.
Reuben stood before the mirror tying his cravat, and then spoke the name he’d avoided, since seeing her again at Rose’s wedding last week. “Lady Rachel Lush.”
“Lady Lush?” his valet, George, asked. The old man stood by the door, with Reuben’s dark jacket in his hands. George had been given to Reuben, along with the house he’d procured in the city, after his former gentleman had died. Reuben was slowly coming to understand just how useful a valet could be. George seemed to know everything there was to know about Society, its rules and the people who made it was it was, but more importantly, he was willing to share all of it with Reuben.
He saw Reuben as a project, of sorts, a way to prove his skills. It was the reason George had given Reuben, when asked if he would stay, a few months ago.
“Lady Rachel is a very good choice for a wife.” George was not tall, but his posture seemed to add inches. “It is likely that if you married her, you’d be the envy of many in Society.”
He met George’s eyes through the looking glass. “Envy?”
George nodded. “She’s very wise, but doesn’t make a show of it. I’ve heard this from quite a few servants. She’s young enough that a lord should have plenty of time to procure an heir from her, and is quiet in nature. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the lady shout in public, much less given into boisterous laughter.”
Boisterous laughter? Was that something one should frown upon? Where Reuben came from, one was glad when there was an occasion to laugh. There’d been so much sorrow in the home. It annoyed him that the ton would think to shun displays of happiness.
But this was the world he’d entered, and he had better learn the rules quickly.
“Perhaps, I should stay in tonight,” Reuben said, asking more than anything.
George didn’t frown, but lifted the jacket slightly. “Oh, no, my lord. You must go. An invite to dinner at the Earl of Woodley’s home will spread. This is the way you gain acceptance into Society, and, if given permission, Lady Lush would suit the role of viscountess well. She’s a fine lady with an abundance of kindness.”
That’s what Reuben had thought. Feared even. He didn’t want to see Rachel any differently than he had in the past. “All right,” he said. “I’ve had enough of his exercise. We’ll revisit the idea of marriage at a later date.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Reuben finished tying the cravat and then turned to George.
The room’s emptiness seemed to echo loudly across the space. Save for the bed and wardrobe, the room had been stripped of whatever life it had previously had. The wallpaper had been taken down, since it had been peeling anyway, and Reuben had yet to add anything, because he wasn’t sure what would look right. These were the duties of a wife, George had said, but while Reuben would discuss various ladies, he had no plan to commit to one at the moment.
The other man looked at his throat and nodded. “Very good. You’re getting better at the task every day, though as I’ve said before, there’s little need for you to do it, when I am around.”
“I know.” Reuben crossed the room and let George put the jacket on. “But I like knowing how to do these things on my own.”
“I understand.” George brushed invisible lint from the shoulders, and Reuben turned around to be buttoned in the front. “It will take time for a man like you to adjust.”
It would, indeed.
Dressed, he left the house and went out to the carriage that had cost him more than he had wished to pay. Keeping a team of horses was yet another expense, but one George said he could not do without. His home could be bare— and it was a beautiful home to be sure— but the life of a gentleman was all about appearances.
Reuben settled into the carriage, and debated once again if he’d made the right decision when he accepted Woodley’s invitation to dinner. He would hate to embarrass himself. Usually, he ate with his family, but even Rose had commented that his conversational skills could use work. He had the tendency to mention things that no civilized man of Society would; scenes from war, and the gore and savagery a soldier could face in times of crisis.
He was all but being told to speak of nothing more than the weather, which he thought a waste of time, or politics, which he cared nothing for.
But he concentrated on these topics of conversation as his carriage came to a halt in front of Woodley’s townhouse.
It was strange to be ushered through the front door of the house he knew better than his own home. Everything was the same. The pale pink and white marble floors matched the walls, with vases of roses of like hues scenting the air. It felt like coming home, except after he bowed to his host, Woodley and Rachel both lowered their heads in similar fashions.
It was startling, and set him back, but he recovered before Rachel’s eyes met his once more.
She was just as beautiful as she‘d been the week prior. Her dress was a soft blush color that matched her cheeks, and made her hair’s color that much deeper. It, like her gown, was sensible, without fuss or tons of distraction. She wore twin curls by her ears, but the rest of her hair was pulled back. The look should have made her blend into the background, yet it only managed to make her natural beauty stand out. Something he noticed many other ladies wouldn’t dare do.
“Lord Eastridge.”
His gaze turned to Woodley and he grinned. “Woodley.”
Rachel pulled in a breath as Reuben’s eyes turned away. Though his expression had been nothing but pleasant, it was the length at which he’d watched her, that set her blood pounding. While he spoke to her father, she took her time to take him in, as well. He looked beautiful, though Rachel had always thought him quite charming, even as a footman. Being attractive was almost a requirement for footmen and lady’s maids, since an employer always wanted to prove that they had the best of everything.
But Reuben’s looks were different. Elegant, but not gentle. His cheeks and jaw held a toughness that came long before the war, yet there were a few new lines around his eyes that spoke of stress. The urge to soothe him overcame her, and she forced herself to concentrate on the conversation.
“Everything looks the same,” Reuben said aloud. His green eyes seemed darker in the overhead lighting, his skin more golden.
“There are a few new pieces here and there,” her father said. “Rachel finds the most interesting art pieces, but you’re correct. Not much has changed in six years.”
Reuben looked at her father and then her. “I’m glad. Your home always conveyed a certain level of warmth.”
She felt warm with his eyes on her. “We’re glad you feel comfortable here.”
“Oh, yes.” Her father took her arm and started toward the dining room, thankfully taking the lead in the conversation, as Rachel tried to gather her thoughts. “I hope you’re hungry. When I told Cook we were to have a soldier come to dinner, she outdid herself and prepared a feast.”
“I do enjoy eating,” Reuben admitted.
Rachel turned to look at him, once she’d taken her seat. “I’m sure you’ll find the meal more to your liking, than what they served the soldiers.”
Reuben grinned. “That’s putting it mildly, my lady. There were times when it was better to starve than eat whatever was being served.”
Rachel froze. “Really?”
Her father looked at Reuben with interest as well.
Reuben looked between them and leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry. There’s surely not an appropriate topic for dinner conversation.”
“No.” Rachel wanted to reach out and grab his hand, but she held herself back. “You can say anything to us.” She looked at her father for confirmation.
Woodley nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes! Rachel is quite right. We’ve known one another for years. You don’t have to mince words with us.”
Reuben turned to Rachel again
She smiled softly. “We worried for you, my lord. Please, tell us.”
Reuben stared down at his bowl of soup, and seemed to relax before he lifted his head once more. “While officers and those who could afford to pay a higher commission were given better portions for meals, lowly foot soldiers were given whatever was left and sometimes the food was already on the verge of going bad. It was best to either check your bread for bugs, or avoid it entirely.”
Rachel dropped her spoon in her soup, the silver clinking loudly against the porcelain. She gathered her hands in tight fists. “That’s horrible.”
“Quite,” Woodley whispered. “How did you happen to move up so high in the ranks? Surely, you didn’t have the means to purchase your commission.”
Reuben smiled. “I became a Gentleman Volunteer to my Commanding Officer. Then, in
the course of the war, another officer died, and my Commanding Officer allowed me to fill in his role.” That was one way commoners became leaders, Rachel knew. Gentleman Volunteers were close enough to their officers to show their skills, which could accelerate their careers quite quickly.
Reuben looked at his food. “From there, I rose by simple determination. Those above me saw what I was capable of, and gave me a chance.”
“Quite the man of valor,” Woodley said. “Though it troubles me, all you had to go through.”
“I’m sorry.” Reuben lifted a hand. “I’ll say no more.”
Rachel reached out and touched the hand Reuben had left on the table. “No, don’t.” She swallowed around the unease in her chest. It took everything within her to pull her hand away, once she had his eyes again. “Like my father said, don’t hold back from us. You’re safe here.” She didn’t dare look at her father. She wasn’t quite ready to see his reaction. Feeling quite silly herself, she resumed her meal, sure that Reuben or her father would change the topic.
But a moment later, Reuben began to speak of war, and though it pained her to listen, she did.