A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Page 4

  “Yesterday, at my solicitor’s… you said you were grateful for the wherewithal to live your life as you chose… or something to that effect. Have you been very unhappy, Lord Miles?” From the stiffening of his posture and his suddenly shuttered expression, she realized she’d erred as soon as she’d asked, but she couldn’t take it back.

  He flashed her a tight smile. “As an affianced couple, I give you leave to dispense with formality. You may address me as Miles.”

  The silence lengthened and with growing unease, she wondered if he would answer at all. She glanced at him from time to time as they walked. She’d been too direct. It was her biggest fault. She winced and drew a breath to apologize, but her words stilled on her lips when he captured her in a deliberate gaze.

  “I wouldn’t say I was unhappy… more I had a general feeling of futility, of simply marking time, of not living the life I’d hoped for myself.”

  She considered his response and wanted to ask him further questions but lacked the courage. “Thank you for answering. You needn’t have, and I beg your pardon. My question was horribly intrusive. I’ve ever been taken to task for my bluntness. It’s one of my many flaws of character that men find unattractive.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to flirt or dissemble.”

  He shrugged as if to make light of her lack of tact.

  Ah well, might as well be in for a pound as a penny. “What will you do with your £30,000?” She braced herself for a polite set down.

  This time, he responded without hesitation. “I’m going to purchase a modest farm in Newmarket and set up a Thoroughbred stud. I’ve had my eye on the property for several years and have already spoken to the landowner. I want to breed and train racehorses.” He gave her a much more amiable glance. “I believe you know something about that. The Rutledge stud is well known for its bloodstock and their successes on the race course.”

  Her mare chose that particular moment to take exception to some leaves that blew across the path and swirled up into her face, and it was several minutes before Eleanor could respond. “Yes, we’ve been very fortunate.”

  “I suppose luck plays a part in any success, but in the case of the Rutledge stud, I’d put it down rather to knowledgeable management. Are you much involved in the day-to-day operations?”

  “I am—more and more so since Father fell ill. I will miss him terribly when the day comes, but the truth is I’ve been directing the entire Rutledge estate for several years.” She threw a quick glance at him. “Does that horrify you? The thought that a woman manages one of the larger estates and Thoroughbred studs in England?”

  Miles glanced at her with raised eyebrows, followed immediately by a wry smile. “I put no limits on what an intelligent female is capable of. From my personal experience, a woman is every bit a male’s equal in dealing with the minutiae of running a large property. Probably more capable than some men, if truth be known, so … no, Lady Russell.” He shrugged. “Not horrified.”

  “Eleanor, please, if you are to be Miles. As you said, we are to be wed.”

  “Yes, we are.” He laughed, not without a little humor, and inclined his head. “Eleanor.”

  “I do hope we won’t always be awkward with each other,” she blurted. She could only trust he recognized the sincerity in her bumbling pronouncement.

  “No. We needn’t be awkward,” he answered with such an easy grin and agreeable manner that she understood all the more why he never lacked for a roof over his head. “And Eleanor, I will never take you to task for straightforward speech. I far prefer it.”

  Her pleasure at his comment left her tongue-tied. When Miles initiated an inquiry into the bloodlines of her mare, she leaped on the subject with immense gratitude. It was a topic she could converse upon at length.

  When they rode into the carriage yard of her townhome, he dismounted and then helped her down. His body felt hard as she slipped briefly against him before he settled her firmly on the ground and the strong hands that clasped her waist released her. It was the closest nonfamilial contact she’d had in years and an inappropriate handling of her body had he not been her “intended”—at least that was the reason she gave herself for being so breathless. It couldn’t have been the proximity of an attractive male. She was immune to that sort of thing.

  Turning her mare over to her groom, she reached behind and gathered up the trailing skirts of her riding habit by slipping the loop sewn into the hem for just that purpose around her wrist. Freed to walk without tripping, she stepped back and squinted up at him from under the brim of her feminized chapeau bas. He was intolerably attractive, not brash or bold or top lofty—simply charming of manner and possessed of an overwhelming masculine allure. Perhaps she wasn’t as immune to men as she’d thought. “Thank you for a delightful morning. I’ve enjoyed it tremendously.”

  “It was my pleasure. Shall we do this again tomorrow? 6:30?”

  She offered him a warm smile. “Please.”

  “Have your groom check your offside billets. One of the buckles on your girth has torn through the leather. I noticed as we were walking home.” He bowed and mounted his horse. With a touch of the silver handle of his whip to his hat brim and an, “Until tomorrow, Lady Russell,” he turned his mount and rode out, never looking back.

  With a heartfelt sigh, like the rawest girl, Eleanor watched his upright figure until he disappeared around the corner of the yard and then chided herself for being an absolute ninny. Turning, she went into the stables to find her groom and inspect her saddle. Lord Miles was correct. One of the three leather straps that affixed her girth to her saddle had torn. She or Barnaby, her groom, would have found it the next morning, as she always inspected her tack before mounting, but the novel experience of a male not in her employ being attentive to her welfare felt... nice.

  “What do you mean you’re to be married in a fortnight?” Reggie blinked owlishly and thunked the brandy decanter down on the sideboard with less than his usual aplomb. “Miles!” He shook his head as if to settle his brains. “Of course I’ll stand up with you, but ‘pon rep, sir. Who is the lady?”

  Miles leaned against the mantelpiece in Reggie’s study, one booted foot crossed over the other, and gazed at the blue lick of flames in the fireplace. He raised his brandy and tossed half the glass back before answering. “The Lady Eleanor Constance Russell, the only child of The Right Honorable Earl of Rutledge. The announcement is in this morning’s Times.”

  “The devil you say! The Earl of Rutledge as in the Rutledge Stud? Won the St. Ledger Stakes and Epsom Derby last year?”

  “The same.”

  “I didn’t know he even had a daughter. What, is she still in leading strings?”

  Miles laughed without humor. “No, quite the opposite. I believe we were still at Oxford when she first came out.” Mile shook his head at the consternation on his good friend’s face. “I think you will like her, Stanton. She has a lively mind and a forthright, nonsensical way about her.” A wry smile curled one side of his mouth. “Very forthright.”

  “Is she very much your senior?”

  “I’d guess at five or six years.”

  “Egad, Miles!” Reggie cleared his throat after a pause and offered hopefully, “Good rider?”

  “Bruising. Her personal mount is a glorious Araby mare, but as difficult and tricksy an animal as I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t recommend such a mount for half the men I know and certainly not for any woman. Lady Russell dealt with her splendidly.”

  “A beauty?”

  “No, but not an antidote. She has…countenance.”

  “Countenance?” The disappointment in the baron’s voice was comical.

  Miles grinned. “And a fine pair of hazel eyes, a womanly figure even if slender… and is very nearly my match in height. You glimpsed her. She was the woman I asked about at Tattersalls.”

  “Good gad…a veritable Amazon then. Not an affair of the heart, I take it?”

  “Reg.” Miles leveled a look of reproach a
t his good friend.

  “Well…?”

  “We have an agreement. I’m not at liberty to expound.”

  “Like that, is it?” Reggie groaned. “Are you that pressed for blunt, Miles? I could give you…” He held out his hands as if fumbling for words, and when Miles frowned and shook his head, Reg dropped them, only to scratch at the back of his neck with a grimace. “’pologies…but it’s not right. Your brother’s swimming in lard and you’ve pockets to let.”

  Miles leveled another disapproving gaze at his friend.

  “Can’t imagine you leg-shackled—not to a bracket-faced, long Meg. Always thought if you did marry, it would be to some pretty, well-inlaid widow. Someone jolly and full of fun.”

  Miles snorted quietly. “The terms were advantageous.” He sipped at the remaining brandy in his glass, nursing it, swirling it around as he gazed unseeing at the golden liquid. “Be happy for me, Stanton,” he murmured.

  His best friend grinned half-heartedly and shrugged. “Of course I’m glad for you if this is what you want.” The casement clock ticked quietly in the silence for many seconds. “Err…what do I tell Mary?”

  “Ah…” Miles sighed deeply. “Tell her I met Lady Russell through a friend, thought we’d suit, made her an offer. She accepted. All very April and May.” He pointed a finger at Reg. “Not a whisper that I’m not taken with the lady. Mary would be disappointed in me. She’s quite the romantic.”

  “Yes. I mean, no, no, I won’t tell her the particulars.”

  Miles and Baron Stanton looked at each other in silence for several long beats, and then the baron raised his glass with a tenuous smile. “To the parson’s noose. I wish you all happiness.”

  “Eleanor! You abominable tease! How dare you keep me in such suspense!” Eleanor’s butler had no more gotten out, “Your ladyship, the Lady Flo…” than Florence had burst into the front parlor where Eleanor had been going through her correspondence.

  She stood to greet her friend who enveloped her in a cloud of rose scent and a crushing hug.

  Florence straightened and regarded her friend with impatient expectation. “So, tell me… did he sign it? Did he agree?”

  With a helpless laugh, Eleanor motioned to the settee. “Please, sit. Tea?”

  Florence rolled her eyes. “Thank you, but no. I didn’t come for tea! I’ve been on tenterhooks since the day before yesterday and not a word from you, you horrid, abominable woman.”

  Eleanor shot her friend a wary glance. “Yes. He signed. We are to be married in the small chapel at All Hallows by the Tower in two weeks. Well, two weeks less two days by now. I’ve meant to ask if you’d act as my attendant.”

  “Of course, you goose. I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Her expression became abstract. “I’ll put you in the silver lama with the sprigged white sarsenet overdress, satin ribbon trim and matching slippers. We will dress your hair simply, a la Aphrodite, with pearls and ribbons, and give your cheeks the slightest kiss of rouge.” Florence gave a happy shiver and returned her gaze to Eleanor’s. “You will look like an angel.”

  Eleanor chuckled helplessly. “I’d settle for clean and neat.”

  “What nonsense. We can do much better than that.” Florence inhaled with suppressed excitement. “So … what did you think of the oh-so-elegant and oh-so-handsome Lord Miles Everleigh?”

  “I thought him kind.”

  Florence wore an expression of hopeful expectation, but after several long moments passed and Eleanor didn’t elaborate on her four-word statement, Florence gave harrumph of disgust. “You met with him for several hours yesterday afternoon and came away with, ‘He’s kind’?”

  “Well… I also rode with him in the park at 6:30 this morning. He thought we should be seen together.”

  Florence pursed her lips and glared at Eleanor. “At 6:30 a.m. no one of any import is awake.”

  “I don’t know what else to say,” Eleanor moaned. “He was everything a gentleman should be. He’s a positive Corinthian in the saddle and is much too well-favored for my peace of mind. I like him tremendously—far more than I should on such short acquaintance.” Her eyes fell to her lap, and her voice dropped to a murmur. “I’m afraid, Florence.”

  “Darling, whatever for?”

  “I could never engage the affections of such a man.”

  “Do you want to?”

  She nodded slowly, still unwilling to raise her eyes. “But I know how hopeless it is. I’m far too plain and far too firmly on the shelf to interest such as he.”

  “Ballocks.”

  “Florence!” Eleanor straightened abruptly, and her gaze flew to her friend. Both women pulled long faces and then burst into laughter. Florence recovered first.

  “Don’t even pretend you are shocked, and it’s true, dearest. You sadly underrate yourself. While you are far removed from sixteen, unlike most women, your looks have improved with each passing year. Your face has nary a wrinkle, and while you’ve remained slender as a willow, you’ve developed those curves you were missing at sixteen. Were our friendship not of such long standing, I think I could hate you. Besides, where men are concerned, the proverb, ‘When all candles be out, all cats be grey,’ holds truth.”

  “Scant comfort.” Eleanor shot her friend a sideways glance.

  “I’m simply telling you that in matters of the boudoir, men are not always exacting as to the physical aspects of their partner, and if Lord Miles is someone you think you want… well…” The dark-haired widow shrugged negligently.

  “But do I? Is the… marital duty… worth all the fuss and bother?”

  “Yes,” said Florence baldly. “Done properly, it is wondrous, and if you wish to affix his softer emotions, I would suggest it is a requirement; otherwise, Lord Miles will turn elsewhere and be lost to you. Besides, how else are you to beget an heir? Now, tell me, however did you come to be riding at 6:30 in the morning?”

  Eleanor gave an inward sigh of relief about the change of subject and chatted happily with her dear friend for the better part of the afternoon before the widow rose and announced that she had plans for dinner with a gentleman friend and would call on Eleanor in a day or two.

  As Miles rode into Eleanor’s yard in the dim light of an early February morning, he found she awaited him mounted on her mare and walking a wide circle in the courtyard. He was less startled at the sight of her this time. He’d expected Eleanor to be like every other female of his acquaintance and give promptness only a passing curtsy. He’d been surprised and heartened when he’d been spared a long wait the previous morning. But then, she’d been waiting for him at the solicitor’s office, too.

  Like the previous morning, Eleanor was beautifully attired. She wore a form-fitted riding habit of deep olive camlet, the jacket a la Hussar and richly ornamented on the sleeves and lapels with black soutache braid in the French passementerie style. A snowy cravat of lace cascaded down her breast from a stand-up collar of pristine white muslin. A version of his top hat, though not so high in the crown and with a broader brim, sat on her head. A few tendrils of ash blonde hair escaped to soften the nape of her neck. She rode up to him with a smile, her expression open and alight with pleasure. The chill in the air had pinked her cheeks. She made a fetching package indeed. While he’d not describe her as a beauty, there was still something about her that arrested the eye. She was a fine-looking woman who showed to particularly good effect on horseback.

  “Good morning, Lord Miles. I trust I find you well?” She must have seen the admiration in his gaze for she colored in a most becoming manner and her direct eye contact turned tentative.

  “I am well, Lady Russell.” He motioned in the direction of the park. “Shall we?”

  She nodded, and they turned the heads of their horses and rode out. The outing went much the same as the day before, with neither of them engaging in much idle conversation on the short traverse to the park. Riding between the stone pillars marking the entrance, their gazes intersected and she returned Miles’ smile.


  “What happened to your bay?”

  “His owner requisitioned him for later today, so I decided to let this fellow stretch his legs.” He reached down and patted the neck of his neat chestnut hack. “I’m afraid, if you give your mare her head, you are going to get the better of me this morning. In his prime, this old gentleman would have given her a proper challenge, but he has some age and old injuries. I don’t want to ask much of him.”

  “I understand. We certainly don’t have to be neck-and-nothing like yesterday,” she agreed. “I’ll be content with a simple gallop.”

  “Then lead the way, Lady Russell.”

  “Eleanor,” she called over her shoulder as she opened her hand and allowed her mare to pick up the pace.

  Mile was satisfied to follow at a somewhat reduced speed, and though the senior gentleman beneath him pulled at the reins and asked for the freedom of his head, Miles held him to a strict, steady pace. The well-mannered gelding conceded and settled into a rhythmic gallop. Only Miles felt the slight hitch and lack of drive in what used to be a free-flowing, powerful stride. Eleanor was waiting for him when he pulled up at the pavilion.

  “What a lovely, well-mannered fellow. He does show some age to him. How old is he?”

  “Badger is twenty-five. He and I share the same day of birth. I should have pensioned him off years ago, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I would worry about him under another’s care.” He shrugged and chuckled. “It’s difficult enough to walk by him in the stables. Badger always looks so hopeful as I approach and so offended when I ride out on another mount.”

  “It’s hard to say goodbye to old and faithful friends.” She gave him a soft look of sympathy. “I cried for days when Father declared my first pony no longer fit.”