But his mother and later his father had died whilst Miles had still been a lieutenant. Cameron had inherited but then fallen to his death in Scotland after reading how the ascent of mountains was most beneficial to one’s health.
So Miles had resigned his commission in the cavalry and now held all the expectations, burdens and boons of the Stonewold title and estate. He was accustomed to commanding men, having them rely upon him for snap decisions, but the desk-bound duties were an altogether different matter: ledgers, tenant disputes, investments, meetings with accountants who said a lot but refused to commit anything to paper, and lawyers who also said a lot but refused to commit to anything at all.
His heir was Cousin Jeremy who would likely fritter the estate’s coffers on frothy cravats and frothier pantaloons, so Miles was also required to enter the London social fray in order to scout for a wife and beget an heir.
Not a task he relished – the scouting as opposed to the begetting – as whatever eloquence and fine manners had been drummed into him as the younger son of an earl had consequently been drummed out of him as a soldier.
Any such wife he recruited for the purpose would also be required to accept his occasional…absconding for a year or so, fulfilling his youthful dreams of becoming a plant hunter and following in the footsteps of Kew Garden’s botanical luminaries.
The Kew establishment frowned upon the selection of married men as their sponsored plant hunters, even if the spouse remained in England. In their view, all attention, all focus, alldevotion, should belong to the plants. They were also mindful that such expeditions carried considerable risks and that a wife might too easily be left a widow.
Of course Miles didn’t require sponsorship as he would be paying his own way but he did require their endorsement – for recognition of his work, publication of his discoveries and any related lectures – so he hoped a wife would not be viewed as surplus to botanical endeavours.
He’d once thought a future wife would accompany him, embracing both the hardship and excitement of travel, their mutual love and passion for plants never parting them. As a youth and with a certain beguiling lass one summer, he’d talked of it and hoped…
Miles shook his head; Lupin snorted.
Those hopes were dust, the notion absurd, as that jade had jilted him and married Locksley, whilst love was a concept that solely induced strife.
Now he would find a wife who would grace the earldom with the values that mattered – fidelity, honesty, goodness, an irreproachable character and utter refinement in all aspects.
“Faster,faster, my rum prads! Show us your dimber bottoms!” Verity snapped the horses’ reins, her bonnet slipping askew as they bowled along Park Lane.
Her mid-perch phaeton, which seated three at a squash, tilted as it swung to pass a milk cart while pedestrians cast disapproving glances. Verity just grinned into the breeze andrevelled in the freedom as soon they would reach the main road that led to Kensington Gardens where they’d be required to trot at a more sedate pace.
Sephi grabbed onto her hat. “What’s the rush? And that new tiger is a bad influence on your language!”
“Bah, no one can hear me. And the Gardens will get busy later. And I need to get back or I’ll never finish the battlescape. And I don’t like to leave poor Aunt alone for too long, though someone had to stay home and prevent Willoughby from chasing Marianne.”
“You fibber! You finish your paintings when you want to. And Willoughby needs his tallywags removing, if you ask me.”
“He’s a kitten!”
“Won’t hurt so much then. And I’m sure Aunt Theo is also fibbing. She returned from Hatchards yesterday with a basketful of new novels so I’d say a day of reading is planned.”
Verity rolled her eyes and gently pulled the reins, her two fine bays slowing to a trot as they turned for the main thoroughfare. Here, riders on horseback and every manner of coach, carriage and cart vied for passage whilst lads weaved with buckets, collecting manure.
Their phaeton trundled through the mêlée until they at last came to a halt outside one of the gates to Kensington Gardens.
Daniel, their kitchen boy promoted to tiger, dashed to the front of the phaeton and took the reins. He’d learned the ways of the stables in no time and had a natural affinity for the horses.
“Gonna be long, Miss S?” And he scratched high upon his, er…thigh. “Have I time for a tiffin o’ pie and a bub?”
“An hour or so.”
A sage nod. “Two bubs then.”
Verity patted her Pomona-green phaeton in farewell and offered a prayer for its safe return. The cherished equipage was perhaps another reason that theTonconsidered her ascandalous scarlet spinster as she, an unmarried miss, held the reins at all times and in all weathers.
The gate was manned by a broad-shouldered gatekeeper who stood to attention by a red-painted sign…
No servant in livery, nor women with patterns, nor persons carrying bundles, are admitted into the garden.
Dogs also excluded.
Fortunately, Sephi’s modest picnic hamper and Verity’s satchel were not consideredbundles, so they were permitted to sally forth.
More than a few families meandered but the gravel paths were wide and accorded plenty of room for all.
