My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) Read online

  His attention once more on the building’s entrance, Gabriel walked up to the front door and made his way inside the Spread Eagle.

  Sarah Cumberbatch stood at the edge of the tavern, counting the patrons who ate their luncheons with vigor and a good deal of loud conversation. Despite the early hour, a number of coaches had stopped for refreshment and fresh horses, a welcome change from the routine of the past few days. There were times she thought she might have to recommend the Spread Eagle be closed; the expenses sometimes exceeded the income of the small coaching inn.

  “Nice crowd today,” she heard from over her right shoulder. Sarah turned to find the inn’s owner, John Bristow, scanning the room, much like she had been doing. “Yes, it is,” she sighed, turning around to ensure the barkeep was seeing to those who were standing or sitting at the bar. “How is Mrs. Bristow today?” she wondered, her voice quiet despite the din in the room.

  The inn owner shook his head. “Not well, Miss Cumberbatch. I fear the Lord will take her before the week is out.”

  Sarah stared at Mr. Bristow for several seconds, a bit shocked at the news. She figured Sally Bristow merely suffered from an ague, or pneumonia at the worst. “I am so sorry to hear it,” she murmured, suddenly realizing that her position as a barmaid could become one of a permanent hostess and manager for the inn.

  There was only so much she could do in a day!

  At least she’d been able to hire a tavern maid from one of the inns in Wolverhampton, her promises of two days a week off and the same pay enough to get Margery to move her things into Sarah’s old room at the inn. Sarah now occupied a slightly larger suite at the end of the west hall, its bed larger and its windows looking out toward the west and north. Sarah’s other improvement had been to convert one of the bedchambers into a parlor suitable for travelers to occupy in the middle of the day should they want a private place to enjoy their luncheon. Even now, that room was being used by no fewer than eight members of a fencing club. She had made them promise no harm would come to the furnishings and upholstery – and they had complied by leaving their foils just outside the entrance to the room.

  “You will stay on, I hope,” Mr. Bristow said as Sarah moved to make her way back to the office behind the taproom. “That is, if Mrs. Bristow meets her Maker,” he added at her look of alarm.

  Sarah considered the owner’s words. The promotion would mean more pay, but it also meant a good deal more responsibility. But what else did she have to do? It wasn’t as if men were lined up to ask for her hand in marriage. “Of course, I’ll stay on, Mr. Bristow,” she assured him as she gave his hand a squeeze and hurried off to the office.

  Gabriel Wellingham entered the inn just as Sarah disappeared into the office, unaware he had missed her by mere moments. Glancing around the taproom and into the noisy room where travelers were still eating their luncheon and downing pints of ale, Gabriel felt a stab of disappointment when he didn’t see the tavern wench he had so enjoyed during his last visit. Perhaps she no longer worked at the Spread Eagle. Or maybe a local had married her, no doubt impressed with her performance in a bed.

  As he recalled their brief time together – he had visited the inn on his way to London in December of 1814 – Gabriel felt his loins tighten. Embarrassed by his sudden arousal, he struck thoughts of Sarah from his mind and took a deep breath. Moving to the bar, he said, “An ale, please,” and put a coin on the bar top.

  The man behind the counter grabbed a glass from a nearby tray and started to fill it before giving his customer a good look. When he did, his eyes widened. “Pardon me, milord,” he said with a nod. “I didn’t realize an earl had come in,” he apologized, glancing around the room as if he was looking for someone to blame for the oversight.

  Gabriel straightened, wondering how the barkeep knew. “What gave me away?” he wondered, thinking his rather sedate mode of dress was quite different from his normal bright colored waistcoats and topcoats. The blond curls that graced his head were out of his control; he had long ago given up trying to sport a shorter style in the mode of Titus or Brutus. But his blue eyes, the blue so intense he remembered one gel saying she could drown in them, were the primary reason people recognized him as the Earl of Trenton.

  The barkeep shrugged, as if he didn’t want to admit that he recognized the earl because of the blond curls and blue eyes – if viewed from behind and from the waist up, he might have been a mistaken for a woman. “I remember you from the last time you were here, my lord,” the man answered, giving the earl a truthful answer.

  Gabriel nodded, impressed that he had been remembered by a barkeep. “Does a girl named Sarah still work here?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound like he was trying to arrange a tryst with a prostitute.

  The barkeep nodded. “Good thing, too, given Mrs. Bristow is so ill,” he said as he put the pint in front of Gabriel. “Miss Cumberbatch is seeing to the inn,” he added by way of explanation.

  Gabriel, surprised by the man’s comment, glanced around again. “Is she … here? Now?” he wondered.

  The barkeep placed a hand on one hip and gave the room a quick perusal. “Must be in the office. Would you like me to let her know you’re here?” he asked. And then one of his brows cocked up, as if he just realized the earl might be asking after Sarah so he could arrange a tumble.

  At one time, Thomas Fuller knew Sarah had offered herself in exchange for coin, but only to men who could afford to pay a bit more. With no one to help support her – no husband and certainly no family other than a sister who had recently died – she relied on her meager pay and tips to pay her way in life. And then, after an eight-month absence – she had left Staffordshire to help her ill sister – she returned with a babe in tow and word that her sister had died in childbirth.

  Sarah no longer welcomed the advances of randy men nor their promise of blunt for a tumble. Instead, she seemed intent on looking after her charge. The baby, now just six months old, crawled about the inn, following his aunt or spending time in a small pen she’d had one of the local carpenters build for him. At this time of the afternoon, though, the boy would be taking a nap in his crib in Sarah’s bedchamber.

  “I don’t wish to inconvenience you,” Gabriel said with a shake of his head. “If you’ll just point the way.”

  The barkeep seemed surprised by the earl’s answer. “Of course, my lord. Just around here,” he paused as he pointed behind the tap. “First door on the left.”

  Gabriel nodded and dropped a coin on the bar top. “My gratitude,” he said as he took another sip from his ale and then left it in favor of seeking out Sarah.

  Standing in front of the closed office door, he took a deep breath and let it out, wondering why his heart hammered in his chest and his breathing seemed so shallow. She’s just a chit, he reminded himself, finally lifting a knuckle to tap it against the solid wood door.

  “Come” he heard, the feminine voice not giving away whether she welcomed the interruption or was annoyed by it.

  Gabriel tested the knob and found it turned easily. He pushed open the door and peeked around the edge, blinking when his eyes took in the woman who was now the inn’s hostess. And manager, if he understood the barkeep’s meaning.

  She looked … lovely, really, and a bit older, but in a way that suited her blonde hair and fair complexion. “Pardon, my lady, but I wanted to inquire about a room for the night.”

  Sarah Cumberbatch, her attention on an open ledger book, placed a forefinger on the line she was studying and lifted her head to regard the man who had interrupted her.

  “I have one …” She paused, suddenly coming to her feet. “Forgive me, my lord,” she said as she attempted a curtsy, a rather difficult maneuver given the chair she was sitting in was still behind her knees.

  So, she remembers me, Gabriel thought, a bit heartened, hoping that she at least had good memories of him. “It is I who should ask forgiveness for interrupting your work,” he countered, pointing to her desk. “I was told I could find you
in here,” he added. He didn’t want her thinking he had just barged in on her. Gabriel bowed then, his eyes meeting hers as he straightened. Her gown, far different than the peasant blouse, skirts and corset she’d worn in her tavern wench days, was a dark blue round gown with minimal decoration. The blonde hair, streaked as if it was sun kissed, was swept up into a bun that at one time might have been tight and tidy but was now a bit messy. And quite fetching, Gabriel thought.

  Sarah regarded the blond, blue-eyed epitome of an older Cupid who stood in front of her desk, a man she had spent more than an hour entertaining nearly a year-and-a-half before. He was dressed far more conservatively than he had been back then; had she not known he was the Earl of Trenton, she would have guessed him a gentleman of modest means. But his boyish looks, blond curls and blue eyes were still as she remembered them from their encounter. She saw them everyday, in fact, in the guise of the babe who was this very moment (hopefully) sleeping in his crib. “I have a room, of course,” she managed to get out, knowing her face was suddenly blooming with color. “Although, not one as … as grand …”

  “A regular room is fine,” Gabriel said as he moved farther into the small office. “You look …” Beautiful. More mature. Delectable. Sultry. Well, he couldn’t say any of those things out loud. “Well,” he finally got out, hoping his cock wouldn’t harden anymore than it already had. “I trust you are?” he added as a question.

  Sarah took a breath, stunned that merely looking at the earl would cause her breath to quicken and her breasts to feel heavy. She had to suppress the urge to step from behind the desk and rush to him, as if she expected him to welcome her with open arms. It wasn’t as if she would appreciate his kisses – the man was a horrible kisser, and he had a penchant for licking in all the wrong places – but he had provided her with enough blunt to cover her expenses for the time she was at Lizbet’s home. And the late afternoon she’d spent with him had been … interesting.

  And life changing.

  “I am very well, my lord,” Sarah answered with a nod. “And you? Are you … well?” she asked then, thinking their conversation was awfully stilted. They had conversed with such ease only fifteen months ago in her small bedchamber on the second floor. But they had been naked then, and replete from a couple of rounds of spirited intercourse, paid for by the earl with ancient sovereigns. Those sovereigns had been more money than she had earned in her entire time working as a tavern wench, though, and had paid her way to her sister’s cottage in Worcester three months later. She had left with the excuse that Lizbet was going into confinement with a difficult pregnancy and needed her help.

  She hadn’t thought her sister would be so ill she would die before Sarah could give birth.

  When Sarah returned to Staffordshire six months later, she carried a babe and the explanation that her sister had died in childbirth. No one questioned the validity of her story, nor her devotion to her nephew, a boy she claimed was named after his father.

  The man who stood before her.

  Gabriel would have no idea he had a bastard child. Perhaps there were others; Sarah hadn’t given it much thought. She hadn’t had time to dwell on such things. For upon Sarah’s return to the Spread Eagle, John Bristow announced his wife, Sally, was quite ill, and he needed Sarah to take over the day-to-day operations of the inn. Secretly glad to have the job – she had spent her entire life savings and was living on some coins she had found hidden in her late sister’s treasure box – Sarah accepted the position and immediately got to work seeing to it the coaching inn was stocked and staffed for what would be a busy spring and an even busier, she hoped, summer.

  “I am,” the earl answered with a nod. “Thank you for asking.” He took a breath and let it out. “I was wondering if you … if we might take a few minutes to … talk,” he stammered, realizing he was wholly unprepared for making the request of her.

  Who else would he go to, though? When word had reached him that his first mistress had quit him because of his horrible kisses and other … shortcomings … in bed, he had dismissed the claims as those coming from a disgruntled, jealous woman. But then he overhead a chit saying something about his horrible kisses during a ball at the end of the Little Season, her words spoken as if they were repeated from someone who had said them whilst enjoying gossip in a Mayfair parlor.

  Well, the only woman he had kissed during that Little Season – besides the one mistress – the others didn’t allow kissing – had been Lady Elizabeth Carlington. She was Lady Bostwick now, and the founder of her own charity. And she was rather famous for her openly affectionate relationship with her husband. If the gossip that surrounded that relationship was true, then it was Lady Elizabeth who had proposed to Viscount Bostwick rather than the other way around. And apparently on the same day she had demanded Gabriel take his leave of her – just as he was about to propose!

  Sarah’s stomach clenched at the earl’s words. Talk? She rather doubted the man wanted to simply talk. He probably wanted a repeat of their last evening together, a night she had found rather exciting despite his horrible kisses. And licking. “I … I suppose I can spare the time, my lord,” she replied with a nod, wondering where he was thinking the ‘conversation’ should take place. They couldn’t use her room – little Gabe would be napping for at least another hour. “Let’s get you settled into a room first,” she offered, brushing by him to get to the door. “I have a corner room …” She spun around when his hand hooked into her elbow as she passed him. Startled when she suddenly found herself eye to eye with Gabriel Trenton, she let out a gasp. “My lord?”

  “I only want to talk,” he stated emphatically, one eyebrow lifting, as if to add emphasis to his claim.

  Sarah stared at him for only a moment. “The corner room has two chairs, my lord,” she stated, as if that was the only reason she mentioned the corner room.

  Gabriel nodded. “Very well,” he said, moving to follow her as she took her leave of the small office. They climbed the stairs and made their way to the end of the hallway.

  Sarah paused in front of a north-facing door and removed a key from her pocket. She used it to gain entry and then put the key back in the lock from the other side.

  “Are you expecting someone to interrupt us?” he chided, surprised she would lock them into the room after he’d made it clear he only wanted to talk.

  Shaking her head, Sarah sighed. “No, of course not, but … it’s not really appropriate for me to be in a guest’s room,” she stammered, a blush coloring her face.

  Gabriel regarded her for a moment. “Then think of me as a friend rather than a guest,” he suggested.

  Stunned by his words, Sarah lifted her eyes to meet his. “A friend?” she repeated, sounding almost hopeful.

  Grinning, Gabriel nodded. “I could use one right now.”

  Sarah stared at Gabriel for a very long time before giving him a nod. “Friends, then,” she agreed.

  Chapter 10

  Julia Wonders about a Look

  Julia slowly climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, lost in thought as she remembered what had happened toward the end of practicing the English Country Dance. Mr. Comber had suddenly paused, missing several steps as he stood staring at her. He had been just as lost in his own thoughts as she was right now. He had looked as if he … as if he adored her. Or at least found her particularly pleasing to the eye. Or perhaps it was an expression of – could she dare to think it? –Lust!

  Something deep inside her took a tumble, forcing her to stop in the middle of taking the next step up the stairs. She paused, allowing the sudden sensation to complete its pleasant gyration. Although she rather wished it would happen again, she found she couldn’t force it to do so, even when she thought of Mr. Comber thinking lustful thoughts of her.

  Resuming her climb up the steps, Julia allowed a sigh of disappointment to escape.

  He’s a groom, she reminded herself. Just a groom.

  Chapter 11

  A Demonstration of the Art of Kissing


  Sarah regarded the earl as he surveyed the corner room. “I realize you are used to something far more …”

  “This will do fine,” Gabriel replied, realizing the room was finer than he expected of the coaching inn. In fact, he had to give the chit a good deal of credit. The place was far cleaner and seemed a bit newer than when he was last here.

  He motioned to the chairs Sarah had mentioned, intending for her to take one.

  “Would you care for refreshment, my lord?” Sarah wondered, thinking he was probably thirsty from his travels.

  Gabriel considered the question. “I left an ale at the bar, I’m afraid,” he said, wondering why his responses seemed so stilted. He had come here for the easy conversation and was instead finding it as difficult to converse as it would be in a ton ballroom.

  Sarah opened the door and spoke to someone in the hall. When she turned around, she said, “I have a fresh one coming up now, my lord, along with our luncheon special.”

  As if on cue, Gabriel’s stomach grumbled, reminding him he had ridden from Bilston without stopping to get to the inn. “Your service is appreciated, my lady,” he replied. “You will have luncheon with me, I hope. I insist,” he stated before Sarah could respond.

  She considered his words. Demanding at first, and then hopeful, as if he expected her to decline the invitation. “Of course,” she said with a nod. “I would be honored.” She realized just then how he had addressed her. My lady. As if!

  Returning to the door, she intercepted Margery as the young woman was about to make her way down from serving the fencers in the parlor. “Could you bring two luncheon specials, please?” she asked. “And, if you get a chance, could you check on ..?”