A Noble Man

“Can’t say I took much notice of the area round here. Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Shoreditch and Smithfield certainly proved most interesting, though.”

“Good gad, Benedict!” Nicholas was beginning to wonder whether those years spent under a tropical sun might not have had some adverse effect on his brother’s mental state. “What on earth possessed you to venture to those spots? They’re all notorious havens for every form of low life. Even the Runners won’t enter those places alone, not even in broad daylight.” A disturbing possibility suddenly occurred to him. “Dear Lord! You didn’t go there to find a woman, did you?”

One ducal brow arched. “Credit me with some intelligence. Not that I didn’t receive several offers, but I have far too much respect for my health.”

“Well, thank the Lord for that!” his graceless brother responded, audibly sighing with relief. “Though I’m rather surprised you managed to return totally unscathed.”

“Dressed as I am, I no doubt appeared one of their own and, therefore, not worthy of accosting.”

This candid response returned Nicholas’s thoughts to what for him was the most pressing problem besetting him at the moment and, after hurriedly finishing his meagre repast, he wasted no further time in taking the first steps in putting his brother’s deplorable appearance to rights.

It rather amused him to see the appalled expressions on those famous Bond Street tailors’ faces when his brother entered their superior establishments in his wake. Benedict did not appear to take offence at the unenthusiastic reception he received wherever he went, and certainly displayed praiseworthy self-control when he was pulled this way and that, and measured with ruthless efficiency. Nicholas soon discovered, however, that beneath that veneer of complacency was an iron strong will, for nothing would induce Benedict to have his coats made fashionably tight, nor tempt him to select anything other than the plainest of colours for his clothes.

“Damned unimaginative! That’s what I call it,” Nicholas remonstrated, as they emerged into the sunlight once more. “Yellow-and-black-striped waistcoats are all the fashion this Season.”

“I do not doubt you are correct, brother. But I have no intention of going about the capital resembling something that spends most of its life collecting pollen.”

Nicholas was about to cast further aspersions on what he considered a deplorably unimaginative taste, when he caught sight of one of his degenerate friends on the opposite side of the street, and took evasive action by concealing himself in a doorway.

“I have no intention either of wearing coats so close-fitting that one cannot breathe, or breeches so tight that they’re in danger of splitting every time one sits down,” Benedict announced before he realised he was conversing with fresh air and, glancing round in an attempt to locate his sibling’s whereabouts, promptly collided with something soft, slender and totally feminine emerging from Hookham’s Library.

Benedict was powerless to prevent several books cascading from slender hands and ending up on the pavement, but managed to prevent the lady herself suffering the same fate by reaching out a steadying arm to encircle a very trim waist. “I’m so very sorry,” he apologised, silently cursing his clumsiness, and was about to relinquish his hold when the head beneath the fashionable bonnet was suddenly raised.

For several moments it was as much as Benedict could do to stop himself gaping like some lovelorn fool as thickly lashed eyes, with a spark of mischief in their beautiful green depths, twinkled up at him, and perfectly moulded lips curled into the sweetest of smiles. Beauties he’d known by the score, but never before had the sight of a lovely face and trim figure held him so totally captive, mind and body under some hypnotic spell, quite unable to function. The sights and sounds around him slowly began to fade, and he was conscious only of her, and the ever-increasing desire never to relinquish his hold.

Nicholas, on the other hand, stepping out from the convenient hiding-place, was instantly aware of the interest his clumsy brother was arousing in several passers-by, and promptly took command of the situation by treading none too gently on one roughly shod foot. “Don’t just stand there like a dolt!” he ordered, sublimely ignoring the flashing look of annoyance he perceived in a pair of masculine eyes. “Help this lady’s maid to pick up those books!”

Very reluctantly Benedict did as bidden, and Nicholas wasted no time in escorting the young lady in question to her waiting carriage. “Can’t apologise enough. The clumsy brute might have done you a serious mischief. I trust you’re none the worse for the encounter?”

“No, not at all, sir,” she assured him, her gaze momentarily wandering in the tall man’s direction as he handed her maid the books. “And please do not blame your servant. It was as much my fault as his. I was not attending where I was going either.”

Out of the corner of his eye Nicholas saw Benedict approaching, and hurriedly helped the lovely damsel into the carriage. “You are too kind, ma’am,” he responded, stepping to one side to enable the maid to enter, and then wasted no time in closing the door.

“Why in heaven’s name didn’t you introduce me?” Benedict demanded, aggrieved, as he watched the carriage move away.

“What!” Once again Nicholas very much feared those years spent beneath a Caribbean sun had taken their toll. “When I’ve done everything humanly possible to keep your identity secret since we left the house? You might have no pride in the name you bear, brother, but I most certainly have. Do you imagine I’ll permit London to see you going about looking like that? Why, it would be the talk of the clubs for months to come if your identity ever became known!”

Catching the eye of a passing jarvey, Nicholas hurriedly bundled his troublesome brother into the hired carriage before Benedict could draw more attention to himself. “I don’t understand what’s come over you, Ben. You used to take such pride in your appearance, and yet now you don’t seem to care a whit that you look more like a didicoi than a duke.”

More interested in the lovely image his mind’s eye was conjuring up, Benedict had listened with only half an ear to his brother’s strictures. “Who was she? Do you know?”

Nicholas cast him an impatient glance, wondering anew what had come over him. No one would have believed his brother capable of fending off an attack from pirates, when a pair of green eyes could fell him with one glance!

“Of course I know her. I was dancing with her only last night. She’s Lady Sophia Cleeve, the Earl of Yardley’s daughter.” He raised his eyes heavenwards when his brother’s besotted expression did not alter. “Anyone would suppose you’d never seen a pretty face before.”

“Pretty? A totally inappropriate description!” Benedict scoffed. “She’s exquisite.”

Nicholas considered this for a moment or two. “Opinions differ. Some consider her a beauty. However, blondes are all the fashion this Season.”

His brother appeared decidedly unimpressed. Evidently flaxen hair was not to his taste. “My, my, the little minx appears to have you well and truly in her toils,” Nicholas remarked, highly amused now by the unfortunate encounter with the Earl’s daughter. “Not that I don’t think it’s high time you were leg-shackled, brother, but if you take my advice you’ll look elsewhere for a wife.”

A heart-rending possibility occurred to Benedict. “She isn’t married already, is she? Or engaged?”

“No, nor likely to be, either.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t seem interested in marriage. At least,” Nicholas amended, memory stirring, “certainly not a marriage to a member of our class. If what she tells me is true, she prefers the company of grooms to dukes.”

“Ha! She must have been teasing you,” Benedict scoffed, thinking his brother highly gullible.

“Perhaps,” Nicholas conceded. “I’m only repeating what I was told last night. Furthermore, she’s received four proposals of marriage to my certain knowledge since her arrival in town, and has refused them all. Which would suggest that she certainly isn’t hankering after a husband, let alone a title.” His wicked sense of humour coming to the fore, he gave a shout of laughter. “Why, she paid more attention to you out there in the street just now than she pays to most members of her own class.”

Evidently his brother did not share the joke, for he sat silently staring out of the window. “Don’t disturb yourself,” Nicholas advised. “There’ll be plenty of other pretty wenches gracing the Season once it officially gets under way.”

“I dare say you’re right,” Benedict murmured, a decidedly calculating gleam springing into his striking blue eyes, “but it’s Lady Sophia Cleeve I intend to get to know. So perhaps, all things considered, it might serve me best if I remain incognito for a while longer.”

“How on earth can that benefit you?” Nicholas asked, totally at a loss.

Benedict transferred his gaze to his sibling’s puzzled countenance. “You said yourself that she prefers the company of grooms…And if there is one thing I do know…it’s my way around a stable!”

Chapter Three

The Earl of Yardley was essentially a man of habit, and his sojourn in the capital had not altered his routine to any great extent. Consequently, Cardew knew precisely where his master was to be found at this time of day, and entered the library to discover his lordship, as expected, seated at his desk, carefully studying his correspondence.

“I regret having to disturb you, sir,” he said, as the Earl, pausing in the perusal of the letter in his hand, raised an enquiring brow, “but the head groom is here, requesting an interview with you.”

Like all the other servants, Cardew held his master in high esteem. During the twenty years he had been employed as butler in the Cleeve household he could never recall even one occasion when the Earl had been too busy to spare one of his employees some of his time, and he knew what the response would be even before his lordship said, “Of course. I shall see him at once.”

Certain that his most loyal henchman would not seek an interview on some trivial matter, the Earl set aside his correspondence and a moment later watched his head groom enter, cap in hand, looking totally ill-at-ease, just as he always did whenever in elegant surroundings. Trapp was never happy when away from the stables for any length of time. Horses were his life, and his lordship suspected that he much preferred their company to that of most people.

“Well, come in, Trapp,” his lordship ordered when the groom, who had been with him all those years ago out in India, continued to hover by the door. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here on young Clem’s behalf, sir.” Looking and sounding nothing like the iron-handed ruler of the stables whose word was law, and whose barking commands kept the youngest stable-lads in a permanent state of terror, he moved hesitantly across to the desk.

“Seemingly Clem’s been offered a post as head groom on some large estate in the south, sir. I ’ave to say I don’t want to lose ’im. He’s a good lad and he’s been with us for a number of years, but there’s no denying it would be a good move for ’im.” His weather-beaten face creased into a semblance of a smile. “I ain’t quite ready to hang up the harness yet, as yer might say, so I can’t blame Clem for not wanting to wait around until I do.”

His lordship nodded his head in agreement. “Do you know precisely who has made him this offer of employment, Trapp?”

“That I don’t, sir. Don’t know that Clem does neither, if it comes to that. Or if he does, he ain’t saying. Seemingly someone approached ’im when he were in The Red Lion t’other evening. Said that if he wanted the position, he’d ’ave to take it right away. He’s been given until this evening to make up ’is mind.”

The Earl’s silver-grey brows snapped together, clearly betraying his staunch disapproval. He considered this underhanded way of acquiring employees totally unacceptable. Why, it smacked of nothing short of poaching! Yet, at the same time, he could quite understand Clem’s wishing to improve his lot, and felt it would be very mean-spirited on his part not to let the young groom go simply because he and Trapp would be put to the trouble of finding a suitable replacement.

“If Clem wishes to leave us, then we must accept the situation with a good grace,” he responded at length, echoing his thoughts aloud. “It’s unlikely we’ll find a replacement at a moment’s notice, so I’ll arrange for one of the lads at Jaffrey House to come here.”

“There may be no need to put yourself to the bother, sir,” Trapp surprised his lordship by announcing. “As luck would ’ave it, someone wandered into the mews this morning in search of work. Seemingly, he’s been away in foreign parts for a number of years. Brown as a nut he be, so I don’t doubt the truth o’ that. Came back after his old master died, he told me.”

His lordship was not enthusiastic. “Who was his late employer, do you know? Can he supply a reference?”