Ford blinked. “I beg your pardon, sir, but that doesn’t seem quite the thing since I will be using your money instead of my own.”
“You’re entitled to recompense for time spent away from your other duties. Duties that will have to be attended to no matter how late the card game. I was going to suggest that you keep everything you win from Lord Everleigh or me and return what you might win from Mr. Mirrant to the cashbox as Mr. Mirrant can’t afford the losses, but that would entail keeping track of who lost what to whom. This seemed the best way. Keep half of whatever you win and don’t worry about any losses. I’ll see that your losses are covered and that Mr. Mirrant is able to recover his. Agreed?”
“Agreed, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-One
One father is more than a hundred schoolmasters.
—GEORGE HERBERT, 1593–1633
SWANSLEA PARK
Northamptonshire, England
“Drew, the morning post has arrived with a letter from Kit.” The marchioness of Templeston greeted her husband as soon as he entered the breakfast room.
The sixteenth marquess of Templeston smiled at her as he walked to the sideboard and helped himself to a cup of coffee from a large silver urn. He crossed the room, set his cup and saucer on the table, and leaned down to kiss his wife. “How is it that you managed to bathe and dress and beat me down to breakfast?”
They had returned from their morning ride a half hour earlier. “You lingered to chat with the grooms and to talk to the horses. I did not.”
Drew sat down beside her. “You could not,” he said softly.
They exchanged knowing looks.
“I daren’t get too close to the stallions or the grooms with your scent still upon me.”
“And that is precisely the reason I stayed to distract the grooms.”
“Do you think they notice?”
Drew had no doubt that they noticed. His and Kathryn’s private morning rides were the stuff of legends among Swanslea Park’s grooms and stable boys. But Drew also knew that none of the grooms or stable boys would ever be indiscreet or risk embarrassing Kathryn. The fact that they rode out nearly every morning they were in residence at Swanslea Park and returned slightly disheveled and very satisfied was nothing remarkable. But the fact that they had been doing it for nineteen years was.
He wouldn’t lie to her, but neither would he embarrass her nor jeopardize their private time together, so Drew’s reply was carefully worded to set her mind at ease. “I shouldn’t think so, for no one has ever breathed a word of it to me.” He kissed her again, then took a sip of his coffee. “Where are the girls this morning?”
“Still sleeping.” Wren waved the letter in the air, but Drew made no move to take it from her.
“And Ally?” He asked about the governess who had been with the family since before he and Kathryn were married.
“You know Ally takes her breakfast in bed while we’re out riding and takes her own morning ride once we return. You probably met her in the stables.”
Drew grinned. “I did. She looked quite fetching this morning in her new riding habit. Riley rode out with her.” He looked at Wren. “I wish the man would offer for her. He’s been in love with her since the first time he saw her sit a horse.”
Wren waved the letter beneath his nose once again. He pretended to look surprised. “What’s that?”
“You know what it is,” Wren said in exasperation. “It’s a letter from Kit, and it’s addressed to you or I would have already opened it.”
“Well, why didn’t you say something instead of waving it beneath my nose?” Drew winked, then took the letter out of her hand and broke the wax seal. He was relieved to see that it was the seal of the earl of Ramsey and not the seal of the earl of Kilgannon. The boy had inherited the Irish earldom first, but he would always be Drew’s beloved son and heir.
“Go on, read it!” Wren was practically bouncing in her chair.
12 April 1838
Telamor Castle
Inismorn, Ireland
Dear Papa, Mama, and sisters,
I am writing to inform you that Everleigh, Mirrant, and I arrived safely in Ireland two days past. We spent the night aboard ship, disembarking early the following morning. We arrived at the village of Inismorn before the nooning hour, and I met with the parish priest, Father Francis O’Meara, upon arrival.
The priest has been most helpful in explaining the earl of Kilgannon’s responsibilities to the village and the parish. I was surprised to learn that in addition to inheriting the earldom, the castle, and the surrounding acreage, I have also inherited the role of guardian …
Drew stopped reading aloud and began to laugh.
“Drew!”
“I can’t help it,” he told her. “If I didn’t know better, I would say that this was my father’s doing.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Anything’s possible,” Drew said. “It’s not very likely, but it does sound familiar, and it certainly bears my father’s signature.”
“Or Martin’s,” Wren reminded him.
Drew nodded thoughtfully. “Martin did know about the earl of Kilgannon and Kit’s inheritance. And he had to have known about Kit’s other mother.”
“Well, go on,” Wren urged. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Read the rest of it.”
My ward, Miss Mariah Shaughnessy, has lived at St. Agnes’s Sacred Heart Convent for the past fourteen years. It seems that Miss Shaughnessy’s mother was the ward of the previous earl of Kilgannon and, in the event of her death, entrusted her daughter to the earl’s care. As neither the number or the Christian name of the earl is mentioned, (an omission Martin would never have made), I became Miss Shaughnessy’s legal guardian when I inherited the title …
Wren and Drew looked at each other. “Martin,” they pronounced.
Miss Shaughnessy arrived with her chaperone, a nun from the nearby convent, shortly before I took up residence. The castle is thinly but adequately staffed and with a chaperone and Everleigh and Mirrant in residence with me, there is no cause for concern for Miss Shaughnessy’s reputation. There is, however, concern on my part. As her guardian, my duty is to see that her mother’s dying request—that her daughter be presented at court and make her bow to the queen before her twenty-first birthday—is granted …
This time, Wren began to laugh. “Serves him right,” she said. “He couldn’t wait to leave Swanslea Park to escape the preparations for Iris’s coming out. He couldn’t wait to be free from the tedium, as he called it, of practicing dance steps with his sisters and helping with their memorization of who’s who among the peerage.” She turned to Drew who was fighting to keep his own laughter under control. “Iris and Kate have been struggling with the who’s who for weeks and they were born into the peerage. Imagine how much instruction Miss Shaughnessy will need.”
“I still have trouble telling who’s who,” Drew said.
“Yes, well, so do I,” Wren admitted. “And that isn’t all—” She covered her mouth with her hand to smother a flood of giggles.
“What?” Drew demanded.
“I don’t imagine they do much dancing in convents …”
Drew gave up all pretense of composure. He let the letter fall to the table and roared with laughter. “I almost feel sorry for the boy.”
Wren retrieved it and continued reading:
As Miss Shaughnessy’s natal day is a mere three weeks from today, I thought that I might send her to you for instruction. Although she was born a lady, Miss Shaughnessy has come of age at St. Agnes’s convent and had not been schooled in ladylike pursuits or the rules of conduct of society.
As her guardian, I wish to do well by her and can think of no better education in the ways of society than the one that she might gain if you would but allow her to travel to Swanslea Park and share in Iris’s instruction …
“That little rapscallion.” Although Kit now stood eye to eye with his father, Drew still thought of him as the litt
le boy who had stolen his older half brother’s heart so long ago and had become his adopted son. “He’s got some nerve trying to pawn her instruction off on us after rushing to Ireland to escape the tedium of partnering his sisters and helping them memorize Debrett’s, leaving me to do it.”
“You’re the one who encouraged him to go to Ireland,” Wren reminded him.
“That’s right, I did,” Drew said wryly. “Because I thought it was time he became his own man.”
“A London season is expensive and can be overwhelming,” Wren offered.
“He’s got plenty of money, and he’s a hell of a lot younger than we are. He’ll survive it.”
“You’re not going to help him?” Wren was surprised. Drew had always spoiled Kit more than she had. She thought it was Drew’s way of making up for Kit’s loss, for the fact that Kit was never going to know the father they shared.
“I’m not going to lift a finger,” Drew told her. “Except to write to say that Miss Shaughnessy is welcome to share Iris’s debut provided she receives the necessary instruction before she arrives. You have enough to do with your work on the Flora and Fauna Native to Gibraltar and with all the to-do with Iris’s wardrobe and the myriad social engagements we’ll have to host. Not to mention getting the London house fully staffed and in order. And I have Swanslea Park and the rest of our holdings to look after and the next session of Parliament to prepare for. I’ve been asked to join Lord Melbourne’s staff.”
“Oh, Drew! How wonderful!” Wren was thrilled that the prime minister had recognized Drew’s talent for diplomacy and leadership.
“Most of the time it’s going to be a bloody nuisance,” Drew said ruefully. “I hate playing politics. But it’s where my talents lie. And at the moment I would say that this appointment couldn’t come at a better time.” He drank a bit of his coffee, realized it had grown cold, and stood up to refill it. “Does Kit have anything further to say in the letter?”
Wren scanned the remainder. “He sends his love, hopes that we are well, and looks forward to hearing from you soon. Soon is underscored twice.”
“I’m afraid that the new earl of Kilgannon isn’t going to like my reply at all,” Drew said. “He’s about to learn one of life’s hardest lessons.”
“And that is?”
“Everything comes at a price.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thou art the book,
The library whereon I look.
—HENRY KING, 1592–1669
Lord Everleigh and Dalton Mirrant were in the study helping Kit devise the lesson schedule for the week when Ford delivered his father’s letter. After speaking with Ford, Mrs. Kearney, and Madame Thierry, they were working on a way to arrange Mariah’s week to everyone’s satisfaction.
“A letter arrived for you by special messenger, sir.”
Kit took the letter, broke open the marquess of Templeston’s seal, unfolded the letter, and began to read it:
14 April 1838
Swanslea Park
Northamptonshire, England
My dear Kit,
Miss Shaughnessy is welcome to join your sister when she makes her curtsy to the queen, provided that she has received all the necessary instructions.
We shall remain at Swanslea Park until the first of May, when we shall remove to London.
Shall I open your London town house or will you be residing with us at Templeston Place?
We look forward to meeting Miss Shaughnessy.
Your mother’s and your sisters’ love is enclosed with mine.
As ever, Papa
“What’s the verdict?” Dalton looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
Kit closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and slowly exhaled. “Typically Papa.”
“He said yes,” Ash guessed.
“He said no,” Kit answered.
Dalton turned to Ash. “You owe me a tenner.”
Ash frowned. “I can’t remember if Lord Tarleton is a baron or a viscount.” Ash had volunteered to help Mariah memorize the titles and forms of address she’d need to remember for her presentation. He’d been engaged in his listing of the peers and their titles along with bits of common information about them that Mariah would be expected to know.
“Baron,” Kit and Dalton answered in unison.
“Lord Carleton is the viscount,” Kit added.
“Thanks,” Ash made a few notations on his list.
“Stop evading the issue,” Dalton told him. “And admit you owe me the ten pounds we wagered.”
“I owe you ten pounds.” Ash took out his wallet and handed Dalton the same ten-pound note Kit had lost to him the day they arrived at Telamor. “I assume a note will serve in lieu of guineas.”
“A ten-pound note will do very nicely.” Dalton folded the money and tucked it into his own wallet.
Ash shook his head. “I was sure he would do it. It’s not like Lord Templeston to refuse any reasonable request.”
“Ha!” Dalton proclaimed. “That’s why you lost. Kit’s request wasn’t the least bit reasonable. It was a damned imposition. Even for parents.” He glanced at Kit. “Why are you looking so relieved? I thought you wanted to send Miss Shaughnessy to Swanslea Park. In fact, I offered to accompany her.”
“When I wrote the first letter, I thought it would be best,” Kit admitted. “For all of us. But we’ve already made a good start by hiring the dressmaker, and the dance master will be arriving later this morning, and since we’ve all spent a good deal of time in planning her curriculum, I have reconsidered …”
They had planned her schedule of lessons with the same amount of care and attention to detail that Wellington had given to his campaign against Napoleon. Because time was short and because Mariah insisted on baking, her days would be extraordinarily long. But at the moment that was unavoidable.
Kit had done his best to combine lessons to accommodate her, but he knew she would eventually have to concede to allowing Ford to hire a baker for the castle. Mariah simply couldn’t bake all the bread and cakes and pastries they needed and do all of the other things she needed to do before the season began.
Mariah’s early mornings were to be spent in the kitchens baking. After mass came fittings with Madame Thierry and her assistants, and after luncheon and an hour’s nap, Mariah’s afternoons and much of her evenings would be spent in lessons.
The schedule was incredibly difficult to keep for someone who rose at four in the morning in order to bake. But so was the endless round of entertainments of the season. During the season, breakfast began at eleven, followed by shopping and morning calls that generally began around two or three in the afternoon and lasted until tea.
The hours after tea were spent preparing for the evening’s entertainment. Balls rarely began before nine in the evening, almost always included a midnight supper, and often lasted until four or five in the morning. A few hours of sleep and the whole cycle began again.
The hours required for a lady baker would prove to be an excellent test of her ability to survive the season.
“And I’ve already written to tell Papa I’ve changed my mind.” Kit picked up his cup and took a sip.
“He shall be quite happy to hear that,” Dalton declared.
“Yes,” Ash added. “Because he knows what we’re letting ourselves in for.” He looked at Kit and winked.
Dalton dropped the newspaper and leaned back in the leather armchair. “Well, I never thought I’d say it, but the truth is that after years of being molded into the gentleman I’ve become, I rather like the idea of molding a young woman into my image of what a lady should be. Lord knows, their mamas seldom teach them the things they really need to know.”
Kit choked, spewing coffee everywhere.
Dalton leapt up and began pounding Kit on the back. “Not to worry, old man,” he said. “I’m not molding her entirely in my image of the perfect lady, you and Ash are contributing.”
“Thank God,” Ash said dryly. “Because your ta
stes in women are a little less discerning than ours.”
“You’re talking about what I like in women who are not ladies,” Dalton protested. “I’m talking about my opinion of what true ladies should be and what they should know.” He sighed. “Take Lady Templeston, for example …”
Ash rolled his eyes and gave Kit a knowing smile. “Lady Templeston may be your shining light of what a true lady should be, but you aren’t likely to find another one like her. And she’s already taken.”
“I’m simply saying that Lady Templeston is an intelligent well-educated woman, able to converse on a variety of subjects. She is her own woman with her own sense of style and grace and an unfailing instinct for what suits her. And there is nothing artificial about her. She makes you feel at home and comfortable.” Dalton sighed again. “I enjoy taking tea with Lady Templeston and Iris and Kate and Miss Allerton, and I can’t say that about any of the other ladies I’ve called upon. When I’m at Swanslea Park, I never feel as if I want to escape.”
“If that’s the case, you should offer for Iris,” Kit replied offhandedly as he mopped up droplets of coffee with his handkerchief. “Except for the fact that she has no apparent talent for painting, she’s Mama made over.”
There was complete silence in the room.
Kit looked up from his task and over at Dalton.
Dalton was blushing.
“Iris?” Kit asked as realization dawned.
Ash began to laugh. “It took you long enough to notice.”
“Do you intend to offer for her?”
Dalton stood up and began to pace the room, then finally stopped before the window. He stared out of it for a long time before he finally shook his head.