Page 20 of Dick Stone, Regency Stud
“I wish him luck,” said Lord Edward, gesturing to the main area of the barbershop so they could leave his small office and get on with talking elsewhere. He had lonely heart ads to review.
“Well, that’s the thing. He’s going to need more than luck, our Charley. He’s going to need a baby.”
Edward froze. Ahh. Now they were coming to the crux of the matter.
“And why are you here rather than perusing the stock at the local orphanage?” asked Edward.
“We obviously can’t just drop off a brat. His father would never go for that, and he needs that income to support his household! And his racehorses!”
“His Papa has always been a real rigid sort. So I think you know what we’re asking?”
Edward tapped his fingers on the gazette, waiting for these young fools to stop wasting his time.
The fools exchanged glances. The bolder of the two said, “We were hoping you might fuck his wife.”
The other drew forth a bag of what sounded like coins. “We can pay.”
Chapter 2
How the second sonof a Marquess came to be running a breeding business out the back of a high street barbershop was a story that could fill a series of novels. Since you, dear reader, are likely less concerned with how he stumbled into his work than what he did when he got into it (and any number of aristocratic ladies), I shall be brief.
The young blades weren’t wrong; he saved a recruit from the firing line in the Peninsular War — long before Waterloo, it should be noted.
A rumor circulated that his downfall stemmed not from his soft heart, but from his hard cock. Namely, his hard cock lodged in his commanding officer’s wife, a lovely young woman following the drum with her aged spouse, who was desperate to conceive a baby after many years of marriage.
She got her baby, he was dishonorably discharged, and the healthy income previously supplied by his father was cut like the supply lines to a losing army. He had to retreat and retrench.
He reflected on this while walking to Hyde Park. In the past, he’d have ridden a horse — likely, his stallion, Tencendor — but housing and feeding the beast had outstripped his limited income, and he’d had to part with the dear demon some months prior. It was the wound that would never heal, Tencendor having been with him in Portugal.
Ahead, he spotted his quarry.
As instructed, the landau coach waited for him just off Rotten Row. Working in their favor was the light mist, which allowed the landau’s hoods to be raised without remark. Also in their favor was the early hour, far before the fashionable set descended upon the park.
Well, the last wasn’t down to luck at all, but careful scheduling suggested by Lord Edward.
He swung up into the carriage unobtrusively and took the seat facing the lady he was supposed to impregnate.
Lady Maria Mabbot was a young, lovely vision in white, as if she hadn’t thought to update her wardrobe from her come out, which admittedly wasn’t that far behind her. He paused. Did she truly have any awareness of what her husband and his friends were up to?
Encounters like this made him question whether his line of work was as noble as he told himself it could be when fits of conscience attacked him in the middle of the night.
“I say, sir, I believe I saw a number of young men bathing in the Serpentine on the way here!” she exclaimed while craning to look back at the lake. “They do that in the nude? In the open air of the park?”
Lord Edward pulled at his self-tied cravat and struggled to find suitable words to say in response.
“Preachers instruct all Englishmen, rich and poor alike, that cleanliness is next to godliness. I expect these lads are attempting to comply with those teachings as best as they can.”
“Some of them didn’t appear to be young at all,” she said, her eyes large. “Why don’t they merely have their servant bring them some water for their washing?”
Could it be that Lord Charles Mabbot had married the rare woman, one as silly as the friends that had hired Edward to take up the pikestaff? He again questioned if he could fuck this innocent chit in good conscience.
“I suppose some people don’t have servants. Such as those who are servants themselves,” she mused quietly.
There, she had shown a modicum of intelligence. He could swive away and collect the coin promised him.
“Madam, I wonder if you know why I am here,” he said.
“I believe my husband would like to get an heir on me without undertaking the task himself?” she asked.
