A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1) Read online

  “I’m aware. Elsington has sent correspondence to that effect.”

  “Good. Then the subject I’m about to discuss is not foreign to you.”

  Eleanor fiddled with the folds of her dress and frowned. “I’ve thought of little else this week.”

  “Indeed? You’ve given no sign of it.”

  She glanced at him with visible wariness. “Perhaps some of your elegant composure is rubbing off on me.”

  For the last week, he had hashed a variety of approaches to this subject through his mind and concluded he had no experience with skittish virgins and lacked the slightest notion as to how to go on. He had decided an appeal to her practical side was the safest course.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to fly in the face of your express wishes and make things awkward between us,” he teased lightly.

  “And we’ve been rubbing along so well,” she responded in the same tone. An apprehensive smile flashed across her face. “Just say what you need to say.”

  “It is unlikely that the government and Church would act on any such petition to nullify a marriage, even one initiated by His Royal Highness. It would be costly, time-consuming and unprecedented, but should they do so, your good name will be ruined. Of course, of greatest significance is that it would nullify the petition to change the line of inheritance. You would lose Rutledge.” He disregarded a frisson of aversion and braced himself for her reaction to his next words. “So… could you see your way forward to consummating this marriage?” He cleared his throat and watched Eleanor’s face color as scarlet as a cavalry man’s coat. “It is medieval, and so I told Penwick Elsington, but he seems to think it will add credibility to our union.”

  “Yes,” she croaked and then cleared her throat and stated more clearly. “He thinks it will help. I agree… ah… to all of it.”

  Miles lifted his chin to loosen a cravat grown suddenly tight, smoothed his cuffs and offered her an apologetic smile. “I did warn you about the awkwardness.”

  She waved him off with a limp hand and appeared to make every attempt to disappear into the upholstery of the carriage. Her overwhelming discomfort destroyed his customary aplomb and drove every safe topic of conversation from Miles’ head. For the remainder of the trip home, only the sounds of the activities in the street and the clop of the horses’ hooves disturbed the silence while he berated himself inwardly for being a heavy-handed clod. She looked anywhere but upon him, until he’d seen her safely to her door.

  She turned to him and finally met his gaze with a brittle smile.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening. I cannot remember another its like. Our wedding is scheduled for 3:00 in the afternoon day after next. I have a number of arrangements that will occupy all of my time until then. I look forward to seeing you at All Hallows for the ceremony and afterward I would like to come here for … ah… for… ” She cleared her throat.

  Miles’ heart went out to her for her gallant attempt at insouciance. It hurt him to see his self-possessed Eleanor so undone. It didn’t pass beneath his notice that he already considered her “his.” When he took one of her hands in his, he detected a slight tremor.

  “I will treat you with every consideration, Eleanor,” he murmured with a reassuring smile. “I give you my promise.”

  “Of course you will.” Her head jerked north and south, but her eyes refused to meet his. “Of course.”

  “As it happens, I, too, will be fully occupied. I’m riding to Newmarket to finalize the purchase of the property I mentioned to you. I expect to be back in ample time for our nuptials.”

  “Then I wish you a swift journey and a safe return.” She drew her hand from his and offered a brisk, “Good night.”

  Lingering for a moment on the wide front steps, he waited until the butler had secured the door before he departed.

  He had offered to make their union as legitimate as possible in an effort to secure her future and her good name—to protect her. He had the purest of motives—well, mostly pure; a portion of him warmed at the idea of possessing her, of her being uniquely his. He had little doubt he would enjoy making love to Eleanor—if she could be brought to enjoy it also. How to accomplish that had exercised his mind these last few days. The fact remained. Contemplation of their wedding night engendered a degree of concern, and he felt like the worst sort of scoundrel for looking forward to it, regardless.

  Ned was waiting for him when the carriage pulled into the mews at Reggie’s townhouse.

  “Finally! I thought you were going to dance all night.”

  “Hello, Ned.” Miles took in his brother’s dishabille, from his limply tied and stained cravat to his wilting shirt points, unshaven chin and muddied top boots. As his eyes traveled down, everything about his brother proclaimed a man fagged to death. “What have you been up to, little brother? You look like the devil.”

  Ned laughed. “You know how it is. Just getting about on the town. I saw the announcement of your wedding in the Times and came to wish you happy. You always did have devilish good luck. Lady Eleanor Russell, eh? No counting ha’pence for you anymore.”

  “The announcement was twelve days ago, Ned.”

  His brother had the grace to wince and look away.

  Miles took a slow, steadying breath. “I saw His Grace this evening. He said to remind you, you’d not get a farthing from him.”

  Ned turned the air blue with his curses. “If our father had not acknowledged him, I’d swear him no blood of ours.”

  Miles studied his far-too-handsome-for-his-own-good younger sibling and sighed. “How much, Ned?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing like that, Miles. I promise. I simply wanted to offer you my—”

  “Cut line, Edmund. What are your losses?”

  “… I was so sure I could win it back. Luck that bad couldn’t continue, so I borrowed… but I didn’t, you see—win it back. I lost what I’d borrowed and more and now…” His brother’s voice trailed off miserably. “I don’t know how it got to be so much, Miles.” He raked his hands through his hair in a gesture of desperation. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. You don’t deserve to have my irresponsibility laid at your feet. You’ve enough on your plate.” He turned to face Miles and offered him a shadow of his boyish grin. “I’ll come about, never fear. I wish you happy, brother. If anyone deserves it, you do.”

  Miles grabbed him into a ferocious hug. “Neddy, as if I wouldn’t help you.” He set him away at arm’s length and shook him gently. “I warned you, did I not? You cannot run with that set.” He searched his brother’s face. “You cannot, Ned.” He dropped his arms. “Now, what do you owe?”

  “You are the best of brothers, Miles. The best. I promise I’ll be more careful.”

  Miles sighed and gave Ned a stern look of inquiry.

  “£5,000.”

  “Say again?”

  His brother swallowed heavily and cleared his throat. “£5,000.”

  “£5,000…by all that’s holy!” Miles pinched the bridge of his nose and said goodbye to plans for French drains to improve the drainage in the farm’s eastern fields, a new foaling barn and modernizing the bathrooms in the main house to include indoor plumbing. “I’ll be gone from London for the next day or so. I’m riding to Newmarket to finalize the purchase of that property I told you about. I’ll be back in the morning the day after tomorrow. Before I depart, I will write you a draft and enclose instructions to my bank directing them to extend credit against my expectations, but Ned…” He looked up and held his brother with a stern gaze. “This must be the end of it. My arrangement with Lady Russell is such that my funds are not unlimited. After the purchase of this property, I simply won’t have the ready.”

  “No more gaming. You have my promise.”

  He wished he could take his brother at his word, but he’d been disappointed once too often to lend his avowal any credence and tried one more time to lure Ned from an environment that he couldn’t help but feel would damage his brother beyond salvation. “Think about
making your home with me, Ned—you and Mother. You’ve always been a magician with young stock. The living will be spartan at first, I grant you, but we’ll have a life out from under His Grace.” He held Ned in a steady gaze, hoping to see agreement. He was disappointed. “At least tell me you’ll think about it?”

  “Of course, Miles. Just a few more weeks to kick up my heels—no gaming—then I’ll gladly get into harness with you.”

  Miles sighed. No exhortation from him would alter his brother’s behavior. He had to hope that sooner or later Ned would come to his senses. “Stop by in the morning. I’ll have a draft waiting for you to cover your debt and living expenses for the next quarter.”

  “Thank you, brother. Safe travels.” Ned backed away, smiling his thanks before he turned with a wave and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Five

  M

  iles closed his eyes, groaned softly and then walked after the carriage toward the mews. When he entered the soft golden light of the stable block, he sought out the head groom. “Gordon, please saddle the new bay hunter. I’m off to Newmarket as soon as I pack a few things.”

  “Burning the candle at both ends, Lord Miles?” the short man replied with a laugh. “You have a long ride ahead of you, my lord.”

  Miles smiled. “Yes. I’ve set myself up for two wearisome days. But, it can’t be helped. I’ve much ground to cover and little time to do it in. I can sleep anytime.”

  The dark mass of London fell behind him as he rode toward Newmarket at a clipping trot. Maintaining a steady pace and stopping only briefly to have a hot drink at one of the posting-houses, he arrived at “The Sturdy Plowman” as morning light was beginning to streak the horizon with soft lances of pink and gold. He handed his bay off to the staff and inquired about hiring a fresh mount. Coming to an agreeable arrangement, he made his way to the common taproom for a light breakfast before he continued to the Woodward farm. He’d been up a full twenty-four hours straight. He’d stayed up until dawn many a night entertaining one of his patronesses, so long hours of physical exertion were nothing new. He figured he could catch a short nap later that evening before riding back to London. If pressed, he’d do without sleep entirely.

  From The Sturdy Plowman, he found the private lane that meandered through a large wood of full-grown oaks and elms before opening onto a broad swath of cleared land, neatly fenced into paddocks of thick emerald grass where a dozen or more mares and colts grazed. The manor house and stable block occupied the horizon.

  Yew and perfectly trimmed hedgerows lined a circular drive, and a fountain gurgled in the center lawn, its splashing water like crystals in the morning sun. Smooth rock walls, a subtle mix of gray and gold, formed the exterior of the two-story manor replete with mullioned windows looking out on the world. Spirals of smoke wafted from tall chimneys, and songbirds warbled, competing with the cluck of chickens and the honks of geese waddling near the stable block behind and to the east of the manor house. It was an eminently rural scene.

  His gaze roved admiringly over the stone and timber perfection that housed the four-footed residents. Through open double-doors, an immaculately clean interior could be seen. Tan

  bricks paved a long, wide, central aisle flanked by dark-stained, wood-paneled stalls with polished brass grills from which heads of inquisitive horses appeared, their attention captured by the activity in the stable yard.

  As he rode toward the house, the sole occupant in the paddock on his right raised her sculptured chestnut head from grazing and pricked her dainty ears at him. A soft whicker preceded her all-out sprint to the fence line where she breasted the railing not more than six feet from him, wheeled and blew back across the paddock in a dazzling display of speed and infectious high spirits. She raced around the fence line and whirled to a stop facing him, bouncing on stiff legs and fracturing the morning air with explosive snorts. As he watched, a smile grew, and when his own mount blew in retort and pranced sideways with a waggle of his head, despite his physical fatigue, Miles laughed aloud at the antics of the young mare and the response she provoked from his sedate hired hack.

  This…this…he thought to himself. I covet this life—a life removed from the artificialities of society that prescribed his every move. A life free of his suffocating, oppressive older brother. He pulled up and sat on his horse in the middle of the lane, surveying the natural beauty that surrounded him with abiding satisfaction and an unfamiliar sense of optimism. This will be mine.

  “Lord Miles!” A rider approached from the direction of the stables and hailed him, and Miles raised his hand in greeting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Weldon. I hope the notice of my impending visit reached you before I did.”

  The farm manager chuckled and closed the distance between them with a pleasant smile. “Yes. We got word of your coming, though I didn’t expect you at dawn. The paperwork is in order and waiting for your signature. I’m just on my rounds to inspect the broodmares and babies and watch the morning workouts. Will you join me, my lord? You’ll get another look at the stock you’ve purchased along with the farm.”

  “I’d like nothing better. Lead on.”

  As they rode toward the crest of a nearby hill, Weldon indicated the young chestnut that had put on such a display of good spirits. “You are very fortunate in the timing of your purchase, Lord Miles. We have great hopes for that filly. She’s entered in the 1,000 Guineas for three-year-old fillies this spring. Very serendipitous how we came to have her. Lord Marlburl bought what we thought was an open broodmare from the Earl of Rutledge to cross on our old stallion.” Weldon grinned at Miles. “That season, we never got to breed her to our stud. Ten months and fourteen days after we purchased her, the mare dropped that lovely filly. The Earl of Rutledge has been trying to buy her back from Lord Marlburl ever since. Now it seems he will have her after all, even if by indirect means.” The farm manager looked at Miles, curiosity evident in his tone and expression. “I heard of your impending marriage to the Earl’s daughter. Congratulations, sir. Will you be adding this estate to the Rutledge holdings?”

  “Thank you. No, this property will operate independently of the Rutledge stud.” He had little desire to expound on the details though Weldon was clearly leaving an opening to do so. Miles straightened in the saddle. “Rutledge didn’t know the mare was bred when he sold her to you?”

  Weldon shook his head with a grin. “Rutledge has a young, unproven, five-year-old stallion, Dare To Dream. That filly’s momma was one of three test mares exposed to him when he was a two-year-old. The breeding manager slipped up and included this filly’s momma in a group of older mares that were sold. Needless to say, he is no longer in the Earl’s employ. Day Dreamer, that’s the filly, will be the first of Dare To Dream’s get to race. Lord Marlburl nominated her to the Newmarket 1,000 Guineas Stakes and the Epsom Oaks this year.”

  “The 1,000 Guineas and the Oaks? She’s that good?”

  Weldon smiled and nodded, then shot Miles a rueful glance. “Barring injury or other mishap, you will have the pleasure of seeing her run carrying your silks.”

  Miles studied the chestnut filly with a horseman’s appreciation of her clean lines. It was hard to find fault with her.

  Miles extracted every iota of knowledge he could from the wealth stored between Mr. Weldon’s ears about management of the physical property, the horses, and the breeding programs, the training routines—in short everything about which his lively brain had questions. Early morning stretched into late afternoon before he returned to the manor house to sign the documentation necessary for the transfer of property and chattel into his name. The housekeeper showed him into a small but beautifully furnished library where Lord Marlburl’s man of business waited.

  “Lord Miles.”

  “Mr. Anderson.”

  The two men nodded at each other and Miles seated himself where Anderson indicated.

  “I trust you enjoyed your day with Mr. Weldon?”

  “Very much. I’m more det
ermined than ever to finalize this purchase.”

  Anderson’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “If you will sign here, here and here…” He pushed papers toward Miles and watched as he scrawled his name where indicated. “Very good, my lord. And if you will also sign these here and here.”

  Miles repeated his signature twice more and sat back.

  Anderson scanned the documents one more time. “I believe all we need now is the exchange of monies.”

  “To that end, here is my draft for the full amount agreed upon, written on my London bank.” Miles reached into his inner lapel, pulled out a long envelope and handed almost the entirety of his wedding settlement, less the monies he’d promised Ned, to Lord Marlburl’s agent.

  The man opened the envelope and looked in. “Yes, this seems in order.” Anderson rose and walked around the desk where the signings had occurred and offered Miles his hand. “Congratulations on your purchase, my lord. Lord Marlburl wished me to convey his apologies that his health prevented him from being here in person, and he offered his thanks that you have chosen to retain the current staff. Some of them have been in his service for over forty years.”

  “I can see no reason to interfere with management clearly doing an exceptional job.”

  “Yes. Quite. I believe Mrs. Brody has set up the small dining room for us. Shall we continue our discussion over dinner?”

  His sense of exuberance kept him going until he rode into Reggie’s yard in London as yet another morning dawned, marking forty-eight hours that he’d been without sleep. When Miles slid from his horse and handed off the reins to a stable lad, his head felt as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton wool and it took all the energy he could summon to drag himself up the steps and into the house. He called for the footman who did double duty as his valet, handed off his dirt-splattered coat and hat, and instructed him, “Under no circumstances allow me to sleep for more than three hours. I’m to be married this afternoon at 3:00 and I’ll need to be made presentable.”