James, Earl of Crofton Read online

  Her dismissive tone rankled, but there was little point in taking her to task—scolding had never worked before and it was unlikely to work now. “As if you are any better. Now, come, we should get back to the carriage.”

  “Yes, we should get to London as fast as possible. That loathsome driver of yours has returned and is readying the horses. I gave him a piece of my mind, I will be writing a letter to your father about him. He looked at me in the most impertinent manner.”

  “I would not vex yourself too much about him. If he is lucky, he may still be allowed to look after the pigs back at Crofton Hall, but his driving days are finished.”

  James strode away, Tilly trotting to keep up. “Quickly, Cousin, we don’t want it any darker while we travel the last few miles out of the forest.”

  Tilly huffed. “I don’t care about the dark. I just want to get to court.”

  “Straight to court?” Could she really want to head directly to the palace? They were a mess, arriving too late in the evening to be polite and in no fit state to be seen.

  “Of course. I want to waste not one minute to tell this tale. Fresh from our adventure with the Chivalrous Highwayman, the dirt still on my dress, as I regale them all with how we survived at his hands. And how I rescued you from your dire position. It will be glorious.”

  Chapter 2

  James wondered, as they trundled into London, if Tilly would have any words left to share by the time they reached the palace. Her excitement over meeting the Chivalrous Highwayman had caused her to talk constantly for the remainder of their journey. They had made good speed until they reached the city limits, but then the narrow streets and abundance of other coaches and carts meant they had been reduced to little more than a crawl.

  “At this rate we will never reach the palace.” She tutted, her petulance making James grateful, not for the first time, that her father had refuted any discussion about Tilly marrying him. James would one day be the earl, but there were dukes for the picking. Although her father completely ignored that Tilly was as brash as any of the king’s mistresses and that James’s mother had vocalised that the Redbourns had no interest in the match.

  James scowled as he saw the dirt sullying his shoes and the black smears on what were once perfectly white stockings. “We should first head to the Redbourn town house to change. I am a mess from the forest.”

  “Have you not heard a word I have said? We are going straight to the palace, where I can show the mud on my skirts as I tell my tale.” She grabbed his sleeves and pointed at a green smear he hadn’t noticed. “Here is the evidence to corroborate our story. The ladies will devour every morsel. I can pretend to lash you a column and re-enact the scene.”

  She was really too much at times. “I do not need the marking from a mossy tree to corroborate my word. I am not in the habit of lying, so do not need to defend my honour from such a scandalous slur that I might not be truthful about our adventure.”

  “Have you no flair for the dramatic? I thought you were a man who loves the theatre, who would understand the importance of how we set a scene to ensnare the audience.”

  “Merely mentioning the Chivalrous Highwayman will guarantee you a crowd eager to hear another of his escapades.”

  She leaned closer. “True, but trust me on this, Cousin, we can hold their attention with a few simple actions. We both know the court is fickle.”

  “You forget, I do not need to secure my place at court. My father is a confidante of the king, and I have helped rebuild this city. What do I care for a few moments of stage play?”

  “Because those achievements are attributed to the earl and not the viscount.” She smiled nastily. “You love to preen like the rest of us. Do not think yourself better, when I know you are not.”

  “You would do well to remember your place. It would be all too easy for me to open the door of the coach and cast you out into the midden.” He turned away, choosing to watch the city pass by painfully slow rather than lose his patience. Tilly should’ve been grateful that he was a better gentleman than she was a lady.

  She threw herself back into the seat, opening and closing her fan with irritation. They travelled in blissful silence, but it was all-too-soon broken. “Oh, James. You know I adore you like no other, and that my tongue is sharp but never meant. Please do this for me.”

  “You should remember that most women would not dare to act or speak the way you do. The freedom you have gleaned from your father is because I vouch for you.” He huffed and turned back to face her. “Why are you so desperate for the crumbs of the court? Whose eye have you failed to catch that makes you so frantic to flaunt yourself so brazenly.”

  She pursed her lips and he knew he had guessed her real reason. “I do not know what you mean.”

  “Come now, Tilly, being coy does not suit you. Tell me and I might, if I believe the young man deserves your interest, forget your wicked words and go along with your request to head straight for court.”

  She plucked at one of the curls on her wig, pouted, but finally answered, “It is Elkanah Settle.”

  “The playwright? Why would you bother yourself with him?” The name surprised him. Tilly, he knew, had half an eye on marriage. Her father’s expectations could not be put off much longer. That young man might have prospects in the theatre, backed by the Earl of Rochester for his talent, but he had no title, so was unlikely to win the Earl of Talbot’s blessing.

  “I desire to be immortalised in words. I shall be his muse.”

  Dear lord, her sense for drama would see her better suited for the stage, but he knew her father’s reaction would prevent her ever daring to become an actress, so this was her best alternative. He really was too fond of her to turn her down, and he did not fear for her safety at the hands of a playwright but instead would be more concerned for any callow youth who dared upset her.

  “Very well. I will be your partner in this merry dance.”

  Tilly squealed in delight. “Follow my lead, James. I promise you will have the pick of whoever takes your fancy.”

  “I do not need your help for that.”

  James remembered the words of the highwayman—a stranger who was watching him and the rest of court, yet he had looked closer than some who professed to be his friend, close enough to see the real picture. He had taken many lovers, but not as many as people thought and certainly not nearly as many as some of his fellow nobles. As enjoyable as his trysts were at the time, the brilliance faded quickly and was replaced by an empty pang he refused to dwell on.

  The coach came to a halt in the Palace of Whitehall’s courtyard. Tilly almost fell over herself in the haste to disembark. “Calm yourself, Cousin. You can hardly tell your story if you are incapacitated.”

  A servant appeared and opened the door to the carriage. James stepped down first, then offered his hand to Tilly, who made a great show of leaning against him as if she might swoon at any minute.

  “Please, James, take pity on me as a mere woman. I am overcome with all the excitement of our journey.” She spoke a little too loud to be convincing in his opinion, but heads turned as they entered the palace, so Tilly clearly knew her audience.

  “Perhaps you should sit, my lady.” He pointed to a servant. “Bring Lady Matilda a brandy, as quickly as you can.”

  A gaggle of fan-fluttering women drew around them as Tilly sank into a chair, clutching a hand to her brow. Lady Beatrice, one of the women he knew was on friendly terms with Tilly, stepped towards her and clutched Tilly’s hand.

  “What has happened, my lady, to have you in such a state?”

  Tilly squeezed her hand. “Our carriage was attacked by a highwayman.”

  Lady Beatrice gasped. “Oh my! Are you hurt?”

  “No, it was him.” Tilly leaned forwards in her chair. “The Chivalrous Highwayman.”

  Muttering from their audience told James that Tilly had played them to perfection. Fans fluttered faster as the women whispered to each other behind them, and the men stood strai
ning to hear more of Tilly’s story. “I do not know what terrible things he must have encountered to drive such a gentleman to a life of crime.”

  James doubted it was anything too terrible, not in the way Tilly alluded to. Maybe he was an ex-army officer, his talent with a pistol could attest to that, or an educated man who had lost a good position due to a nefarious action. The way he spoke and acted didn’t suggest the Chivalrous Highwayman had come from too impoverished a background, making James think he’d received an education of some sort, possibly from a grammar school or a tutor.

  “You surely cannot condone his actions, Lady Matilda.” An older gentleman, who James didn’t recognise, puffed out his cheeks in indignation. “He did not accost you for no reason. What did he take?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “It is true that I lost a trinket, a necklace that can be easily replaced. And my cousin a few coins and one of his silly watches.”

  The silly watch had cost several pounds, his purse had held much more than a few coins, and he knew Tilly’s father would never have called her sapphire necklace a trinket. “I fear you underestimate somewhat the nature of our losses, Cousin.”

  “Mere monetary value is nothing compared to a man’s soul. I felt a real connection between us. He was so apologetic, like he had no choice.” She dabbed a handkerchief to her eye. “But you must admit, he was not heavy-handed with you.”

  All eyes turned to James. As much as he liked to bask in the attention of the court he didn’t particularly want to be centre of Tilly’s theatrical stunt. “True, he did not harm me, but he did leave me tied to a tree.”

  “He knew I would be there to untie you,” she said with a flick of her fan. “You were not harmed. Remember, he made sure the rope was not against your skin.”

  Lady Beatrice clapped her hands together in glee. “Oh, Tilly, did you have to rescue Lord Crofton?”

  “Indeed I did. After the Chivalrous Highwayman left us, I picked up my skirts and tip-toed through the woods, fearful there might be other, less gentlemanly thieves in hiding.” She pointed to the muddy hem of her dress. “The going was not easy underfoot, but I found my dear cousin and freed him from his restraints.”

  “Of course I was very grateful,” drawled James, but refrained from rolling his eyes.

  A young man, whose skin was pale even by fashionable standards, pushed through the small crowd. James recognised him as the playwright Tilly was desperate to attract. He dropped to his knees at Tilly’s side. “Lady Matilda, I was at the card table when I heard of your strife. I must speak to you, hang on your every word, as they fall with such sweet music I cannot help but be moved.”

  Tilly’s gaze flicked up, and James was sure he was the only one who knew the meaning of the slight upward quirk of her lips. Tilly’s plans had worked, and James took that as his opportunity to slink away. A fortifying drink was what he needed, and then he would return to his town house.

  Several hours and glasses of hock later, James extracted himself from the arms of two very beautiful women. His recollection of their names was a little foggy, and he realised if he wanted to pursue any further liaison he would have to do so after negotiating a price. The excitement of the journey, the free flowing of the alcohol and much dancing had left him tired, and he was sure he would more likely fall asleep in their ample bosoms and not get his money’s worth.

  He staggered away, calling out to any servant in earshot that his carriage should be brought around immediately. Several of his friends tried to waylay him as he headed out of the palace. Card games were still ongoing, dancing in full swing—all pursuits he would usually enjoy to the fullest. He would attend again tomorrow, but for tonight he waved his friends away, the need for his bed winning out.

  Relieved to find his coach waiting, he issued an order to the driver to head for the town house. He clambered aboard, collapsing onto the bench. His vision swam, his legs and arms heavy, and an increasing desire to sleep became the most important thing. Thankfully the distance between Whitehall Palace and Lincoln’s Inn was hardly anything, especially as the late hour meant the roads were quieter and his journey unimpeded.

  Since he now spent most of his time in London, the town house was well staffed, though not necessarily to the same level as when his parents were in residence, his father seemingly unable to be comfortable unless half of Crofton Hall was with him. James didn’t need to give a second thought to whether his coach and horses would be stabled correctly, or if his hat and cloak, which he handed to the first servant he encountered once inside, would be returned to him in perfect condition when next he left the house.

  He dragged himself upstairs, led by the light of a candle carried by Remembrance, the young man he was currently favouring as his personal servant, who managed to keep a generally happy disposition, despite having been saddled with the full name of Remembrance-of-the-Lords-Sacrifice Harris by his Puritan parents. Remembrance had a lot to learn, but he was a good sight better than his predecessor who now sported a T branded onto his skin, having been caught stealing silk stockings.

  Once in his bedchamber, James removed his wig. Remembrance had to help him with his neckerchief and untangle him from his jacket. He kicked off his shoes and somehow managed to stumble out of his breeches. With great pleasure, he landed face down on his bed.

  “There’s clean cold water, my lord,” Remembrance said, sounding uncertain.

  James waved a hand in dismissal. “Not tonight. I will be thorough in the morning. You may go.”

  He was vaguely aware of Remembrance collecting his scattered clothes before he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  James squinted against the daylight spilling into his bedchamber through the gap in the window hangings. He would need to speak to the housekeeper about ensuring the maids closed them properly, adding the request to a growing list of minor things that would improve his comfort once they were acted on.

  A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece told him it was nearly eleven. He had an appointment in the early afternoon with a shipping clerk on behalf of his father’s business adventures and then he had plans to meet Marchent at the Theatre Royal to watch Love’s Labour’s Lost, although he had tried to persuade Marchent to go another day, seeing as Love in a Tub at Lincoln’s Field was a far better alternative. Marchent was having none of it, making James suspect a certain actress might be swaying his friend’s better judgment.

  He rang for a servant. Remembrance appeared a few minutes later, carrying a fresh jug of water and various linen items draped over his arms. “I think the gold brocade would be suitable for today,” James told him. “Are you familiar with it?”

  Remembrance scrunched his nose—a sign he wasn’t certain. “I think so, my lord. But I will check with Mrs Hadam.”

  “Good. Set out the water and my linens and underclothes. Then have a light dinner brought to my study.” Remembrance did as instructed, pouring the water into a bowl that sat on a table in the corner and leaving the pile of linens next to it.

  “Do you need a half shirt this morning, my lord?”

  “No. Leave my suit, drawers and stockings over the chair and fetch the rest of my clothing.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Remembrance bowed awkwardly and left.

  James gave his jaw a cursory rub. He had shaved the day before. The barber coming regularly to his father at the hall also saw to his needs when he was there. From the feel of his skin, he could easily wait another day to have his London barber come to the town house.

  He got out of bed, wishing he had bothered to change into a night shirt. He removed yesterday’s shirt and drawers and, naked, padded over to the bowl of water and washed his face and hands, then thoroughly rubbed the rest of his body with the linen clothes to clean away the dirt of his journey and time at court. Despite the options from the myriad of scent bottles, he selected his favourite and added liberal amounts about his body.

  Next, he collected his silk stockings and, sitting down, rolled each over
his knee, securing them in place with a ribbon. He put on his drawers, pleased that Remembrance was finally learning that in the warmer days of summer he needed only the shorter ones. He’d just got his linen shirt over his head when Remembrance returned with the rest of his clothing.

  Remembrance had a steady hand and made easy work of fixing James’s collar and neckerchief. James pulled on his breeches and Remembrance knelt to tie the ribbon above the knee. “Waistcoat,” James gently remind him. Remembrance jumped to his feet and collected the garment.

  James had to admit he much preferred the recent fashion, where the breeches were closer fitting and he didn’t feel like he was dressed in a waterfall of cloth. The waistcoat was an improvement over the doublet—he thought the cut of the clothing very dashing and he paid his tailor handsomely to ensure he had the best fabric and the most elaborate embroidery money could buy. He adjusted the waistcoat so it sat comfortably, and repositioned his neckerchief before Remembrance helped him with the jacket.

  Finally, he slipped his feet into his shoes and collected his wig from its stand. It was nearly midday, he needed to eat and head to Cheapside. “Is my dinner ready?”

  “Yes, my lord. The maid has set it out in your study.”

  “Very good. I will be leaving within the hour. I have a list of errands I need to you to run, which will probably take you the rest of the day.”

  Remembrance looked relieved. James could imagine that being out and about in the city would mean he would not be called upon to help the other servants with the dirtier tasks that kept the household running smoothly.

  James had been given free rein by his father for the layout of the town house. His father had merely asked that his bedchamber be comfortable and the reception room acceptable to receive visitors of the highest calibre. With no reason to limit his spending, there was little James had wanted for, ensuring the house was filled with the very best pieces of furniture, but if pressed to choose his favourite piece, it was the beautiful walnut desk he’d commissioned and placed in the study.