Partridge and the Peartree

Partridge and the Peartree

by Patricia Kiyono

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 PATRICIA KIYONO

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters,
and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to
actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are
assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used
only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these
terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of
this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically,
constitutes a copyright violation.

PARTRIDGE AND THE PEARTREE

Copyright © 2012 PATRICIA KIYONO

ISBN 978-1-62135-093-4

Cover Art Designed by Elaina Lee

To my marvelous critique partner Marti, who literally
pulled this manuscript out of the trash and helped me fill in the
holes. Thanks for your faith in me, and for your willingness to use
your eagle eyes to turn a hodgepodge of ideas into a story.

Phillip Peartree, Tenth Duke of Bartlett, squinted as
he scanned the titles on the dusty shelves of his favorite
bookstore. He needed something new to read, something to help him
relax and forget the depression weighing him down ever since he'd
inherited his burdensome title. Phillip had been aware of his
father's extravagant tastes, but he'd had no idea about the extent
of debt they'd caused. Debt that had become
his
worry and
responsibility. In the two years since his father's passing, the
young duke had managed to satisfy most of his creditors by selling
off part of his estate and working hard to improve what was left.
Needing a respite, he'd decided to spend the holiday season in
London, near his sister and nieces.

London offered plenty of activities for an eligible
bachelor, but the social whirlwind was something Phillip avoided.
Not that he wanted to be alone. He'd always dreamed of having a
contented, if not happy, life with a suitable mate. Ideally, he'd
prefer to wed someone with charm, looks, and intelligence. His hand
went to his face, tracing the scars left from the hunting accident
that had changed his life several years before. He sighed. How
could he hope to win the hand of such a woman once she compared him
to the good-looking members of the
ton
? There was no
shortage of handsome single men who knew exactly how to converse
with a woman, how to charm them, and how to woo them.

So he lived vicariously through the characters in his
books. They were his friends. Although he'd already read nearly
every title on the shelves, he'd come to this quiet little shop, on
the edge of town, hoping find something new. There had to be
something...

"Oooof!"

The missile hitting his abdomen doubled him over,
knocking the breath from his lungs. When he'd recovered enough to
straighten, his eyes focused on the most beautiful woman he'd ever
seen. Had the punch to his stomach addled his brain, or did a halo
surround this woman's face? The lively young thing waved her arms
as she talked, and judging from the way her mouth moved, she spoke
as quickly as she moved. Shiny golden curls tumbled from her
bonnet, and her deep brown eyes radiated with intelligence and
purpose. Fascinated by the way her luscious lips formed her words,
he forgot to pay attention to what she was saying.

The lips stopped moving, and her eyes widened. She
must be waiting for him to reply, but he had no idea what she'd
just said.

"Er — pardon me, miss. I didn't see you. I sincerely
hope you're not injured." Spying a handful of books scattered near
her feet, he quickly bent and retrieved them for her. "Here you
are."

Her lovely brown eyes narrowed. Had he said something
stupid? Sometimes he did, especially when he hadn't followed a
conversation closely. Since he'd lost most of his hearing in the
accident that had disfigured his face, he'd learned to read lips
quite well, but occasionally he'd get it wrong, much to the
amusement of his cousins, who would tease him mercilessly.

"I'm fine, good sir," she said, taking the books he
offered. "And I thank you for retrieving my books." She took them
and whirled away without so much as a goodbye.

Phillip stood transfixed, staring after her.

Slowly, common sense returned, and he sighed
regretfully. Such a lovely woman would never consider a friendship,
much less a courtship, with someone like him.

Remembering his reason for entering the bookstore,
Phillip continued to peruse the titles. At the back of the store,
he found the section from which the lady had emerged. Here he found
an assortment of slender books like those she had dropped. They
were children's stories. Of course. She was married and probably
had been there to purchase books for her children. He'd best forget
about dreaming of a life with her.

Chagrined, he moved on to the next section. His eye
caught a familiar name from his youth. An elegantly bound volume
held a collection of poetry by Robert Burns. He remembered his
grandmother, when she still lived, sitting on a bench in the estate
gardens, reading her own well-worn book of Burns' poetry. Later,
when she fell ill, Grandfather would go to her chambers and read to
her, his gentle voice caressing the words as if singing a love
song. Grandmother would lie back with her eyes closed, an ethereal
smile lighting her face. It was his favorite memory of his
grandparents and the love they shared.

Warmed by the memory, he picked up the volume, took
it to the shop clerk, and purchased it.

****

Robert Townley, the duke's valet, stayed close to his
master, but not so close as to intrude. The duke managed to get
around quite well on his own, reading lips and using his other
senses, but he couldn't hear warning shouts or the rushing
carriages traveling the busy London streets. Though Robert hadn't
been instructed to do so, he'd made it his mission to protect
Phillip whenever the young duke went out.

Robert's father and grandfather had both served the
duke's family. Robert himself had grown up on the estate, spending
his youth with the young heir. He'd been allowed to sit in on
Phillip's lessons, never letting on that he was learning as much as
Phillip. When Phillip had left for Eton, Robert had continued his
own education by reading the duke's discarded newspapers and
everything else he could get his hands on.

When Phillip's gun had misfired, leaving him scarred
and deaf, he'd come home to convalesce, and Robert had been one of
the few people he'd allowed in his rooms. The two men had forged a
bond more akin to friendship than the usual relationship between
servant and master. Now, he noted Phillip's dazed expression.

What happened in that bookstore?

He reached out a hand and lightly touched the duke's
sleeve to get his attention. "Your Grace?"

Phillip blinked several times, seeming to bring
himself into the present. "Yes, Townley?"

"Is everything all right? Did something happen in
there? You look rather… dazed."

Phillip sighed. "I suppose I do. I just caught a
glimpse of heaven."

Lady Amelia Partridge paused outside the bookstore to
put her new purchases into a leather satchel she'd borrowed from
her brother. Edward hadn't known about the loan, of course. But he
was off on one of his hunting trips with his friends. She supposed
she looked silly, carrying it about; however, the books wouldn't
fit in her reticule, and she didn't want all of London to know
about her reading selections. The books were for some special
children in her life, but she didn't want to explain to her friends
if they should happen to see her.

She handed the satchel to Giles, her young footman,
and led the way back to the high street, where she had arranged to
meet her coach near the park. From there, she rode in comfort back
to her brother's home.

It had been her home, too, for the past twenty-three
years. But now she was going to have to find another place to live.
Despite the forty-odd rooms in Sudbury House, there was not enough
space for two women. At least, not when one of the women was her
brother's fiancée, Colette.

Amelia's Edward, Earl of Sudbury, had suggested she
marry. But she absolutely couldn't bind herself to some fop who
thought of no one but himself, or worse, one who dictated her every
move. She led her own life and didn't want someone else telling her
what to do, the way her father had run her mother's life. The poor
woman hadn't had a moment to herself until the day she died. It was
a lesson well learned.

Edward would give her an allowance, of course, and
he'd offered to let her have the cottage in Oxfordshire. But she
would need more than what he'd be able to give her, especially if
Collette had anything to say about it. Besides, the cottage was far
away from her friends. Recently, she'd had some success writing
books, keeping her identity hidden by using a pen name. If she
lived frugally, perhaps she'd be able to support herself,
especially if Edward would help her purchase a small home in
London.

Her impending move had been in her thoughts when she
had run into the man in the bookshop. He'd looked familiar, but
since she avoided most social events, she had no idea who he was.
The gentleman's face had been kind, full of character and
compassion. The scars on his left cheek did nothing to detract from
his looks, and his deep blue eyes had shone with intelligence. He'd
been standing in the philosophy section, perusing the titles on a
high shelf when she'd bumped into him. She'd been mortified and had
sputtered an apology, but he hadn't responded to that. Instead,
he'd simply picked up her books and handed them back to her.
Perhaps he hadn't wanted anyone to know he was there, either.

Arriving at the townhouse, she instructed Giles to
take the satchel to her sitting room. She would have two or three
hours to herself before dinner, and then she would have to get
dressed to go out again. Tonight was the Linden daughters' recital,
and though she preferred to stay at home, she felt obligated to
attend. Desiree, the girls' mother, had become a good friend
through the Ladies' Literary Society, and both Laurel and Merilee
had become dear to her.

Perhaps, if she could shut out enough of the music,
she could plot out her next novel in her head. She had a good
memory and could write down the details when she got home.

****

Jeanne Brown inspected her mistress's cloak with
distaste. Why did Lady Amelia insist on trudging through the back
streets of the city, where the walks were strewn with debris? It
would take her the better part of a day to clean the hems of this
garment. Thankfully, she had Lady Amelia's clothing for this
evening ready, including a new, clean cloak.

She wondered about the books her mistress had
purchased earlier. She'd seemed flushed when she'd returned from
her excursion, but it hadn't been from exertion. Her brother's
satchel had been stuffed, probably with new books, but the pink in
her cheeks seemed more from a heightened emotion. Had the lady met
with an unsavory character? Or were the books themselves of a
scandalous nature?

Rising, Jeanne took the garment to the kitchen to
search for the lye soap. Perhaps she could get most of this dirt
out before dinner. When she'd last looked in on her mistress, the
lady was seated at her writing desk. Lady Amelia was always
writing, and sometimes when Jeanne went to fetch her for dinner she
had to speak several times to gain her attention.

Lady Amelia didn't socialize much, preferring her own
company to the social events of the holiday season. But her best
friend had entreated her to attend her daughters' piano and dance
recital, and she had agreed. She would wear the lovely gown Jeanne
had carefully pressed, don the soft matching slippers, and have her
hair arranged. Jeanne enjoyed creating elaborate coiffures and
bemoaned the fact that her employer did not make use of her talent.
If given the opportunity, she would ensure Lady Amelia's golden
tresses were the talk of the
ton
.