The Widowed Countess (24 page)

Chapter 23

A Marriage is Arranged in Haste

Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, regarded his image in the looking glass in his bedchamber.
Happy birthday
, he thought, his mood a bit somber and perhaps even morose. The past years hadn’t been kind to his visage. There were tiny lines on either side of his eyes and mouth, his nose appeared to have extended at least a quarter of an inch, and there were what could only be described as worry lines across his forehead.
When did this happen?
he wondered. The late nights at White’s had probably taken their toll to some degree, and he found the days spent in Parliament didn’t help when issues important to him weighed heavily long after their fate had been decided.

He let out a heavy sigh, turning when the bedchamber door opened to admit his valet. “Ah, Timmons,” he murmured. He watched as the young man hurried about, retrieving breeches, a waistcoat and a topcoat from the clothes press to present to him for his approval. “Fine,” he nodded at the valet’s choices. “I’m thinking I’ll ride later, perhaps during the fashionable hour,” he added. He was suddenly feeling restless.

A knock at the door preceded his butler’s unexpected appearance. “A note just arrived for you, my lord,” the older man intoned, his voice several octaves deeper than one would expect from such a small man.

Sommers nodded as he took the note from the silver salver, turning it over to see the Earl of Torrington’s seal in the red wax.
What the hell?
“Thank you,” he murmured, breaking the seal and opening the white parchment. The handwriting was obviously masculine, and knowing the earl as he did, he figured the man had penned it himself rather than have his secretary write it.

I’m paying you a call at precisely eleven o’clock this morning. Be dressed and ready. Grandby
.

“Christ,” Sommers whispered.
What the hell?
Grandby never called on him, hardly even knew him. In fact, Sommers was rather surprised the earl even knew who
he
was. “What time is it?” he asked, not addressing his question to either the butler or his valet.

Timmons dared a glance at the mantle clock above the fireplace. “Ten-forty, my lord,” he answered.

“No bath today. But I need a shave,” Sommers ordered, moving to take a seat before the mirror in his bathing chamber. “And make it quick. I must be in my study at ten-fifty-five,” he added, his stomach churning.

True to his short missive, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington appeared on the doorstep of Sommers’ bachelor apartments at exactly eleven. He was led directly to Sommers’ study, where he found the baron at his desk, looking as if he’d been there for several hours reviewing the books for his estate. Grandby knew better, though.

“Sommers,” he said by way of a greeting, acknowledging the earl’s short bow with one of his own. “I see thirty minutes was enough to get you ready this morning.”

The baron regarded Grandby with a frown. “It usually is,” he replied. There was no reason to admit he had been abed until ten-thirty. “Would you like coffee? Or tea, perhaps?” he asked, remembering his mother’s lessons in civility.

Grandby seemed surprised by the offer. “Coffee, please,” he answered with a grin.

Sommers made a motion with his hand, apparently to a servant who had followed the earl into the study. “And to what do I owe the honor of a visit from you? Did you come to wish me happy?”

The earl cocked a dark eyebrow. “Did you already ask for her hand?” he wondered, his grin turning to a frown.

The question stunned Sommers.
Ask for her hand?
Christ!
Grandby wasn’t here about his birthday. “No,” he replied carefully. “It’s my birthday.”

Grandby took a quick look at the ceiling before returning his attention to the baron. “And how many years have you been on this damned planet?” he wondered, the question tinged with anger. From the looks of the young man, he would guess he was in his early-to-mid thirties. If the man ever left White’s at an early hour of the morning, he might actually look younger than he was.

“Thirty,” Sommers replied hesitantly, wondering what Grandby was leading to.
And whose hand did Grandby think he was supposed to have asked for?

Grandby gave a noncommittal grunt. “It’s time you were married,” he stated firmly.

“I agree,” Sommers replied with a firm nod.

“Time you gave up your bachelor ways, and your late nights, and your whoring and ...” He paused a moment, one bushy eyebrow cocked up. “
Wait
. What did you say?”

Sommers sighed. He supposed he should have taken offense at the earl for making his state of matrimony his business, but he found he couldn’t. He’d had the idea of marriage on his mind since late December. Since the weekend after Christmas, when the massive snowstorm had buried most of England in the cold, white stuff. While most men of the
ton
were ensconced in their bedchambers with their wives, seeing to the creation of the next generation of the peerage, Sommers had been holed up at his country estate with several friends – all bachelors – and a deck of cards. It was the worst holiday of his life. “I agree,” he repeated.

Grandby regarded him for a long moment. “Do you have someone in mind for your baroness?” he asked then, the one already cocked eyebrow lifting nearly into his hairline.

Sommers took a deep breath and finally nodded.

When he didn’t say anything, Grandby’s other eyebrow joined the first in elevation. “Does the future Lady Sommers have a
name
?” he finally asked, his eyebrows finally settling into their normal location.

“Lady Evangeline,” Sommers offered, his voice barely audible. “If she’ll have me,” he added, dipping his head before meeting Grandby’s stunned gaze.

“
Have
you?” Grandby repeated. “Of course, she’ll
have
you. I’ll tell her to
have
you. She’s three-and-twenty and not getting any younger,” he claimed, one hand waving in annoyance.

The door opened and a maid appeared with the coffee service. She set the tray on the corner of the desk before pouring two cups for the gentlemen.

Glad for the interruption, Sommers swallowed and considered Grandby’s words. He wondered how it was the earl would take such an interest in Lord Everly’s sister. Lord knew, Lord Everly certainly didn’t. The two times Sommers had tried to bring up the topic of courting Lady Evangeline had left him frustrated and impatient with the explorer. The man might be a genius when it came to some scientific topics, but he was a dunce when it came to the matter of marriage for his sister.

The first time Sommers could ever recall even seeing the chit had been at a ball during the last Little Season. He didn’t know who she was when he spotted her standing next to a potted palm, but he remembered feeling rather jealous of the plant. The damn thing had one frond touching her shoulder, as if it had decided she was to be its next dance partner and wasn’t about to allow any interlopers. And despite repeated pleas for someone to introduce him to the tall, willowy blonde, it was well after the supper had been served before Lady Pettigrew took pity on him and made the introductions. By then, the quartet had finished playing, so there was no opportunity for him to dance with her. She seemed shy but eager to speak with him, mentioning to him that her brother would be leaving the country to study fish somewhere in Africa while she would be at the family estate in Shropshire. Sommers remembered thinking of her trapped in Everly’s country estate, snowed in and wishing for company while he was similarly trapped in Herefordshire with several bachelors. If they’d been within ten miles of one another, Sommers would have made the trek on foot to join her.
Wait ... perhaps they
were
within ten miles of one another. Damn!

The maid curtsied and left the study. Grandby continued to regard Sommers with an expression that required some kind of response. “I shall send a note and ask if she’ll join me on a drive in the park this afternoon,” Sommers suggested, hoping that would be enough to get Grandby out of his study and on his way.

“Alright,” Grandby agreed before taking a drink from his coffee. “Given her age, I think you can forgo a chaperone, but if she insists, suggest she bring her maid,” he stated quickly. “By the end of the drive in the park, ask if you can court her, and then, when you get back to Everly’s house, ask for her hand.”

Sommers blinked once. He blinked again. “All in ... one day?”

Grandby’s eyes widened. “Yes, in one day! Today!” he responded, his patience at an end. “Get a special license and marry her next week. You’re thirty, for God’s sake. It’s time you were leg-shackled,” the earl nearly shouted. “With luck, she’ll be with child by the end of the month, and you’ll have an heir at Christmas.”

His eyebrows suddenly arched in surprise, Sommers stared at Grandby for several moments. “Alright,” he agreed finally. “Will you ... will you be explaining all this to Lord Everly?” he asked carefully, thinking he hadn’t had any luck securing a moment alone with the odd earl. “Despite my requests for an audience, the man hasn’t made time to meet with me.”

Grandby regarded the baron for a moment, somewhat surprised to learn that Sommers really had been considering Lady Evangeline for his baroness. “Leave it to me,” the earl replied with a nod. “Never let it be said I don’t see to my goddaughters’ welfare,” he added, rising from his chair. “Or to my own. Lady Torrington is expecting, you might have heard.”

The baron suppressed the urge to blink. “Congratulations,” he said with as much reverence as he could muster. “You must be ... ”

“Scared to death. Thrilled. Happy. Excited,” Grandby interrupted with several nods. “I am. Stedman is thrilled, too. I’ve made him a very rich man,” he added, his head still bobbing up and down.

Sommers didn’t realize just then who the Stedman was that Grandby referred to in his discussion that morning, but by that evening, he knew. Knew the man personally, in fact. For after Grandby had taken his leave of Sommers, the younger man had dispatched one of his footmen to Lord Everly’s house with a note to Lady Evangeline asking for the pleasure of her company for a drive in the park that afternoon. And his footman had returned with a note written in a beautiful, feminine hand with the simple words, “I await your arrival, Eva.”

Eva
.

Jeffrey Althorpe, Baron Sommers, closed his eyes for a moment after reading the simple missive.
To hell with waiting until the fashionable hour.
Eva was waiting for him.

Lady Evangeline sat by herself drinking a cup of tea in the parlor of her brother’s house. Alfred Tennison, Earl of Everly, had left some time ago, shortly after asking that his carriage be brought around. Curious, Evangeline thought to ask if she might join him on his errand, intending to use the time to tell him she had accepted Lord Sommers’ offer of a ride in the park. But Alfred’s attention was entirely on a book he had open and was apparently reading as he made his way to the vestibule. Sighing audibly in the hopes he might hear her, Evangeline resigned herself to another early afternoon spent alone at Rosemount House.

She was about to pour herself another cup of tea when Jones, the butler, cleared his throat. “Do I have a caller?” Evangeline asked before Jones could announce anything. She was nearly to her feet, hoping some lady of the
ton
had remembered she was sequestered in her brother’s house for the Season and had taken pity on her by paying a call.

Jones held his hands together behind his back, his discomfort apparent. “Lord Sommers has asked if he might have a word,” he intoned, obviously bothered by the impropriety of a gentleman calling on an unmarried woman without there being a companion or chaperone present.

Evangeline was sure her suddenly thundering heartbeats could be heard from across the room.
He was here. Already.
She dared a glance at the mantel clock, surprised to see it was only two o’clock. “Well, do see him in, Jones,” she responded, just then realizing the baron was probably there to see her brother and not her. “He is here to see Lord Everly, I suppose,” she added as she nervously smoothed her skirts. Of all the eligible gentlemen in the
ton
, Jeffrey  Althorpe was not a man she would expect to have calling on her, but one could always hope. His earlier missive had been such a surprise, she had immediately written a reply. “He only asked if your ladyship was in residence and apologizes for arriving earlier than his note indicated.”

The thundering heartbeats nearly deafened her to Jones’ last words – until she heard the part about an apology. Perhaps the earl had changed his mind and was withdrawing his offer of a ride in the park. “Do send him in, then. I shouldn’t like to keep a baron waiting.”

The butler took a breath and looked as if he was about to argue, but he must have seen the flush that colored Evangeline’s face. “Right away, my lady,” he replied, turning on his heels and leaving the parlor.

Evangeline took a deep breath in an attempt to compose herself. Lord Sommers was calling on her. Yes, he was one of her brother’s friends, and yes, he probably spent far too much time playing cards at White’s, and, yes, there was the hint from something her brother had said that Sommers had employed a mistress, but at that moment, none of those things mattered. Besides, if the man had a wife, he would no doubt spend more time at Sommers Place, his Mayfair mansion on Cavendish Square, and less time pretending to be a rake.

He wasn’t really a rake, Evangeline considered just then. He couldn’t be if he was a friend of her brother’s. Everly would never consort with a rake, although he might if said rake was an explorer or adventurer or a member of the Royal Academy of Sciences. She had barely finished this last thought when she realized Lord Sommers was regarding her from the doorway. She struggled to withhold a gasp, for he was quite imposing, dressed for a ride in a smart, perfectly tailored scarlet jacket and buckskin breeches that hugged his muscular thighs. His black Hessians were polished to a high shine, and he held a riding crop in one black kid-gloved hand. She supposed she should have wondered why he hadn’t given it to the butler when he gave up his hat, but it seemed to give him an air of superiority. A shiver shot through her when she imagined him wielding it. What awful deed might she commit that would have him threatening her with it? Her cheeks blushed a bright pink when she realized what she was imagining.