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“Aye, good notion that. M’lips are dry, they are, and ready for a libation.”
“Impudent fellow,” his lordship said with great affection.
Luts displayed his disapproval at Max’s audacity and the earl’s fond acceptance.
The earl chuckled to himself. At least this made the journey a bit more amusing.
Max was very special to his lordship. He had found him when the boy was just a starving orphan living by his wits in the streets of Soho.
The earl’s attention had been captivated when he witnessed the dirty urchin stealing a loaf of bread and trying to stuff it in his torn shirt. The earl felt a need to help him in that moment, but even as he walked towards the lad, for he meant to pay for the bread and perhaps a bit more food, the shopkeeper had nabbed the urchin.
The orphan was caught, and a local beadle cuffed him and would have dragged him away had the earl not intervened.
Watching the child steal food caught the earl in the heart. Why should a child have to steal or starve? That was the real crime, that children, English children, had to resort to stealing for the very basic needs in life.
The earl had been twenty years old at the time. He had been full with ideas and ideals. Outraged at the boy’s condition, he took Max home with him.
Max had been twelve, and after the earl gave the boy over to his housekeeper to wash and dress and feed, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with him, but he knew he wasn’t sending him back onto the streets.
Thus, he marched Max over to his grandmothers’, and Minerva took one look at the urchin and smiled.
It was his grandmother who discovered the lad was good with horses. The earl took a keen interest in Max over those months and into the following year. When the following year the earl turned one and twenty, he found his meager allowance had become a respectable competence, and he took the lad on as a groom in his stables.
The years passed, and Max, when only nineteen but aware that his savior and beloved mentor had an affection for him, put on the airs of an older, wiser man. Luts, who was past thirty, took immediate exception, and thus their rivalry began.
The earl remembered that time … and her.
Was his hardened notion of marriage all because of her?
He didn’t think she had really broken his heart. He had never truly been in love. His was but infatuation.
Indeed, the Lady Anne never really had taken hold of him.
He had been so young, so infatuated, but that infatuation had been with a fictitious character. Lady Anne was not the woman he had painted her to be.
So why then had he allowed himself to turn into such a libertine? He was everything he loathed in a man. His grandmother was right. He had taken the road to perdition, but perhaps now, now that he had to do right by his uncle’s wishes and launch this Kingsley chit, he should take the road he first envisioned?
“There she be—The Red Lion!” Max called out. “Aye, m’lord. Right fine hostelry.”
~ Eight ~
MORNING ARRIVED IN a blaze of sunshine. April had all the signs of delivering a nattily attired spring. Daffodils on tall green stalks winked in the breeze while tulips of various rainbow shades filled the Red Lions’ shapely garden beds and made the earl smile.
Trees everywhere were vibrant with new red buds, and the scent of spring was most definitely in the air as the earl stretched and took a stroll in the cool morning air.
He felt refreshed after the convivial evening he had spent with a party of young bloods. A pretty barmaid had flirted outrageously with him, but, with a new purpose in mind, he had not taken her to his bed.
He found the scent of spring invigorating and was pleased with himself for not dipping too deep into his cups. He took to horse, with Max bringing up his carriage behind, and began putting road behind him. In a few hours they would reach Lyndhurst, a lovely little New Forest village, and from there they would make their way to his newly acquired estate, Wharton Place. Not his, yet, he told himself. First, he had a young country wench to launch.
At any rate, he really wouldn’t have to do much, would he? After all, he couldn’t take her shopping at Bond Street, arrange for invitations to all the best soirees and balls. No, that would be his grandmother’s job. All he need do was to give escort now and then. That’s right. That won’t be so very bad, now will it?
The Kingsley chit was nothing more than an ingénue. What had he to do with such a child? Naught. She was best left to his grandmother.
Minnie would know the trick of launching her Season and making her the toast of London. That would more than fulfill his uncle’s request and his obligations—though in truth, he found that even with it being an obligation, he was surprised to find he sincerely wished to do what his uncle had requested.
Again, he was dashed thankful for his grandmother.
The chit would need entre to Almack’s, and Almack’s would be tricky.
