“A woman who has a profession does not have to dress so dreadfully that one forgets she is actually a person. I do not want you to blend into the bloody wallpaper. Choose colors and styles you enjoy—that is a command.”
So she had, and yes, she did feel guilty about it, but she also was truly delighted. She was a governess now. She had a profession. It was safe, and she would earn her keep and her horse’s. Sabrina was relieved and comforted by that thought.
Yet as she lay in bed that night, all she could do was dream about that waltz at Lady Germain’s ball and all the things that had come after. What was her mystery stranger doing tonight? Was he thinking of her? Would he ever think of her, or was that one night just one of many to come with other women that he would likely forget?
“You are being silly,” she chided herself. She rolled over, smashing a fist into her pillow to plump it up, and forced herself to sleep. The coming days would bring new challenges, but she needed a decent night’s sleep if she was to face them.
6
Eight months later
Peregrine removed his hat and coat and handed them to his butler, Jamison, as he entered his townhouse for the evening. He’d spent all day making the rounds, paying calls on families that he must now be better acquainted with. Then he’d met with his solicitors and bankers to assess all the properties and accounts that had come to him after Great-Uncle Frederick had died.
For the last eight months, he had been busy adjusting to the reality of being an earl, of having a future that lifted him out of his meager surroundings and into levels of money and power he didn’t feel he had in any way earned.
“My lord, you have a letter from Mr. Lennox.” His butler nodded, and a footman stepped forward with a letter on a silver tray. Peregrine was still not used to that either.
He removed the letter from the tray and went to his study. Once he was alone, he read Rafe’s note. Rafe planned to visit his friend Lawrence Russell in the Cotswolds for a house party. Lawrence had apparently extended an invitation to Peregrine, since he and Peregrine were now neighbors.
Peregrine had never met Lawrence, at least not officially, but he hoped they would get on well, given that their estates bordered each other. He wrote a hasty reply directed to Rafe and then a second to Lawrence Russell, thanking him and accepting the invitation. He would need to leave in a few days to be there in time for the start of the party.
He delivered the letters to Jamison, and then he stood in the entryway of the vast empty townhouse and let out a sigh. Before his great-uncle died, he’d been living in barely tolerable lodgings in the West End of London, but at least he’d had a sense of companionship with the other people that lived nearby. Now he was utterly alone. His staff would not dare to crack a smile in his presence. He hoped that with time they would soften up, but until then, this “lordship” business was quite lonely.
“What are your plans for this evening, my lord? Should I tell the cook to have dinner ready?” The butler patiently waited for him to decide what he wished to do that night. It never ceased to amaze Peregrine how patient the man could actually be. Jamison was a bloody saint.
“I . . . well, I think I’ll go out.”
“Out, my lord? Should I summon your coach?”
“Yes, thank you, Jamison. I’ll go to my club.” At least there he would have someone to talk to.
“Yes, my lord. I’ll have your coach prepared at once.”
“Thank you.” He returned to his study to look over some letters until Jamison summoned him.
By the time he reached Berkley’s, he was surprised to find himself looking forward to an evening at the club. He’d never been a club sort of man before, even if he could have afforded it, but his need for companionship had changed that.
“Ashby?” Someone called his name as he handed his coat and hat to one of the club’s footmen. Adrian Montague came down the stairs leading up to the club rooms, raising his cane in salute.
“Montague, how are you?” Peregrine asked.
He had met Adrian at a gambling hell last year, and he’d been stunned to learn the man was the bastard son of the Duke of Stratford. Adrian had spent a few years as a footman in the household of the Duke of Devon before he married Lady Venetia Dunham in a rather scandalous affair. It had been quite the event, and tongues had been wagging for months. Now, three years later, the man was happily married and father to an adorable little boy.
“It’s a remarkable thing to know and be friends with two different men named Peregrine. That’s why you shall always be Montague, and my other friend Sherman.” Adrian chuckled at some private joke. “Although now I must get used to calling you Rutland. These bloody society rules. I can’t believe it’s been nearly a year since you’ve been titled. Damned glad to see you. I still feel at odds at a club like this, but Venetia wanted me out of the house this evening.”
“Oh?” Peregrine chuckled. “Whatever for? I thought you were happily married. Did your wife toss you out?”
Adrian rolled his eyes. “I am still quite happily married, each day more than the last. But yes, she did toss me out.” He grinned at Peregrine’s stunned expression.
“What? Why?”
“She’s hosting a surprise party for me, a birthday surprise, but the poor dear has no idea that I know what she’s up to.” Adrian played with the head of his cane, his lips twitching as he fought off another smile.
“How is it you know about her plans?” Peregrine and Adrian started up the stairs where they could have a drink in one of the upper rooms.
“I actually would not have had the faintest idea, she’s that clever, but she has the unfortunate habit of talking in her sleep. She keeps listing things she mustn’t forget to do . . . then whispering to herself about how to get me out of the house. The poor darling. I shall act all surprised when I arrive, of course. Heavens! My darling, I had no idea!” He raised his hands in the air and gave a mock gasp.
Peregrine burst out laughing just as they entered the main room. Several older gentlemen were asleep nearby, and one jolted awake at the sound of Peregrine’s laughter.
“Hush up!” the old man grumbled before drifting back to his slumber. Adrian led Peregrine to the other end of the room where they could sit down and have a drink.
“So, how are you settling into life on the other side?” Adrian asked.
“Not very well. I thought after these last eight months, I’d be more comfortable, but I’m not.” Peregrine winced at his thought of his loneliness that evening and being overwhelmed by the entire situation of taking over another man’s life.
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s that damned empty house. I’m simply not used to it.” Peregrine rolled his glass between his palms.
“There is one solution.” Adrian motioned for one of the servers to refill his brandy.
“If you say marriage . . .” Peregrine growled in warning.
“Surely it isn’t as bad as all that? Marriage surprised me. I never imagined it would be enjoyable, but here I stand . . . Or sit.” He chuckled. “And I can say truthfully that it has been good for me.”
“You are lucky. You do not have women after your title, tripping over themselves trying to get you to compromise them. I’m at the point of checking closets and behind curtains of any room I walk into now. It’s only a matter of time before some debutante’s father pops out from behind a curtain and cries compromise on me.”