“Deliveries can be made through the back garden,” he stated with his nose elevated a bit.

Alistair sighed, realizing he had arrived just as the two women in residence were about to head out for a walk. “Alistair Comber. Jeffers, I’m hear to see Mr. Seward,” he stated with a nod, hoping that by calling the butler by his name, the man might recognize him.

The butler eyed him with suspicion. “Mr. Comber?” he replied uncertainly.

“Yes,” Alistair stated. “I apologize for the lateness of my call.”

The shorter of the two women stepped forward. “Olivia Cunningham,” she said as she held out her hand. “And this is Anna Seward. Our husbands are enjoying their cheroots and port in the library. I can take you there,” she said as she stepped aside, giving the butler a nod.

Alistair regarded the woman who was obviously the mistress of the house. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Cunningham, Mrs. Seward,” he stated in turn. “I fear I was unaware Michael had married. I’ve been off ...” He was about to say something about killing frogs, but caught himself. “On the Continent for a time,” he managed to get out. “And, I apologize for having missed your nuptials,” he said as he turned to Anna.

The tall brunette blushed a bit at their visitor’s words. “You and everyone else,” she said with a smile. “Edward and I were married by special license with only two others in attendance.” She turned to Olivia and shrugged. “About the same as Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham.”

Not sure how to respond to this bit of news, Alistair nodded his understanding, and then found himself wondering how at least one confirmed bachelor and another who constantly pined for his childhood sweetheart had managed to land such beautiful wives.

“Have you known our husbands long?” Olivia wondered as she turned to lead her guest toward the library.

Alistair thought it charitable that Olivia Cunningham would accord him more than a passing comment. He thought a moment before answering. “Since our time at Eton, I suppose,” he allowed.

The two women gave each other knowing glances. “And Oxford, too?” Olivia guessed then, pausing as she reached the library door. She could swear the oddly dressed gentleman was blushing at her guess of which college he attended.

“That obvious, huh?” he answered. He stopped in front of the door.

“We’ll leave you gentlemen to your drinks. Do enjoy your evening, Mr. Comber. It was very good to meet you,” Olivia said again, hooking one of her arms into Anna’s. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” she said as she and Anna headed down the hall to the vestibule.

“And if we meet another handsome gentleman on the doorstep, we shall have to join them all in the library for a drink,” Anna said, knowing her comment would be overheard by their visitor. 

As Jeffers moved to open the library door, Alistair heard Anna Seward’s comment and had to suppress a smile. He moved to the threshold and stood very still as Jeffers announced his presence.

Edward Seward, tall, lean and blond, was already standing – or leaning, rather – on the fireplace mantle while Michael Cunningham sat in a wingback chair. He was on his feet in an instant, though, upon hearing Jeffers’ announcement. “Thank the gods, you’re back!” he said with a huge grin. He hurried to where Alistair stood in the doorway, grabbing the man’s hand to shake it.

“We feared the worst,” Edward managed to say as he gripped Alistair’s shoulder.

Heartened by his friends’ welcome, Alistair nodded. “I am back and with all my limbs and faculties about me.” After a slight pause, he added, “Well, most of them, anyway.”

Michael had moved to the sideboard where several bottles were lined up. “Name your poison.”

Alistair made his way into the library, taking in the comfortable surroundings. “Whiskey, if you have it,” he replied, suddenly glad he had made the trip even if it was to ask for monetary help. He silently cursed his father for having put him in this position. Most fathers would be happy to have their sons back home from the war, commission or no commission.

“Thanks to Edward, we have a steady supply of the stuff,” Michael said as he poured a generous amount in a glass and gave it to Alistair. They all held up their glasses.

“How long have you been back?” Edward wondered, pointing Alistair to the floral settee he normally used while enjoying after dinner drinks.

“A few months, actually,” Alistair replied. “I was at home for a time, but ...” He paused, wondering how much to tell the two men he had known since their time at Eton College.

“Tell us everything,” Michael encouraged him as he silently wondered about Alistair’s mode of dress.

Taking a deep breath, Alistair let it out and then told his friends a bit of what had happened in Belgium as well as the events since his return from the Continent. He almost didn’t include the information about Lady Julia wanting to make a gentleman of him, but realized he had to if he was going to ask for a loan. “I’ve been in dance lessons with a dance master for the past week. I thought it would be easy since I was sure I had learned all of them as a youth, but apparently I’m making a cake of it,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Dance lessons?” Edward repeated. “Christ, I wouldn’t last an hour with some Frenchie telling me how to hold my partner’s hands and how to step and dip and ... ” He pantomimed an exaggerated version of the quadrille.

“Which explains why
he
cannot dance,” Michael said,
sotto voce.

“I can, too,” Edward countered, returning to his drink at the mantle. “I just prefer the waltz.”

“Don’t we all?” Michael replied, hoisting his glass into the air.

Alistair grinned at his friends’ antics, realizing he might be taking the dance lesson episodes too seriously. “Well, I haven’t told you the worst of it,” he said before taking a sip of the whiskey and allowing it to burn the back of his tongue before swallowing it. “I am having my come-out at Lady Mayfield’s ball,” he said with a quirked brow. “And I find I have nothing to wear.” He turned to Edward. “Viscount Cheltenham’s valet is arranging for Holdwalter to pay a call, but I don’t have the kind of blunt necessary to pay for evening clothes,” he said with a shake of his head. “And, of course, the valet figured that even before he said he would arrange for the tailor to come in person.”

Michael was out of his chair and at the sideboard in a moment, reaching into a jar and pulling out several pound notes. “This whole charade sounds brilliant,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Here. This is our curse money. It should be more than enough,” he offered, handing Alistair the piles of notes.

“Indeed,” Edward agreed. “And you’re sure the chit doesn’t know your father is the Earl of Aimsley?”

Alistair stuffed the notes into a pocket as he savored his whiskey, wishing he had a bottle in the stables. “Oh, I’m quite sure. She’s got me scheduled for elocution lessons next,” he said with a self-deprecating grin.

Edward hooted, his laughter probably heard by the neighbors. “With studied improprieties of speech, he soars beyond the hackney critic’s reach ...”

“And lands on his arse,” Michael completed for him, giving his friend a salute with his near-empty brandy balloon. All three laughed before Alistair sobered.

“You cannot let on that you know anything,” Alistair warned with a shake of his head. “If you plan to be there ...”

“Oh, we’ll be there,” Edward stated firmly, Michael nodding in agreement. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

“But,
when
do you plan to tell her?” Michael wondered, a cocked eyebrow suggesting Lady Julia should be told at some point.

Alistair shook his head. “I haven’t given that much thought,” he said, realizing he was at a loss. He’d been annoyed with the chit during their ride in Hyde Park, exasperated with her during their dance lessons, and then rather protective of her once she’d taken out the dance master with what he imagined was a hard slap across the face. “I don’t want to embarrass her,” he said with a shake of his head.

Edward frowned, glancing at Michael before returning his attention to the groom. “But, surely
someone
will recognize you at the ball,” Edward warned him. “We can keep your secret, but can everyone else?”

Michael was suddenly reminded of the first time he had taken Olivia to a ball. They had only been married a week, and it was their first
ton
event as a couple.

And the first night most in the
ton
knew him to have married.

There had been a bet at White’s about when he would marry, or rather,
if
he would make the deadline he had set for himself with his mother – to be married by his twenty-eighth birthday. He’d made the deadline with a week to spare, but it had cost him when it came to Olivia, especially that night at the ball when so many of the men made comments about him having won the bet.
And Olivia heard them all.

In the end, it had all worked out, but it could have gone so much better if he had just told Olivia of his plans in advance of their wedding.

“I know. I was hoping for a masquerade ball,” Alistair said with a sigh.

Michael regarded Alistair for a moment. “It’s been years since most of us have seen you,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe ... cut your hair shorter,” he suggested. “Wear black formal clothes.”

Alistair arched an eyebrow. “Of course, I will wear black,” he countered, wondering what Michael could be suggesting he wear instead.

“You mean, you won’t be wearing apple green or sky blue satin like the Earl of Trenton?” Edward asked rhetorically, his hands held out in an effeminate gesture.

Frowning at Edward’s antics, Alistair gave Michael a questioning glance. “What has Gabe been up to?” he asked in a whisper. “I never took him for a molly.”

Michael shook his head. “He’s not, but I hear he showed up at every
ton
ball last Season wearing bright satin suits.”

“And managed to shake up Parliament with his ideas for modernization,” Edward chimed in. “He’s gone back to Staffordshire, and I doubt we’ll see him back in London anytime soon,” he added with a firm nod.

Alistair didn’t tell the two about his most recent conversations with the earl. They obviously didn’t know him as well as Alistair did.

He cleared his throat, remembering why he’d made the trip to Cunningham’s townhouse. “So, I cut my hair, I wear all black evening clothes ... what else?”

Shrugging, Michael gave Edward a glance. “We can try to keep any murmurings to a minimum,” he offered. “But, to be kind to the chit, you may want to fill her in before the ball is over.”

Edward straightened. “No!” he countered. “She’ll lose the bet.”

Michael cringed, thinking it would be far better for Lady Julia to lose the bet than be embarrassed at the revelation that the man she had been making into a gentleman already was a gentleman. “Let her,” he stated, giving Alistair a meaningful look.

Nodding, Alistair took another look into his whiskey. “To chits who don’t know any better,” he said in a salute, holding up his glass. He downed the rest of his whiskey in a gulp.

“And to their men who don’t either,” Michael and Edward said in a chorus, both downing their drinks.

Alistair rode back to Mayfield House in good spirits, his pockets filled with pound notes and a bottle of whiskey in the saddle bag.