CHAPTER ONE

"For god's sakes, Edward, halt you're fidgeting before I have you tied to the bedpost," Lord Bidwell groused.

Edward Sinclair, Fifth Earl of Harrington smiled with rueful amusement.  He was a large gentleman with the thick muscles of a person accustomed to hard labor and chestnut curls that were brushed toward a countenance too bronzed for fashion and features too forceful for beauty.  He was, however, blessed with warm hazel eyes and an unexpected pair of charming dimples. 

Thankfully he was also blessed with a rare good humor and patient nature.  A stroke of fortune considering most would have bolted after a fortnight of enduring Biddles wretched notions of how to mold a proper gentleman.

"I defy any gentleman not to do a measure of fidgeting after three tedious hours of being brutally bathed, brushed, and bedeviled.  I can assure you that I have been more kindly handled during taproom brawls."  

"Halt your complaining.  You are fortunate that your form is such I had no need to order a corset.  They are damnably uncomfortable according to most," Biddles retorted with a supreme lack of sympathy.  "Of course they are all the rage since the Prince has taken to wearing them.  Perhaps we may yet consider one." 

Edward lifted one warning brow.  "You would not dare."

The slender, flamboyantly attired dandy with a narrow countenance and piercing pale eyes smiled with a bland superiority.

"Not only would I dare, my dear Edward, but I would twist, tuck and squeeze you into it myself if I thought it necessary."  With a flourish the gentleman produced a lacy fan to wave before his pointed nose.  "I have warned you that all of society will be anxious to cast their judgment upon the new Earl of Harrington.  Especially since they are already titillated by your elevation from farmer to Earl in one fell stroke.  Do not doubt every eye will be searching for some exposure of your rustic manners and lack of worldly experience."

"Meaning that they will expect me to arrive at their soirees complete with mud on my boots and a cow in tow?"

"That is precisely what they will expect."

Edward smiled wryly.  "It is not that I doubt your judgment, Biddles, which is always quite beyond question," he murmured.  "But I must admit that I have yet to comprehend how being scrubbed until I am raw and then strangled by my valet, who by the way is taking inordinate pleasure in my torture, is to assure the ton that I do not reek of the country."

The ebony fan was abruptly snapped shut as Biddles advanced across the hideous paisley carpet.  During his rigorous training in manners, deportment and dancing since arriving in London, Edward had not yet had the opportunity to do more than make a cursory inspection of the enormous townhouse.  Certainly there had been no time to renovate the opulent grandeur to a more simple style suitable to a bachelor of modest taste.

"Dear god, Edward, how often must I remind you?  A gentleman can always be distinguished by his attire, and most importantly by the tie of his cravat.  It is what sets apart a true nobleman from those of lesser Quality."

Edward could not help but chuckle at the absurdity of his friend's words.  It was precisely the sort of logic he would never comprehend.  Regardless of the number of titles were dumped upon his unwilling shoulders.

"Do you mean to tell me, my dear Biddles, that among a nation with the greatest minds, the most progressive scientists, highly respected philosophers, poets and warriors, all we have to set us above the savages is the perfection of a knot in a length of linen?" 

There was a cough from one of the numerous uniformed servants that were crowded into the room until Lord Bidwell's unnerving gaze fell upon the hapless man.

"Leave us," he commanded.  "I will speak with his lordship alone."

As one the servants anxiously filed out of the room, all too pleased to be away from the dandy's sharp tongue and habit of flaying those who dared to interfere in his torturous lessons.  Only the well trained valet was daring enough to linger a rebellious moment to pluck a tiny thread from the shoulder of Edward's mulberry jacket before he too joined the mass retreat.

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