A Good Rake is Hard to Find (24 page)

It made a certain kind of sense, she thought. Freddy did have a reputation for consorting with ladies. She'd heard enough rumors about his time on the Continent to last a lifetime. Though he swore he'd been faithful to her. But hadn't she herself experienced his skill as a lover only yesterday in her father's drawing room?

There was some truth to the rumors about his skill.

“So, your cousin believes that if our betrothal is real we will use the adjoining door and if it isn't we won't?” she asked, trying to convey a worldliness she did not feel.

“In short, yes.” He spent an inordinate amount of time examining his fingernails as he waited for her response. Leonora was silent.

“How will they know?” she finally asked.

“Know what?”

“Whether we use the door or not.”

He frowned. “I suspect they've worked out some way of checking to see if the door has been opened. Or maybe they'll attempt to bribe our servants. Or perhaps it will be their own housemaids they ask. Does it matter?”

Tilting her head to the side, she looked at him for a moment. Had she realized how complicated this would become when she embarked on this quest with him? Maybe she had. What she knew for certain was that her brother's death had changed both of their lives irrevocably. And there was no turning back.

Slipping her arm through his, she led him back through the garden toward the French doors they'd exited from.

“Are you not angry?” he asked diffidently when they reached the house. “I thought you'd be offended beyond measure.”

“I can't say that I'm shocked. It is your cousin, after all. He's no angel.” She glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then kissed him full on the lips. “But if your cousin needs to know how real our betrothal is, then we will simply have to prove it to him.”

“I don't want to hurt you, Leonora,” Frederick said fiercely, holding on to her when she would have pulled away.

“It's my decision,” she replied. “My choice.”

His blue eyes gazed into hers for a moment, then he sighed and let her step away.

“Ah, Lord Frederick and Miss Craven.”

She wasn't sure how long Sir Gerard had been standing there, but Leonora hoped it had been long enough to see their kiss. She wanted desperately to prove this man had killed her brother. Not only for her brother's sake, but for her own, as well.

“I hope you'll join the rest of my guests for drinks before dinner,” he said with that knowing look that so infuriated her. “Let me show you to the drawing room.”

Aware that the game was truly begun now, Leonora held tight to Freddy's arm, and they followed him.

 

Seventeen

The first person Freddy saw when they entered his cousin's drawing room was, unfortunately, Lord Payne.

“Quite an eye you've got there, my lord,” he said with a sneer, his own face showing the marks that Freddy had left on him during their match. “Thought you'd be laid up in your bed with a beefsteak, if you must know.”

Unsurprised by the other man's bluster, Freddy did not give him the pleasure of rising to his bait. “Not at all, Lord Payne. I find that the best thing after a satisfying win is to get out and about as much as possible.” Truth be told,
he
was rather surprised at Payne's presence here. He'd been unconscious the last time Freddy had seen him.

“I know from experience that my cousin is a seasoned fighter, Payne,” said Sir Gerard as he handed glasses of brandy round to the gentlemen. “He nearly killed a man on our estate when we were growing up, didn't you, Fred?”

He might have known Gerard would bring that up. He had most definitely not almost killed the other boy. He'd been defending one of the local girls from the farm lad's advances, and had landed a lucky shot that knocked the boy out cold.

“There was never any question the boy might die,” he said with studied indifference, knowing that responding to the taunt would only make Gerard happy. “Do not paint my exploits larger than they actually are.”

It came out a bit more censorious than he wished, but Freddy was pleased to see a flare of anger behind his cousin's eyes before he concealed it.

“Not at all, cousin,” Gerard said coolly. “I was just complimenting your skills. That is all.”

Then he turned his attention to Leonora with a smarmy grin that set Freddy's skin crawling. “Miss Craven, I must say it's a delight to have you in our home. Isn't it, Melisande?” He slid an arm around his wife's waist and Freddy got the distinct impression that she would rather have been molested by an adder. Even so, she smiled politely. “Yes, indeed. Welcome to South Haven, Miss Craven. I hope you've found everything in your rooms to your liking?”

Freddy watched their hostess for some sign that she was fishing for their reaction to the adjoining rooms, but could discern nothing from her.

Before he could respond, however, Leonora spoke up. “My room is quite lovely, Lady Fincher. I am quite pleased that it opens onto the gardens below. I do appreciate a lovely view.”

Unable to resist, he said, “Mine does as well, Miss Craven.” Then to his cousin's wife, he said, “I must thank you for giving us rooms on the same hall, Lady Fincher. How thoughtful of you to guess that after my dear fianc
é
e's accident in Hyde Park I would wish to keep a careful watch over her.”

Lady Darleigh, who, along with her husband, had come closer when they heard the first stirrings of conversation, interjected. “What incident is that, Lord Frederick? I don't believe I've heard anything about an accident in the park. Surely it wasn't during the fashionable hour or it would have been talked about incessantly.”

“I was riding with my friend Lady Hermione, my lady,” Leonora said cautiously, “and someone threw an incendiary device at our carriage.”

“A…” Lady Darleigh looked helpless. “A what? I'm sorry, I must sound terribly ignorant next to a learned lady like yourself, but what is an incendiary device?”

“A bomb,” her husband said sharply. “Like Guy Fawkes and that business.”

A collective gasp went up among the other guests, who'd been listening in.

“Who would do such a thing?” Lady Payne asked with a hand to her throat. “You both might have been killed.”

“Ladies oughtn't to be driving coaches,” one of the other men—Lord Colburn—said with a frown. “That's a good reason why. What lady can keep hold of the reins in a situation like that? She shouldn't be expected to. Upperton should know better than to let that daughter of his run wild. Driving carriages like a man. What's it to be next? Wearing trousers?”

“It would certainly be less confining than skirts, you must admit, Lord Colburn,” Leonora said, and Freddy was relieved that it generated a few laughs from the rest of the guests. Continuing, she said, “I am quite proud of my friend, my lord. And she is an excellent driver. Indeed, I think if she were allowed to join a club such as yours, she would put many of you to shame.”

That did not please her audience nearly as much as her earlier words.

“Was not her name associated with your brother's last season, Miss Craven?” asked Colburn, a dark tone in his voice. “Perhaps she was teaching him bad habits. Bad habits that maybe got him killed?”

There was a collective gasp from the other guests. Even his fellow club members thought Colburn a boor, Freddy thought.

“Lord Colburn,” Gerard cut in sharply. “I must remind you that Miss Craven is a guest and is to be treated with the utmost respect. Her brother has only recently died. Have some manners.”

Colburn looked angry, but mumbled an apology. That was followed closely by Lady Fincher's announcement that dinner was served.

As he led Leonora into dinner—Freddy was relieved to note that his cousin did not have a high regard for the rules of precedence at his table—he overheard one of the other men admonishing Colburn for his behavior. “Better watch out, Colly. That chit is betrothed to Sir Gerard's cousin. And he looks after what's his.”

But to his surprise, Colburn didn't seem to take the other man seriously at all. “Gerry's got no love for that versifying ape-leader. Didn't you see how he looked at her when she walked in on Freddy Lisle's arm? Like he wanted to strangle her in the bath. I ain't worried about Gerry on that score. He's got a temper, don't get me wrong. But it ain't gonna be over her.”

Freddy wanted to turn to see who the other man was, but all he could do was slow down a bit in the hopes that the two men would pass them. Unfortunately he and Leonora reached the table before the others passed them.

Before she sat down, Leonora glanced over at Lord Colburn ruefully. “I might have handled that better,” she admitted in a low voice that only Frederick could hear. “I cannot stand it when men dismiss Hermione out of hand because of her sex. I hope I haven't destroyed a possible alliance there.”

“I doubt it,” Freddy said, thinking about the other conversation he'd overheard. “That fellow is known for being disagreeable. I sincerely doubt he would have unbent enough to give you any help. Even were you to pair it with a bag of diamonds.”

Taking her seat, Leonora nodded. “That's good to know. I shall try to avoid him if at all possible,”

“I'm afraid that won't be quite as easy as you think,” Freddy said apologetically as he took his seat beside her. “He's one of my cousin's most valued men. After Payne, of course.”

“Whatever are the two of you discussing in such a heated manner?” Lady Melisande asked at Leonora's other side. “I begin to understand why the two of you are betrothed. You spend every possible second together, don't you?”

Then the conversation turned to weddings and there was no more time for private discussion.

*   *   *

“I very much enjoy your poetry, Miss Craven,” said the rather plain lady who had been introduced as Lady Rutledge as she and Leonora walked from the dining room to the drawing room after dinner.

Leonora had been rather surprised to learn that Sir Gerard and Lady Melisande followed the custom of having the ladies leave the gentlemen to their port, given that their adherence to other social niceties—having betrothed couples not sleep in adjoining rooms, for instance—was not all that strict.

Even so, she was somewhat relieved to be spending the next quarter hour without feeling like the most scantily dressed lady in the room. There was nothing in the least objectionable about her gown—it was a simply cut lavender, in keeping with her mourning for Jonathan, and was no more revealing than any of the other gowns in the room. Indeed, there were a few ladies whom Leonora suspected must be desperately in need of a shawl given the nakedness of their bosoms and shoulders.

Lady Rutledge, on the other hand, had chosen to err on the side of caution. The neckline of her watered silk was almost so far up her neck as to be counted as a cravat, and her sleeves were long, despite the fact that spring was in the air.

“Thank you so much, Lady Rutledge,” she said with genuine gratitude. Even if the other woman was offering her meaningless compliments to pass the time, it was better than the suggestive chatter Leonora could hear between a few of the other ladies. And infinitely more pleasant than enduring yet another cold interrogation from Lady Melisande.

“I spend a great deal of time reading to my mother-in-law, the dowager Marchioness of Rutledge,” Lady Rutledge continued, her hand nervously picking at her skirt. “She has declared your writing is easily as good as Mr. Wordsworth's. Or, and this is as fine a compliment as she can give, even that of Keats.”

The comparisons to other poets—male ones especially—was something Leonora still hadn't quite gotten used to. It was odd to imagine that her work, which felt so unique to her own thoughts and feelings while she was in the midst of writing it, was anything like any other poet's. But that was the nature of reading and being read. The human mind was constantly looking for ways to make connections between disparate things. Poets, poems, novels, even people.

“Is your mother-in-law an invalid, Lady Rutledge?” Leonora asked, curious. She wondered if it were the dowager who had chosen the younger marchioness's attire. “What an admirable thing for you to spend time reading to her.”

The other lady blushed. “She is, Miss Craven. She suffered an apoplexy last year and my Thomas was nearly beside himself over it. He insisted upon moving her from the dower house into the estate where he could personally oversee her care.”

That was unusual for a gentleman, Leonora knew. But sometimes sons were like that with their mothers. “I feel sure that you had some role in her removal, as well,” she told the other woman. “Though it sounds as if both you and your husband are fond of her.”

“We are,” said Lady Rutledge with a shy smile. “I lost my own mother when I was a girl, so Tommy's mother has taken me under her wing.”

Wistfully, Leonora thought of her own mother who had died when she was still but a girl. Unbidden, her thoughts went to the Duchess of Pemberton and her easy ways. If this betrothal between Frederick and her were real, would the duchess do the same with her as the marchioness had done with Lady Rutledge? It was a tempting idea, though a dangerous one, Leonora knew. The less she relied upon Frederick and the ways in which making their betrothal real would affect her, the better.

“How nice,” she replied to the other woman, glancing once again at where Lady Rutledge's sleeves reached her wrists.

“I see you have noticed my odd attire,” the other lady said ruefully. When Leonora would have demurred, she laughed. “Do not worry. I am not offended. If I were a stranger seeing myself for the first time, I'd be curious, too.”

Taking a seat on the settee near the fire, she indicated that she would like Leonora to join her. Unable to resist her curiosity, Leonora did just that.