The Gentleman's Daughter Read online

  Emily wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. Secretly the irreverent gesture delighted Henry, especially because it infuriated Hortense, his cousin’s humorless, unbending wife.

  “Hardly ever! Aunt Hortense doesn’t approve of women driving, especially not teams. We have to sneak around so she doesn’t find out—and you know how much Uncle Arthur hates sneaking around.”

  “That’s not fair, Em. I’ve been teaching you at least twice a week. And I’ve incurred more than one lecture from Mama for it too.” Bertie’s righteous indignation fairly made him tremble, while Emily’s eyes danced with amusement.

  Listening to them, Henry wished Bertie would stand up to her. It was really too bad the boy let Emily run roughshod over him and that they both acted in all ways like siblings. They may have made a match of it, had their childhood love turned into romance over time. Obviously that was a vain hope now, a fact certain to please the duchess. Henry would just have to look for a suitably chaste and well-connected wife, reform his debauched ways, and launch Emily into society when the time came so she could find a husband she could love as well as respect.

  Henry extended his hand to Bertie, who had not bothered to dismount. “Good afternoon, Bertie. My grays and I surely appreciate your efforts to teach Emily, even if she herself remains ungrateful. When are you going up to Oxford?”

  The young man beamed down at Henry and shook his hand enthusiastically. “September, Uncle Henry. Reverend Spittle thinks my Latin still needs work, but since I don’t have the brains for law or medicine, and no inclination to join the church, I really don’t think it signifies.”

  Henry nodded his understanding. There was another reason Emily would have been a good match for the boy: he loved the land, and the only way to get his hands on an estate was to marry an heiress. “Are you still planning on studying land management and taking over from Watson when he retires?”

  Bertie huffed. “If he ever retires, you mean. But, yes, that’s my plan until I can buy my own land.”

  Henry smiled at his favorite nephew. Perhaps he would do something for the boy if he proved himself. “Good for you. Stick to your guns and don’t let your mother push you into the church if you don’t feel a calling. There are more than enough mediocre churchmen out there already.”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Bertie announced, “That’s what the good reverend said. He even went as far as to tell Mama so.”

  Both Henry and Emily gasped in mock shock.

  “He did not!”

  “Does the man have a death wish?”

  Bertie chuckled. “I thought it was rather brave of him. Mama almost had an apoplexy though, and if Father had not agreed with him, Mama may have pushed to have poor Spittle excommunicated.”

  That statement sent Emily into a fit of giggles before she noted with a superior eye roll, “They only excommunicate people from the Catholic Church, you dolt.”

  And off they went into their next enthusiastic round of bickering.

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the stone bridge, a little ways down-river, stood an aging barn. Within its wide open doors stood two men, leaning on a broom and pitchfork respectively. They had been in the middle of a lazy afternoon chat when Henry met up with his daughter by the bridge, and now the two men watched the little group with interest.

  The younger of the two men nodded his chin toward Emily. “That’un Sir Henry’s?”

  The older man slowly moved his head up and down in the affirmative while his eyes traveled up and down Emily’s young, nubile body appreciatively. “Yep, that’s her, Bob. Growing up fast, ain’t she?”

  The younger man grinned, revealing a large gap where his two front teeth had been knocked out in a pub brawl. “Sure is, Jerry. Just look at the jugs on ’er. Last time I saw ’er she was still flat as can be.”

  Jerry watched Sir Henry’s daughter and the duke’s youngest son argue good-naturedly. “Looks like young Lord Bertram noticed too.”

  Bob laughed. “Course ’e did. The rest of ’er ain’t ’alf bad either.”

  Jerry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s that blond hair I wouldn’t mind spreadin’ over me pillow.”

  Bob nudged his elbow into his friend and employer’s side. “I wouldn’t let the missus ’ear you talk like that if I was you.”

  They both laughed, and Bob took another calculating look at Sir Henry’s daughter. Miss Emily growing up was news, and he knew Baron Ostley would pay good money to hear it. The only problem was getting back to Oxfordshire to deliver it.

  Loading his pitchfork with hay, Bob headed back into the barn. “So how long’s planting gonna take? I can’t leave me auntie alone for too long. She’s getting on, you know.”

  Jerry took up his broom and headed for the tack room. It was always the same with Bob; as soon as he got here, he started worrying about his aunt back in Oxfordshire. But he was a good worker, even if he was a bit odd. “I can spare you for a week at Easter, how’s that?”

  MEANWHILE, HENRY HELD THE GRAYS’ heads until Emily securely held the reins, then climbed up beside her, while Henry’s groom and Bertie rode off across the fields.

  Blessed silence descended as Emily concentrated on controlling Henry’s spirited team. But then, into that silence, Emily asked the one question sure to disturb Henry’s peace. “Where is Eliza, Papa? I thought she was to come with you this time.”

  Closing his eyes for a moment, he decided to tell his daughter the truth. “Poppet, Eliza and I parted ways.”

  Emily was clearly shocked. “What do you mean, you parted ways?”

  “I mean we agreed to not see each other for six months as I look for a wife. It wouldn’t be fair to her, or me, or my future wife, for me to be with Eliza whilst I look over the debutantes.”

  Her response was almost desperate. “No, no, no! Papa, you love Eliza, and she loves you. You can’t just cast her aside. This is all because of Grossmama’s harebrained notion that you have to bring me out with a wife by your side so society will accept me, isn’t it? Please, Papa, you don’t have to marry some silly wigeon just because I’m illegitimate! Aunt Hortense can bring me out.”

  The horses started to react to Emily’s agitation, so Henry steadied her hands and gave them a little squeeze for reassurance. “Sweetheart, she has four daughters of her own to bring out, and you know what she’s like.”

  Emily wouldn’t concede the point. “Then Grossmama and Aunt Greyson will do it.”

  Henry shook his head. “They will help, but they also think I need to reform my ways, and the easiest way to do that, in the eyes of society, is to marry a proper lady. They have decided it’s time, and Eliza agrees with them. You see, she knows me well enough to know I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do all within my power to ensure you can choose freely whom you want to marry.”

  He wrapped his arm around his now-crying daughter. “Sweetheart, Eliza will always be our friend, and she will never want for anything. I promise you that.”

  Emily hiccuped, and Henry felt like crying right along with her. “Can I still see her?”

  “Of course, darling. In fact, she is helping Allen right now and will still be working with Aunt Greyson, so you will see her every time you come to town.”

  Nodding slowly, Emily returned her attention to the horses and the road ahead. When she spoke next, it was with a calm and maturity that showed no trace of the bickering adolescent from just a few minutes ago. “I hate that you have to miss her because of me. Eliza made you happy, and I like seeing you happy.”

  Henry sighed and stretched out as far as it was possible in the sporty vehicle. “I do miss her, and she did make me happy. But you see, sweetheart, she taught me that I can love more than one person over the span of my life. So it is possible I shall love again, and so will she.”

  Emily didn’t really understand what Henry was trying to say, having no experience with romantic love herself. But she knew he had loved her mother and still loved Eliza, and from what he said, it followed he could love some
one else if he met the right person. She hoped with all her heart the salons of London this season would yield a lady her father could love. Emily felt comforted by the possibility and swore a silent oath never to be the one to stand in the way of her Papa’s happiness ever again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HENRY SPENT THE NEXT FEW WEEKS LETTING his relatives ease his loneliness. His cousin’s large family was lively and entertaining, Emily enchanting if prickly, and his grandmother loving and supportive.

  The Duke and Duchess of Avon planned to introduce their second daughter into society during the coming season, and Grossmama promised to come to town with them, so at least Henry wouldn’t be alone in his search for a suitable wife.

  By the time he said goodbye to his cousins and Emily in mid-March to begin the spring round to his estates, he felt more able to enter this new stage of his life, possibly even felt a small amount of excitement at the prospect of meeting a new woman.

  Henry’s first stop was the modest estate near Reading he had inherited from his mother. Oakdale was the smallest of Henry’s holdings, but the fields were well irrigated and extremely fertile, and it was close enough to London for goods to be brought to market there.

  Henry left the lovely Palladian manor behind a couple of weeks later. As he traveled through Reading, he saw a watercolor in the window of a small gallery. It looked like it had been painted from the very spot where he had observed the alluring painter on the hill above Upavon. Stopping on an impulse, and finding the painting to be of excellent quality, he bought it. The landscape was signed with the initials IJC, giving no indication as to the painter’s gender and fueling Henry’s fancy of purchasing the very painting he had seen the lady paint.

  But duty called, and a fancy was after all just a fancy, so Henry got on his way to Sussex to oversee the lambing. From there he went to Norfolk, where planting was underway, and then headed to his ancestral lands in Lincolnshire.

  BY THE TIME HE GOT back to London in late April, spring was in full bloom and the season had already begun. The moment Henry entered the library in his house on Cavendish Square, it became abundantly clear his grandmother and Lady Greyson had sent word to the season’s hostesses that he was in the market for a bride. His desk was literally overflowing with invitations to all kinds of events, from balls to musicals to Venetian breakfasts.

  It took Henry an entire day to sort through and answer his mail. He was aided in this by a letter from his godmother, Lady Greyson, who had taken it upon herself to make a list of all the families attending the season with unmarried daughters. She included information as to each lady’s age, how many seasons she’d had, her musical talents, and her other interests. Lady Greyson also furnished a brief description, in those cases where she had met the woman. But for the most part, the ladies were in truth girls under the age of eighteen, and Henry was tempted to exclude them on their youth alone.

  There were only nine candidates over twenty whom Lady Greyson had not dismissed for one reason or another, and a handful of virtuous widows under the age of thirty. Since the widows were unlikely to host events, Henry would rely on Grossmama and his godmother to introduce him. But he matched the names of the nine older misses to his invitations and accepted all those from their families. Then he sorted through the rest and accepted all the invitations to balls, as he liked dancing. He also committed himself to a few musicals. Those gave the young ladies a chance to showcase their accomplishments, and he did wish for a wife with a purpose of her own. Not to mention he himself was fond of playing the pianoforte.

  Henry’s first engagement was a ball that very night. Having no desire to face the lion’s den all by himself, he sent a message asking Lady Greyson whether she had need of an escort for the evening. Then he ordered a bath and went about the lengthy process of preening himself to the level of polish expected of a man in search of a noble-born wife.

  Two hours later, Henry emerged from his rooms clad in an exquisitely cut dark blue velvet tailcoat with wide lapels and double rows of silver buttons. His silk waistcoat was the same shade of blue, but shot through with silver thread, and his satin breeches were a silvery gray. Light gray silk stockings brought out well-formed calves, and the dark gray dancing shoes sported silver buckles matching the buttons on his coat. A square-cut sapphire winked from the folds of his snowy white neckcloth, mirroring the color of Henry’s eyes. He was freshly shaved, his sandy sideburns trimmed short and his nails polished. In short, Henry was the very picture of wealth and elegance.

  Lady Greyson’s note expressing her unmitigated joy at having Henry as her escort arrived during dinner and stressed he was expected to pick her up at eight. Groaning at the thought of arriving so very early, he called for his carriage without even inspecting dessert, earning himself an eye roll from his man, William, and a disgruntled mutter from his housekeeper, Mrs. Tibbit. Both knew the circumstances of Emily’s birth and his need to marry a woman of good standing in society. But they’d become accustomed to the easy camaraderie in Henry’s household and missed Eliza, almost as much as Henry himself did. No doubt they were apprehensive. His new wife, once he could bring himself to choose one, would come from a respected family and would naturally expect the servants to behave like servants and keep their opinions to themselves.

  Heaving a sigh, Henry concluded he would have to reassure his two most senior staff, both also friends of long standing. “Will, why don’t you help Daisie write a letter to Eliza? That way we can all find out how she fares. After all, I’m the only one who isn’t allowed to contact her for the time being.”

  William, broad shouldered and square faced, handed him his hat and gloves, then met his eyes. “We already did that, and she is well enough. Worried about Mr. Strathem and you, but well enough.”

  Mrs. Tibbit chimed in, “We are mostly worried about you, sir.”

  Henry smiled, knowing her concern was genuine, but also conscious of what the “mostly” signified. “It’ll be all right, Tibby! I promise not to marry a harpy.”

  His housekeeper, round and maternal, looked like she wanted to swat him, but returned his smile in the end. She and William nodded their understanding before Henry walked down the few steps to the sidewalk and stepped up into his carriage.

  “LADY GREYSON, HOW WONDERFUL OF you to grace us with your presence.” Lady Brockhurst was a comfortably rounded matron in her midforties, decked out in a ruby-red ball gown with matching ostrich feathers in her hair. Diamonds winked from her bosom and her hair, competing with the twinkle in her eyes. “And you brought Sir Henry with you. How absolutely marvelous.”

  Henry bowed over her hand as she turned her attention to him.

  “I hear you have finally decided to look for a wife, and since I have two unmarried girls on my hands, I doubly welcome you to our house.”

  A Miss Brockhurst was in fact on Henry’s list of debutantes twenty and older, so he assumed she had a younger sister, but only one of the young women next to his talkative host wore pastel pink. The other young woman appeared rather somber in midnight-blue taffeta that did nothing to enhance her mousy coloring.

  Lady Brockhurst was obviously excited to introduce her daughters to Sir Henry, so while her husband shook hands with their guest, she hustled her girls forward. “Since we have a moment, I might as well introduce you to my girls.” She indicated the shy, plump girl in pink, who blushed profusely and sank into a deep curtsy. “This is my youngest, Sarah. She’s in her second season, so feel free to ask her to waltz.”

  Henry felt bad for the clearly mortified girl as he bowed over her shaking hand and raised her out of her curtsy. But before he could ask her to dance, Lady Brockhurst continued:

  “But if you don’t fancy wedding an infant, this is my oldest, Mrs. Wilder. Her husband died a little over a year ago, and she is in need of another.”

  The young widow glared daggers at her mother and sank into an absentminded curtsy while Henry did his best not to laugh. “I would be most gratified to dance with both of y
our lovely daughters. Mrs. Wilder, your servant.”

  Henry bowed over the older daughter’s hand but addressed the younger first. “Would you grant me the pleasure of the opening quadrille, Miss Brockhurst?”

  The girl smiled a tentative smile and handed him her dance card. After he had put his name in the appropriate spot, he turned to the other. “And may I have the pleasure of your company for the first country dance, Mrs. Wilder?”

  The young woman appeared less than pleased to have to dance with Henry, but finally managed a civil enough, “I would be honored,” and handed him her card.

  Henry filled in his name, stepped back, nodded to all three ladies, and offered his arm to Lady Greyson to help her into the still sparsely populated ballroom below. Once they had navigated the five steps and were out of hearing, Lady Greyson patted his arm and murmured, “Well done, my boy! Dancing the opening quadrille with the host’s daughter is polite and firmly puts you on the market as a possible husband. I expect to be inundated with requests for an introduction. Now all you have to do is turn up at Almack’s every Wednesday and there’ll be no doubt in any of the matrons’ minds that you’re set on finding a bride.”

  Henry gave a humorless chuckle as he led her to a sofa along the wall, where they had a clear view of the new arrivals. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to sacrifice a waltz to either of the Brockhurst daughters. I take it Mrs. Wilder does not approve of my lifestyle to date. I can only hope she doesn’t decide to make it her mission to reform me.”

  Lady Greyson arranged her voluminous jade-green skirts around herself before she returned her attention to Henry. “Mrs. Wilder doesn’t approve of many people, not even her mother, whom I like very much. I think it very unlikely this virtuous widow will set her cap at you, but don’t be so quick to dismiss the younger girl. She may not be the prettiest of the bunch, but she has a sweet nature.”

  They were distracted by a flurry of new arrivals. The Earl and Countess of Hedgely had stopped at the top of the stairs to survey the activities below while their charges, Lady Caroline, a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty in a butter-yellow gown, and Miss Imogen Tubbs, a classic English rose in pure white, chatted to the Brockhurst girls.