Chapter Twenty-Seven
Radham Hall, Surrey, October 1817
A ndrew set his teacup aside. Had he heard his guest right?
“An invitation , Mr. Baxter?”
“That’s right, Lord Radham,” the gardener said. “My wife was most insistent. She’s hosting a house party next month and wishes you to be among the party.”
“But she hasn’t even met me.” Andrew shook his head. “I don’t know if it would be proper.”
“It’s just a house party, not an intimate family dinner. There’ll be other guests. My Bella says that’s the done thing for a new acquaintance. And it’ll give you a chance to see my handiwork. Give you a feel for what your garden might look like. There’s a sunken garden just like the one I’m planning by the east wing.”
“The one the morning room will overlook?” Andrew asked.
“Aye, sir, that’s the one. And my wife’s a lady, if that’s what ye’re hesitatin’ over.”
Andrew let out a laugh. “I wouldn’t care if she were a milkmaid. If she’s clever enough to have produced such detailed garden designs, then I confess I’m intrigued by the prospect of meeting her.”
“She’s right clever, is my Bella.” Baxter grinned, and his heavy-lidded eyes narrowed as if he were on the brink of swooning. Clearly the man adored his wife—he’d spoken of little else over tea.
“A paragon of womanly virtue,” Andrew said.
“You don’t know the half of it, sir.” Baxter’s expression took on a faraway look.
Yes, the man was utterly smitten. But Baxter didn’t look like a fool. In fact, for all his uncouthness, he had a sharp intelligence—greater than that possessed by any member of White’s, certainly.
“You must call me Radham, not sir ,” Andrew said. “If I’m to accept your invitation then it must be on equal terms.”
Baxter set his cup aside and glanced out of the window toward the small group of tenants who were digging into the soil. “If I am to justify my fee,” he said, “I shouldn’t be lingerin’ here takin’ tea. Not while it’s still light outside, and not while others are workin’ so hard themselves.”
“I admire your industry, Baxter,” Andrew said. “In my experience, a man in your position is always ready to issue instructions to his subordinates, but is never prepared to carry them out himself.”
“What sort of man would I be if I stood idly by and watched while others toiled so that I might be enriched?”
Andrew laughed. “You’d be a gentleman , Mr. Baxter. And yet, if your wife is a lady, that’s precisely what you are. I must confess you are something of an enigma. Perhaps I will come—after all, my acquaintance is somewhat limited.”
“You must have friends in London.”
“Hardly any, I’m afraid. I’ve discovered that London Society is not really to my taste.”
“Ha! In which case, you must accept my invitation. You’d fit in our little circle perfectly. My Bella has secured the most extraordinary set of friends—poets, artists. And if you’d rather discuss business than the arts, Trelawney’s always good company.”
That name was familiar. “The wine merchant?” Andrew asked.
“The very same.”
“I believe Trelawney has made a tidy profit from the Radham estate over the years, if my ledgers are anything to go by,” Andrew said. “Not that I hold it against him, of course,” he added, as Baxter frowned. “I fear my late brother indulged in wine to excess.”
And women.
“Oh, forgive me,” Baxter said. “I quite forgot—you’re still in mourning for your brother.”
“No matter,” Andrew said. “Robert lived life to the fullest, most likely treating each day as if it were his last—until, of course, that day finally came. He’d not have wanted me to hide myself away and wallow. Besides, I have my father for that. But Father prefers to remain in London mourning his favorite son. And so I find myself here—defined by my title, an indentured servant, if you will, slave to a viscountcy and heir to an earldom.”
What a sorry creature I am.
Most would sneer at his self-pity, arguing that thousands of men would envy his position. But Baxter nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “Do you miss your profession?” he asked. “Beggin’ yer pardon if I’m speaking out of turn.”
Baxter had spoken out of turn, but his open honesty, delivered with a thick country burr, rendered him worthier to be called friend than any other living soul Andrew had encountered.
Except perhaps…
Stop it!
There was little point in thinking about her .
Andrew nodded. “I do miss it,” he said quietly. Then he rose and gestured toward the window overlooking the garden. “But I have a new profession now.”
“That of a gentleman?”
“Being a gentleman is a matter of perspective,” Andrew said. “Many would define a gentleman as one who lives off an inherited estate without having to lift a finger, idling his way from day to day while others tend to his whims. By virtue of possessing a title, I am considered by many to be a gentleman. But with the title comes an estate, with servants and tenants, all needing someone to care for them. An estate is like a living, breathing entity, much like your business, Mr. Baxter.”
“But my business is a trade , Lord Radham.”
“Yes, but you have employees, do you not, who work for you in order to earn a wage? Your business yields a profit from which you pay your employees, much as my estate yields a return from which I pay my servants and maintain the homes of my tenants. You intend to pass your business on to your sons, and I am bound by duty to furnish the earldom with an heir. So far, you and I are equal. Or, at least, we will be once my estate is solvent once more.”
“Then perhaps you stand to gain from accepting our invitation, Lord Radham,” Baxter said. “You’d find our acquaintances are of a similar mind to yourself, and a wider acquaintance can only be to your advantage—in one respect, at least.”
“Such as?”
“My Bella has a number of interesting friends. There’s one in particular who’s our guest at the moment. Charming creature she is, and though I’d never advocate marrying for money, she has a sizeable dowry. She—”
Andrew interrupted, his gut twisting with revulsion. “Mr. Baxter, I’m certain your intentions are good,” he said, “but I am not in search of a wife. If your wife’s invitation is for the purpose of matchmaking, then I must decline. My title is not for sale, Mr. Baxter— I am not for sale.”
“My apologies,” Baxter said, rising from his seat and approaching the door. “I ought to be getting on.”
“Wait,” Andrew said. “Forgive me—I meant no offense, and I know you meant none yourself. I just… I wasn’t meant for all this . I was meant to be a country vicar, not the heir to an earldom.”
“I understand,” Baxter said. “I wasn’t born to live in a grand house with the daughter of a duke, but love happens in the strangest of places. My Bella and I were never meant for each other—our marriage was one of convenience—but we grew to love each other.”
Andrew shook his head. “How in the name of the Almighty did you enter into a marriage of convenience with the daughter of a duke?”
Baxter grinned. “ That , my friend, is a story I’ll save for when you honor us with your company. If that don’t tempt you to come, I don’t know what will.”
Andrew held out his hand. “Then I’ll gladly accept,” he said, “if only to have sight of the most extraordinary woman in the kingdom. Your wife must be unique.”
Baxter raised his eyebrows, then took Andrew’s hand, enveloping it in his great paw. “An extraordinary woman may be the rarest of creatures,” he said, “but I’ll wager she’s not unique. It’s just a matter of finding your extraordinary woman.”
And therein lay the problem. Andrew had found her. Then, in his folly, he’d let her slip through his fingers.
Perhaps Baxter was right—a marriage of convenience was the only solution. It would raise funds for the Radham estate and enable Andrew to furnish the title with an heir. And, most importantly, it would not present any risk to his heart, given that he’d irrevocably lost that to another.