Chapter Twenty-Three

 

“I

 have been to Epsom many times, but I’ve never watched the Derby from a private box.” Lady Florence beamed at Eleanor. “Such an improved view—one can see every detail, and you are not jostled by the crowd.” She studied Eleanor and slowly shook her head. “You are all but climbing out of your skin. Go on, my dear, go to the barns or saddling circle or whatever it’s called. Find your handsome husband and your trainer and satisfy yourself that all is well. I will be fine on my own.”

Eleanor winced in apology. “I’m sorry to be so preoccupied. Females aren’t welcomed in the saddling area, but I would dearly love to see for myself Dreamer is properly turned out. Miles and Mr. Fedder are more than capable but...” She frowned.

Lady Florence snorted. “But you must satisfy yourself, or your nerves will consume you.” She made a shooing motion with her gloved hand. “Go. Go on.”

“I’ll be back before the start with Lord Miles.” Eleanor gave her friend a hasty kiss on the cheek and strode from the owner’s box with one hand on her hat and the other holding up her skirts.

“She looks in wonderful shape, Fedder. I am very hopeful for a win today.” Miles hung over a stall door with the Rutledge trainer and watched Jemmy put the finishing polish on Day Dreamer with a soft rag. The lovely filly’s copper coat gleamed with good health. Her step seemed to have an extra loft, and she exuded quiet power.

“Yes, my lord. You know as well as I if she runs as she ought, none in this field is her match.” Fedder stepped back and picked up the bridle that hung next to the horse’s stall. “That will do, Mr. Struthers. Bring the saddle and pad to the saddling enclosure. I’ll take the filly. The call to summon the horses to the saddling area was sounded several minutes ago. We must be off.” He turned to Miles. “My lord, as you did in Newmarket, would you like to give the jockey his instructions?” Fedder’s lips twitched in what for Fedder was a broad smile. “That way I can always blame you if the filly doesn’t run to form.”

Miles laughed. “I would be honored, Mr. Fedder. The same man up as in Newmarket?”

“Yes, my lord. Mr. Crane did a good job for us in the filly’s last two races. He knows how she likes to run. He deserves a crack at a Derby win.”

“Miles!” Ned’s voice rang down the aisle with a note of frantic impatience. “I must speak with you.”

He raised his arm to acknowledge Ned. “Good enough, Mr. Fedder. I will see you in a few minutes.” Miles clapped the trainer on the shoulder then turned and walked down the barn aisle to where Ned stood. Miles’ heart sank at his first clear glimpse of him. Ned’s left eyebrow was split and bloody. He was missing his hat, his cravat hung undone, and his clothes looked as if he’d rolled in the mud. He’d no more reached his younger brother than Ned grabbed him by the arm, jerked him into an empty stall and addressed him in a fierce undertone.

“Smith’s gang have Mr. Morgan and Mr. Allen, the men I brought with me from Fairwood. Those thugs…they ambushed and overpowered us just outside the racecourse. Beat both Mr. Allen and Mr. Morgan unconscious… and…” Ned’s face crumpled. “There were too many of them. I couldn’t do a damnable thing. Allen and Morgan are being held pending the outcome of the Derby. They’ve threatened to kill them—and sooner or later get to Mother—if you don’t cooperate.” Ned looked down, blinking steadily. He raised his sleeve to his face as if to wipe away the evidence of tears.

“If I don’t cooperate how?”

Ned flinched at the ice in his tone. “They want our jockey to throw the race,” he said miserably. “They have bet on what they think is a sure thing but for our filly. Our man is to take the rail at the back and hold Dreamer there as we always do at the start.” Ned looked at his feet. “But two horses will box her in—trap her against the rail. She’ll not be allowed to make her run until it’s too late. This Mr. Smith, the leader of these villains, stands to win a fortune.” Ned raised his head and finally met Miles eye-to-eye. “If we comply with their demands, they will release Morgan and Allen… and leave us alone.” Ned looked away, the muscles in his clenched jaw visibly working.

“Do you know where Morgan and Allen are being held?”

“Yes. In a shed not far off.”

“How many men do they have?”

“Seven. At least, that was the number who waylaid us.”

Miles scrubbed his face and then braced his forehead between his fingers and his thumb as he tried to formulate a workable solution for being two places at once. What a damnable position to be in. Bloody, bloody hell. He could not remember the last time he’d had to work so hard to discipline himself into a civilized response as he did at that moment. Miles raised his head and regarded Ned steadily, and as was his custom when volatile emotion of any sort threatened to overturn his self-control, he lowered his voice and spoke with little inflection. “Everything in me demands I confront the scoundrels face-to-face and have this out here and now. I swear nothing would give me greater pleasure than to leave them in bloody pieces on the ground … but I cannot. I cannot leave Lady Eleanor and Lady Floyd-Smythe vulnerable to such predators, and as her husband, my first duty is always to Eleanor.”

Ned nodded and drew his mouth into a tight line. “Agreed. Nor can you concede to their extortion. I have quite made up my mind, brother. With you or without you, I am going back to get our Fairwood men. I have taken the liberty of assembling all the Rutledge staff. They are armed with pistols and clubs and merely wait for me to join them, but I thought it best to lay the details in front of you first.”

Miles braced a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Ned…”

“No. I am determined. Nothing you say will make me cry off. We will have five men and the element of surprise. It should be enough. It is doubtful this gang would leave all seven to guard two unconscious men. I will do this, Miles. I am one and twenty. Though I have not always acted it, I am a grown man. My older brother cannot continue to fight my battles for me. Allow me some pride.”

A grim smile twitched the corners of Miles’ mouth. “Alright, little brother. Yours is as good a plan as any I suppose. I must go to the saddling paddock. Find me the instant you get back. I should be in the Rutledge box.” Miles searched his brother’s face. “And for God’s sake, Ned, have a care for yourself. Were something to happen to you, I should be devastated, and I can’t begin to think what I would say to Maman.”

Ned offered him a shadow of his devil-may-care grin. “You must cut my lead line sometime, Miles. I know I have let you down in the past. I won’t this time. You can trust me to do this.”

Ned was correct. Miles had to let him grow up sometime. His heart in his throat, he nodded once, gripped Ned forcefully on the shoulder and then turned and strode out of the barn before he could change his mind. He walked into the sunlight with his thoughts and emotions in savage turmoil, though none of it showed on the agreeable face he presented to the outside world.  

The saddling paddock was a confined space of organized chaos as jockeys found their mounts and trainers issued their last instructions all the while dodging nervous horses being saddled. Miles found Fedder and Crane in an isolated corner with a calm, composed Day Dreamer, her head up as her eyes surveyed her assembled competition with the serenity of a champion viewing those of lesser talent. Fedder appeared relieved to see Miles.

“Mr. Crane, glad you are in the irons today. Let’s trust in a successful outcome.” Miles nodded to the diminutive man wearing the blue and gold silks of the Rutledge stud.

“Yes, my lord. The filly felt good in the warm-ups. Very playful. She’ll give those colts a run.”

“Good man. A slight change in tactics. You are going to be the rabbit today. Do all in your power to get a clean start, go to the front immediately and stay there. Make them catch you.” He reached to stroke Dreamer’s chestnut neck before he gently grasped both reins under her chin, ran a hand up her forehead to pull at her forelock and murmured, “Show these boys nothing but your heels, my beauty. Win it all. Do it for your mistress.” He returned his gaze to his jockey and stated crisply, “Keep her at the front and out of trouble.”

Fedder frowned and sent an intent and considering look at Miles but remained silent as he put the jockey up on Day Dreamer. The call to assemble at the starter’s tape was sounded, and both men stepped away from the filly.

“Good luck, Mr. Crane. I’ll see you in the winner’s circle.” Miles nodded and turned to hustle his way to the owner’s box, his thoughts divided between the race and the mission his brother spearheaded.

He hoped to heaven Ned would be successful. Otherwise, he might have sentenced two men to death. He didn’t think this gang would make good on their threats as murder was a hanging offense, while extortion—assuming it could be proven—was simply imprisonment or deportation.

His other option was completely unpalatable. A horse with the speed and endurance of the chestnut filly was a once-in-a-lifetime gift. He would not deprive Eleanor of what might be her only opportunity to realize her greatest dream because of threats to men in his employ due to the regrettable actions of his brother.

He made his way into Rutledge’s private box and was immediately greeted by Lady Florence Lloyd-Smyth.

“Lord Miles, I had thought Eleanor would return with you. She left to find you some time ago.”

He frowned. “I didn’t see her. Perhaps she got caught up in the crush? The crowd is rather heavy. I’m sure she will be here for the start of the race.”

Lady Florence smiled. “Yes. She definitely won’t miss that. Oh, look. The horses are under starter’s orders. She’d better hurry, or she will miss the start.” She held an opera glass to her eye. “Rutledge silks are blue and gold are they not?”

“Yes.” Miles squinted at the tape where each racer was to place a nose. The jostling and back and forth milling of the horses made identifying an individual animal something of a challenge.

“I don’t see them, but then perhaps I don’t know what to look for.” She handed Miles her jewel encrusted eyeglass. “I’m not very good at looking out of one eye. Would you like to try?”

Miles took the glass from her and intently scanned the field of starters. He came to an inescapable conclusion at the same time as the starter’s tape fell and the field of racers for the Epsom Derby were off.

“Oh, Eleanor is going to kick herself for missing the start—”

“My profound apologies, Lady Lloyd-Smyth,” Miles interjected. “I must get to the barns.” He turned and ran, a sick feeling growing as he pushed and shoved his way through the throngs of cheering racegoers.

Turning into the aisle of the barn, he almost plowed into a glowering Mr. Fedder tearing out of the barn like hellhounds nipped at his heels. Fedder seemed blind to everything around him. Miles stopped the man’s progress by grabbing his arm.

“What happened? Why didn’t Day Dreamer start?”

The trainer’s gaze swung to Miles as if he’d risen from the ground in front of him. The man gave an inarticulate growl of fury. “The Lady Miles Everleigh happened,” he spat. “As to why the filly didn’t start? You’ll have to ask her. Mayhap she will give you a lucid answer.” Fedder uttered his last words in a guttural snarl, and when he jerked his arm out of Miles’ grasp, Miles released him unhindered.

Even more alarmed than before, he came to a stop in front of Day Dreamer’s open stall door, and his consternation boiled over. “Eleanor, why didn’t Dreamer start?”

Eleanor’s heart beat as if to come out of her chest and her mouth went suddenly dry. She screwed up all her courage, determined to show no uncertainty and reminded herself one more time that she’d done the right thing. She finished adjusting the stable rug to fit without a wrinkle on the chestnut filly and then turned to face Miles.

“I made the decision to pull her from the race. I saw something off in her gait. She’s too valuable to risk a permanent injury.”

Miles frowned at her and moved to run his hands down the young horse's legs, an intent expression on his face. After a thorough examination, he rose and stood in front of Eleanor, shaking his head.

“I’d ask to see her trot out, but there’s nothing wrong with her. We both know that. Why did you pull her from the race? And Eleanor, please grace me with the truth this time.” His gray eyes held her steadily, stern accusation apparent.

As with Fedder, Miles disbelieved her spurious excuse, and she hated not being honest with him. Bracing herself for the furies of hell to descend upon her, she told him the truth.

“Your men are in fear for their lives. Lord Edmund and Her Grace have been threatened with physical peril, and I know how much you love them. It’s only money. There will be other days and other Derbies.”

“It is not only money, and there is only one Derby for Dreamer. Next year she will be too old.” His intelligent eyes examined her for a long moment, then narrowed with an all too knowing consideration. “Lady Florence said you came to find me, and you did find me, didn’t you?” He took a deep breath and let it out in a long exhale. “How much of my conversation with Ned did you overhear?”

Eleanor gave an internal gasp of relief. Miles was not going to fob her off with some Banbury tale. “I think I heard most of what Ned said to you… and I heard your instructions to Mr. Crane. You placed my hopes and dreams ahead of the physical jeopardy to your men, your brother, your mother—Fairwood and all those lovely horses. I couldn’t allow you to put at risk so much you hold dear—not for some silly daydream of mine.”

“Some silly...” He choked off the end of his thought. Everything about Miles’ manner from his suddenly rigid stance to his clenched jaw and averted gaze indicated immense frustration or barely restrained anger. She didn’t know which, but she feared she was in for a violent dressing down. Instead, he closed his eyes, visibly relaxed and when he opened them again, he took her hands into his and addressed her in a quiet voice.

“Eleanor, you must know by now. Isn’t it apparent in all I do? As unfashionable as it is, I am a man in love with his wife. I count no cost too great to ensure your dreams come true.” His eyes searched her face. “Please tell me my sentiments are not unwelcome for I am hopelessly and irrevocably in love with you.”

She stood for a moment, stunned, as one shattered dream was supplanted by the sudden realization of another—one even more desperately longed for.

She’d been silent too long, for his hopeful expression faded and his face became a mask devoid of all expression. She made haste to recover lost ground and shook her head rapidly, removing her hand from his to lay her bare palm in a caress against his cheek.

“No. Oh…no, never unwelcome.” Incredulous joy choked her throat and made speaking difficult. Her words emerged garbled, and she cleared her throat to speak more clearly. “Quite the opposite. Your sentiments are dearly welcomed.”

She tasted the salt of uncontrollable tears on her lips when she stuttered in a husky rasp, “As anyone who has e-even a pa-passing acquaintance with me will tell you, I’ve never given a f-f-fig for being fashionable, and I have been yours from the moment you t-t-tipped your ha-hat to me at Tatter-sa-salls.” She hiccupped emotional sobs as more tears flooded her cheeks. “Oh, M-Miles … I’ve been s-so very afraid you c-could ne-never love me.” Try as she might, Eleanor could not temper her highly wrought emotions.

Her beloved gazed down at her, his eyes full of kindness. “Such an unnecessary fear, dearest, for I find you eminently lovable.” His knuckles and then his thumb caught the fat tears that welled from her eyes. “I never spoke because I thought to spare you the burden of my unwanted sentiments.”

Beaming a wobbly smile at him, she struggled ferociously to restrain her graceless, noisy hitches of breath and slow the dribble of tears down her face, but it was a fruitless venture. Whether it was the crushing disappointment of pulling her certain winner from the Derby or the unmitigated joy of hearing words of love spoken to her that she’d never thought to hear—or perhaps some combination of the two—emotion thoroughly overset Eleanor, and her body trembled with the violence of it. At the moment when she so desperately longed to be at her most appealing, she stood in front of the man she loved so very dearly and shuddered and hiccupped and laughed and leaked like some demented watering pot. With a wordless shrug of her shoulders, she gazed at her beloved and rolled her eyes, sharing her chagrin at her inability to compose herself.

Miles regarded her tenderly, reached into his coat and offered her his handkerchief.

With a watery laugh, she took his offering, swiped vigorously at the tears she couldn’t seem to check and then blew her nose. “I have never mastered the knack of crying daintily. I must owe you at least a dozen of these by now.” She grinned at him through blurred vision. “I love you so very, very much,” she said, through a mix of half-checked sobs and laughter. “I must, for you are the only male of my acquaintance who regularly reduces me to ungoverned tears. Not even my father has such authority over my heart.”

The next she knew, strong arms crushed her to Miles’ hard chest, his firm hand cupped her chin and tilted her face upward, and his mouth descended on hers in a demonstration of his love that swept her from her present surroundings into the oblivion of physical desire that he’d schooled her in so well. Her bare hands clutched at the lapels of his tailored coat and clung for life as Miles rained kisses on her mouth, her face, and began to work his way down the long column of her bare neck accompanied by her whispered encouragement. His hat became dislodged and fell into the straw but neither of them moved to recover it.

A loud harrumph brought both of them back to a sense of time and place. They each gasped for breath as if they had been the runners on the race course. One glance over Miles’ shoulder revealed Jemmy standing at the open stall door holding standing bandages and a lidded pottery crock while staring at the ground as if he wished it would swallow him up.

Miles put her away from him gently, straightened the lapels of his frock coat where she’d pulled them awry, returned an errant lock of her hair to behind her ear, resituated her hat and did up several buttons at the bodice of her day dress that had mysteriously come unfastened. 

With a diffident smile, she straightened and smoothed his cravat.

“Lord Miles, my lady, pardon me, but Mr. Fedder directed me to poultice and wrap my girl’s legs. He’ll skin me raw if it ain’t done immediate and proper like.”

“Of course. If you’d give us a private moment?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, my lord.”

Miles bent and retrieved his hat and brushed the straw from it before snugging it on his head. He gazed at her with such open warmth that Eleanor wondered at her blindness for not having seen for herself how he felt.

He held his arms out. “Come here, dearest love.”

She went to him immediately, and he enveloped her in a hug. Eleanor lay her head on his shoulder and snuggled into him. Only one issue stood in the way of her abandonment to total joy. “What about Lord Edmund, Miles? I am very afraid for him. I do hope your brother will return unscathed with your Mr. Allen and Mr. Morgan.”

“I share your concern, dearest, but we will know something within the next hour or so. Ned is a competent marksman and not bad with his fists. Unless outnumbered again, he is fully capable of defending himself.” Miles’ chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “One can only hope the villains are too busy counting the money they won today to guard their captives.”

“I want to help. What can I do?”

“Eleanor,” he growled. He pushed her away just enough to look her in the eyes. “By God, you have done enough. The thought of you in harm’s way is intolerable.” His manner softened, and he pulled her to him again. “I would dearly love a respite from my thoughts for the next hour or so. I believe you had a small dinner planned in the Rutledge box with Lady Florence, Baron Stanton, and Lady Mary. Should we go find them? They might be just the diversion I need.”

“Poor Florence. I quite abandoned her.” Eleanor tightened her arms around her husband and nodded. “Yes, let’s find our guests. Besides, we shouldn’t embarrass Jemmy any further.”

Miles’ chest vibrated with rueful laughter. “So far, we have scandalized the downstairs footmen in the library, the upstairs maids, your father and mother and now young Jemmy. Suggestions for who should be next?”

“Father and Mother? Whenever did we scandalize them?”

Miles simply chuckled. She never did get him to tell her.

“The Eleanor that left this box in search of her husband is not the same Eleanor who returned. Whatever happened to you when you left, I wish it would happen to me, for despite the disappointment of an injury to your filly and having to scratch her from the race, I have never seen a person in such a state of elevated bliss as you.” Lady Florence gave a soft snort. “Considering the adoring looks you and Lord Miles have been exchanging for the past hour, I very much suspect I know.” Lady Florence delicately sipped her champagne punch while examining the cold buffet in front of her. “Wherever did you find pineapple at this time of year?”

Only listening with half an ear, Eleanor tore her eyes away from where her husband stood conversing with Baron Stanton and his wife and turned her attention to her dearest friend. Lady Florence immediately ceased her inspection of the pineapple slices.

“Indeed, I am not the same Eleanor. So filled am I with joy and lightness of spirit, I feel like one of those colossal observation balloons you see at ascensions. If I start to float away, please grab me, else I drift into the clouds.” Eleanor put fingers to her lips and shook her head. “I can hardly credit it, Florence. Miles declared his love for me.”

“Finally! Were we not in such a public venue, I would cheer and dance a jig. I am so very glad for you, dearest. No one deserves happiness more than you.” Florence’s tone of voice changed, and she chided Eleanor with a slight frown. “Since the two of you arrived in London, there were moments when you gazed upon Lord Miles with such hopeless yearning it has been all I could do not to seize your shoulders, shake you and demand you recognize what was before your very nose. The man adores you.”

Eleanor became thoughtful. “I have been blind, haven’t I? When last at Fairwood, the Dowager Duchess asserted with confidence that Miles loved me, and I wanted it to be true so fiercely I was afraid to believe her. I have steadfastly refused to examine our dealings together lest they prove the Dowager Duchess’ assertion false.” Bemusement colored her expression. “Upon further reflection, Miles has ever treated me with the most tender consideration and has regularly put his own purposes at disadvantage to forward my interests.” A besotted smile grew as her thoughts once more dwelt on her husband. Husband. Was there ever such a wonderful word as that? Never taking her gaze from the source of her enthrallment, she murmured, “Florence…I do not deserve him.”

Florence made a rude noise and rolled her eyes. “Such saccharine drivel is hard to endure. I had always held you to be such a practical woman.” Florence stabbed a piece of pineapple as if it offended her and flopped it onto her plate. “I pray the good Lord spare me from the affliction of love if it turns a sensible woman such as you into a beetle-headed goose.” Florence turned an admonishing glare on Eleanor. “He is the lucky one. In your person, he is getting a jewel beyond price and don’t you forget it.”

She sniffed and pulled herself erect, directing an unwavering glare at Eleanor, but then her ire collapsed. “Please, dearest... pay no attention to my graceless comments. Love has never left its calling card at my door, and I am beset by the green-eyed monster of envy. Just once in my life, I should like to be so adored as you, though when I consider those gentlemen whose adoration I should welcome… well, it is quite disheartening for there are none.” She cleared her throat awkwardly and continued in brisk tones. “Now, tell me. Where does one get pineapple in June?”

Eleanor opened her mouth to reply to Lady Florence but gave a glad cry when, with a determined step, Ned walked into the owner’s box accompanied by two men dressed in serviceable but plain clothing.

She flew to him and pulled him aside, examining him frantically from head to toe.

“I am quite in one piece, Elle. Cease and desist with your fondling of my person or I shall be in more physical danger from my brother than ever I was from those thugs.”

She growled at him but did stop running her hands over his extremities and patting his body. “You have caused me a great deal of worry, you wretched boy. I am quite put out with you.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled at him.

Ned gave her a smile so charming that she found it all but impossible to maintain her glare. “I’m sorry to have worried you, Elle, but as you can see, it all came right.”

Ned turned his head and directed a look so intent, so charged with emotion, that Eleanor also turned to discover the recipient of such a potent gaze. From across the owner’s box, Miles had paused in his conversation with Baron Stanton and the two brothers exchanged speaking looks. Eleanor watched their silent communication with fascination, her attention shifting back and forth from Ned to Miles, back to Ned, then to Miles and so on. Miles raised his eyebrows, asking a silent question. Ned smiled faintly and jerked his head to indicate the two men who’d entered with him. A smile tugged at one side of Mile’s mouth and with an almost imperceptible bow, he saluted Ned with his flute of champagne before turning back to Baron Stanton. It had all happened in no more than the shake of a lamb’s tail, but Eleanor knew what she had seen. Lord Edmund had officially come of age.

“Lady Miles, may I present to you Mr. Allen and Mr. Montgomery of the Fairwood Stud.” Ned opened his arm to indicate the two gentlemen standing ill-at-ease behind him. Mr. Allen, Mr. Montgomery, your master’s wife, and our hostess, Lady Miles Everleigh.” Both men bowed and acknowledged the introduction then stood with their hats in their hands and tried to look as if they were not gawking at the elegant interior of the Rutledge box and the sumptuous food and drink to be had.

Eleanor smiled. “Gentlemen, I am delighted to have you here. Have you seen the cold buffet? We have a number of delicacies on offer. Come.” Eleanor placed her hand on Mr. Allen’s forearm. “You and Mr. Montgomery must try the iced pineapple. It is a particular favorite of mine and quite difficult to acquire.”

The Tuesday following Ned’s safe return found Eleanor placing a gloved hand on the crown of her hat to prevent the wind from taking it as she and Lady Florence waited on a little-known street in a lesser-traveled part of London’s city center. They stood in front of an unprepossessing little shop whose grimy bay window bore an arc of gold letters spelling Chesterton’s Rare Books, Coloured Plates & Odd Curiosities as the summer wind buffeted them and whipped their skirts.

“Florence, please don’t take offense when I tell you that I’m not entirely certain Lord Miles meant for you to accompany me today. He said he had something of a particular and private nature to share with me.”

Eleanor’s groom stood perhaps fifteen feet away, and Lady Florence’s groom and carriage waited a little further down the street.

Lady Florence slanted a playful gaze at Eleanor accompanied by an arch smile. “I won’t intrude on your privacy. You won’t even know I am there, but as soon as you told me you were to meet at Chesterton’s, you could not have prevented me from coming.”

“I can’t imagine why. It’s just a musty old bookstore and not even in a very tonnish part of town.” Eleanor frowned. “I dislike standing on the street. Should we wait inside?”

Lady Florence gave Eleanor another one of “those” glances before Eleanor beckoned to her groom who escorted the ladies into the shop and took up a post by the front door.

At the tinkle of the bell above the entry, the proprietor, a small, rotund gentleman with a florid complexion and an appalling lack of pride in his personal dress—as evidenced by a waist coat bespattered with what had to have been the gentleman’s latest meal—entered through a curtain from the back of the shop.

“Ladies, how may I be of service?”

“I’m not exactly certain, sir,” Eleanor said with her normal reserve. “My friend and I are meeting my husband, Lord Miles Everleigh, here shortly.” She looked at the shop clock on the wall behind several long glass display cases. “It is a quarter-past two. He is to meet us at half-past. We are a bit early.”

“Lord Miles Everleigh, you say? Ah yes, I remember speaking with your husband just a day ago. A gentleman of discriminating taste,” the proprietor remarked. “He indicated an interest in several of my more, ah… out of the ordinary and exotic…publications and had them put back for your perusal. I’ll just go get them prepared for your viewing.” He bobbed a bow and disappeared through the same curtain from which he had appeared.

Lady Florence began to peer into the glass cases that lined one wall. When she chuckled, Eleanor joined her and examined the contents of the display to see the source of her friend’s amusement.

“Good heavens… is that what it appears to be? Florence…” She blinked in amazement and pointed “…that one has ballocks.” Eleanor studied the assortment more closely. “Quite an astonishing variance in sizes. Is that true to life?”

Lady Florence laughed quietly. “I have heard them called dildos or godermiches. I should think a more proper name would be a widow’s ‘pleasure companion’. Yes, Eleanor, they are what they appear to be, a reproduction of a man’s phallic part. Obviously, some are more realistic than others. What is of more interest to me, though, is why did Lord Miles wish to meet you at Chesterton’s? Precisely?” She smiled and batted her eyes at Eleanor. “This shop is well known for providing risqué literature and indecorous objects for people of an adventurous propensity.

Eleanor felt the rise of heat into her cheeks and squirmed. “Erm…I believe I said something one evening about wanting instructional literature? Lord Miles indicated he would obtain some for me.” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence. She cleared her throat and waited for Florence to respond.

Her friend’s face was alight with mischief. “Really? Ah, to have been a mouse in the corner.”

Eleanor covered her face with her hand. “I detest being ignorant, always being… surprised…always needing explanations.”

“Yes, I can see where that would not sit well with you. There is nothing wrong with being ignorant because you are innocent, dearest. It is a quality attractive to most men. I shouldn’t be in such a rush to cure it.”

Eleanor held her friend's eyes steadily. “You will think me a complete goose, but I want to be perfect for him.”

“I don’t think it silly at all. You’d be surprised at how well I understand.” Florence stared sightlessly at the far wall, a wistful smile tipping her lips. “But, some of the greatest fun to be had on earth is in remedying one’s inexperience with the right partner…” she shook herself and returned her attention to Eleanor “…and as you are married to an extraordinarily handsome and virile man who happens to adore you, were I you, I should look to curing my ignorance with him rather than some dry book.” Florence’s serious gaze held Eleanor’s for some moments before she looked away.

As Eleanor considered the heartfelt advice of her friend, the tinkle of the bell above the entry door caused her to turn. Her beloved had entered the bookshop. Upon seeing Eleanor, Miles’ face lit with a smile… and then after only a glimmer of pause—which Eleanor suspected no one other than she would detect—he smiled pleasantly at her companion.

“Lady Florence,” he acknowledged with an elegant bow.

“I know I am de trop, Lord Miles. You needn’t be so polite,” she said with a laugh. “I quite forced myself upon Eleanor despite her protestations, but I could not miss an opportunity to see Chesterton’s again.

The owner appeared through the curtain. “Ah! Lord Miles, you have arrived. I thought I heard the bell. Good. Good. All is in readiness in our private viewing room. Whenever you are ready, my lord.”

Miles tipped his hat at the proprietor. “Indeed, yes. Lady Miles, Lady Florence, after you.”

Lady Florence stepped forward and followed the proprietor through the red damask curtains, but Eleanor hung back. Slipping her arm through Miles’, she leaned forward so that she could whisper. “Miles, have you brought me here to examine books about debauching?”

“I have.”

Eleanor pursed her mouth. “Would you be disappointed if, after all, I decided I did not want to see such literature?”

Miles straightened and gazed at her, a question on his face. “Not disappointed, no, but curious as to what brought about your change of heart? Is it the presence of Lady Florence?”

She gazed into his grey eyes and with a faint smile on her mouth, murmured as she steered them toward the door, “Not her presence as much as something she said. I still wish to be skilled  at debauching, but I have decided I would rather you teach me—time spent in the saddle as it were—and I do so enjoy your lessons. I’m certain you will be more entertaining than the dry pages of a book, even if it does have illustrations. Would you mind, terribly, being my tutor?”

His eyes crinkled in a smile and he drawled, “I will be delighted to be your instructor, Lady Miles.” He gazed at her thoughtfully, then asked her in a level, matter-of-fact voice—the kind one would use if inquiring whether a guest took one or two lumps of sugar in their tea, “Would you like to begin your lessons immediately?”

A thrill of delight bubbled up her spine. She tilted her head and gazed at him considering. “I believe I would.”

The bell above the door jingled as he opened it and escorted her out. They stopped briefly to send Lady Florence’s groom to her to inform her of their departure, and then Lady Florence was quite forgotten until the hour was exceptionally advanced.