Page 1 of Loving Mister Stratford
Chapter One
London, August of 1823
Simon Stratford didn’t ask for much.
He was, by all accounts, considered extremely low-maintenance, especially as far as second sons of earls went.
He never spent more than he was allotted; he didn’t run up exorbitant tabs on drink or women.
He never worried his family ill by disappearing on binges for days at a time.
He stayed out of trouble and kept mostly to himself.
He’d always earned the highest marks in school, graduating at the top of his class at University.
All he asked for in return was a little bit of peace—a concept those few friends who’d stuck with him throughout the years seemed to have difficulty grasping.
Whereas his family had long ago resigned themselves to acceptance of his unrelenting drive to focus on his projects, his friends, however, were still boisterous, randy young men chomping at the bit for excitement, coin burning through their pockets, and wholly unable to comprehend how Simon did not share in their desires.
After graduating from University, Simon had taken rooms not far from St. Jame’s Square—a bachelor’s flat simple enough for his tastes and needs, but with an address his mother felt was befitting enough of his station.Simon didn’t care what it looked like, he just wanted somewhere quiet to perform his work. Peace and orderliness reigned supreme in his little alcove of London.
That peace was currently being interrupted by the persistent pleading of his friend, Rafael Hart—Rafe to his friends and the young Viscount Blackwood to everyone else. Apparently, Rafe’s most recent paramour had convinced him to escort her to the premier of a new play headlining some famous French actress. Simon hadn’t bothered to pay attention to any of it: the title of the play, the Frenchwoman’s name, or even that of Rafe’s temporary toy.
Rafe had managed to obtain four tickets at the last minute—he no longer had a box of his own at the theater—but, as it would happen, every last one of his other hell-raising friends was busy that evening and couldn’t accompany them on such short notice.
“Don’t make me go alone,” Rafe practically whined; in fact, Simon would wager that it would have been considered a whine had any man other than Rafe elicited such a groan. One tended to be given an extreme amount of leniency when he was as aesthetically pleasing as the broadsheets continually proclaimed Rafe to be.“You know how I loathe the theater.”
“You’re not alone, you’ll have Lady Fancy with you.”
“Felicity,” Rafe corrected.“And her cousin is in Town from Cornwall, so she’ll be attending as well. We need another man to help even our number and attempt to expose the chit to a bit of culture.”
“And I’m clearly your last resort,” Simon observed drolly, to which his friend rolled his hazel eyes.
“I know you’re not truly insulted, Sim. I’d been doing you a favor by trying toavoidextending you the invitation. It just so happens that your luck has run out, my friend.”
Simon finally looked up from the orderly stacks of papers and notes, books and quills, pots of ink and blotting paper laid out atop his oversized desk. Rafe looked so hopeful…not unlike an annoyingly, deceptively innocent-appearing puppy. He would mess on the rug as soon as you turned your back, then be just endearing enough that you didn’t strangle him.
Not for the first time, Simon wondered at the sensibility of his decision when all those years ago at Eaton he’d allowed Rafe to save him from verbal, mental, and physical torture, thereby entering into some sort of unspoken social contract accepting him as a friend. What had kept the two of them together over the years was a mystery to all, even the parties involved. Simon supposed there was something about Rafe that kept him more in touch with the outside world than he would have were he allowed to remain solitary; as for Rafe, Simon liked to think he was drawn to the steady, constant presence Simon presented. Simon was never hard to find and it had been remarked that he was very good to talk to…well, more people tended to talkathim thantohim.
Rafe, had been one of the consistent few to willingly seek out Simon’s companionship, and Simon did suppose he owed his friend a bit of reciprocity…especially when he looked at Simon as if any hope of bedsport with that theater-minded beauty lay squarely in his hands.
All Simon had to do was sigh and Rafe knew he’d won. His obscenely handsome face split into an excited grin.
*****
The audience at the playhouse that evening stood on its feet in an ovation for the principal actors. The waves of applause were nearly deafening, accompanied by the occasional collective cheer as a favorite took a bow. The French actress had proven to be quite entertaining. It wasn’t difficult to tell that, even beneath the layers of stage makeup, she was more than passably pretty and there was no denying her powerful presence on the stage. Simon, himself, didn’t often attend social events—let alone plays—unless there was some form of bribery or coercion involved, but even he in his relative ignorancecould admit that he’d enjoyed the performance. He added his polite applause to the din echoing off the dark wood walls and swaths of burgundy fabric cascading from the ceiling to create the stage’s curtains.
This West End venue, The Mask and Lyre, was not quite as large or as grand as Covent Garden or Drury Lane, but it was still a respectable locale and the principal working actors were considered some of the best in London. Judging from the glittering gems and luxurious fabrics rustling in the golden candlelight, Rafe and his latest paramour hadn’t been the only ones drawn there by the performance. The audience was as much a display and performance as those actors taking their bows upon the stage. Simon shifted uncomfortably in his formal evening kit and wondered, not for the first time, why, exactly, Rafe had insisted upon his attendance. He’d claimed it was to serve as an escort to his paramour’s cousin, but the girl had begged off with a headache at the last minute. Though Rafe had shot him a deeply apologetic glance, he hadn’t offered to release Simon from his obligation. This reasoning was beyond all of Simon’s comprehension.
It wasn’t as if they’d paid Simon much mind during the performance…and certainly not with the woman’s tongue in his friend’s ear. Simon barely suppressed a shudder and shifted away in his seat, turning his attention back to the crowd of other ladies and their escorts chattering gaily in their bunting-swathed boxes. Inane. All of it. Simon sighed heavily and barely resisted the urge to check his pocket watch. The play was over. He’d be home soon enough. His fingers fairly itched for his quill.
Unfortunately for Simon, Rafe (ever the charmer) managed to convince a stagehand that they belonged backstage with the rest of the close friends of the performers and theater benefactors.
“Must we?” Simon muttered under his breath. The stairway leading to the lobby and freedom had been tantalizingly close. One step backward and he could have been happily swept away by the tide of bodies heading in that direction.
Rafe glanced at his mistress—quite easy to spot in her unnaturally pink gown—as she chatted with another woman at the entrance to their rented box.“Yes, we must, Sim. Lady Felicity was overjoyed when I told her we’d be going backstage.” No doubt she’d been titillated by the thought of stealing into an area normally deemed unfit for women of breeding—dipping her toe in the forbidden waters, so to speak.
“You’re certainly going out of your way to win her favors.”
