How To Tame a Rake (6 page)

The soirée was held in a mansion north of the city. The grand reception rooms were filled with beautifully dressed and important people. Willy met the Duke of Wellington. He proved to be an elderly man and not at all the romantic, flamboyant figure that she imagined. Most of the talk was about the recent death of the eminent poet, William Wordsworth. A foppishly dressed man, standing with a hand on the fireplace mantle, recited one of his poems which began ‘It is a beauteous evening, calm and free … the broad sun is sinking down in its tranquillity….’ Willy felt confident that the poem wasn’t about London and it’s yellow fog. She yawned behind her fan as a dark-haired, soberly dressed woman entered the room, causing quite a stir.

“That’s Baroness, Angela Burdett-Coutts. She is the grand daughter of Tomas Coutts, founder of the London Bank, and quite a philanthropist,” Lady Elizabeth said quietly. “Come and meet her.” She went to shake the lady’s hand.

“I’d like you to meet my son’s fiancée, Miss Wilhelmina Corbet.”

The lady had lively eyes and quickly drew Willy into conversation. They discovered they had a common love of animals. She had a quick wit that defied her appearance and soon had Willy laughing.

On their way home in the carriage, Willy asked her aunt to tell her more about the Baroness.

“My goodness, such a lot to tell. She is a philanthropist,” Lady Elizabeth said. She began to outline the good deeds that Angela had accomplished. “She has also helped to set up an organization for the prevention of cruelty to animals,” she concluded. “It’s called the RSPCA.”

“I do hope I meet her again,” Willy said thoughtfully.

The carriage drew up in front of the house. “I’m not sure about you, Wilhelmina,” her aunt said, “but I’m ready for my bed. A late morning tomorrow, I think.”

Willy sighed. She longed to go riding in Rotten Row.

“Blake has sent word, he will be with us by nightfall,” her aunt added.

Willy swallowed as excitement gripped her stomach. Would he find her much changed?

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Chapter Seven

Blake entered the drawing room. He had just washed and his dark hair was still wet, brushed back from his brow. The scent of his musky cologne hovered on the air. His masculine good looks seemed to overpower the room and Willy’s heart started that annoying pit-a-patter.

“We have waited dinner for you,” Lady Elizabeth said, rising.

Blake kissed her cheek. “You look remarkably well, Mother.” Lady Elizabeth was dressed in a maroon gown trimmed with black jet beading. There were roses in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. “I’m glad to see you’ve abandoned your widow’s weeds. London agrees with you.”

“It agrees with Wilhelmina, too, don’t you think?”

Blake turned to Willy. “You look charming,” he said raising his brows. “I am blessed to be dining with two such beautiful ladies.” He kissed Willy’s gloved fingers.

Willy bit back the suggestion that it was now he who was toad-eating her. She smiled up at him and laid her hand on his arm as he escorted them both into dinner.

She listened as Blake and his mother discussed the improvements to Hawkeswood at some length. When he had finally concluded his impressive list of renovations, she asked, “Has Felix returned to the wild?”

He shook his head. “We set him free, but he chooses to make our home his for the time being.”

Willy clapped her hands. “How grand.”

“Is it?” he asked coolly. “He has already eaten two of the chef’s chickens and a goose he was fattening for the table.”

“Well, he must eat something.”

“He is extremely well fed.”

“It can’t be the food he likes,” Willy argued.

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “No, he wishes to catch his dinner himself and I wish he would go far away and do it.”

Willy opened her mouth to protest but caught her Aunt’s warning glance and closed it again. “This asparagus soup is nice, isn’t it?’ she said mildly.

* * * *

“Wilhelmina, tell Blake about your experiences here in London,” Lady Elizabeth suggested. They had retired to the drawing room after dinner to play a game of whist.

“Oh yes. Blake, have you ever met Lady Burdett-Coutts?”

Blake had expected mention of the more glamorous members of the Ton, but hardly the earnest and rather dour baroness. “I met her once, I believe.”

“She has helped to form an organization for the care of animals. It is called the RSPCA.”

“Very noble indeed.” He wondered where this was heading.

“There are so many animals in need of it,” Willy said. “Just think what a difference it will make.”

“I’m sure it will.” Blake didn’t like to see animals mistreated anymore than the next man, but felt a twinge of unease at Willy’s enthusiasm.

“Can you take me riding in Rotten Row tomorrow morning?” she asked him.

Relieved to be off the subject of animals, he said, “I should be delighted.”

He waited for her to clap her hands and say something countrified, but she just lowered her lashes and said, “Thank you. You are most obliging.”

He grinned. “Obliging, indeed, to give up a few extra hours of sleep to go riding with you—considering I’ve just spent a whole day in the saddle.”

“You shall enjoy it. It will be such fun. We can ride to the river and feed the ducks.”

He frowned. “Ducks? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t know why this very polite conversation is making me want to reach for my smelling salts,” Lady Elizabeth said. She picked up the bell. “Are we ready for coffee?”

* * * *

The next morning before breakfast, Blake came downstairs to find Willy impatiently waiting in her new, blue velvet riding habit and hat.

“You look fetching,” he said, “That blue turns your eyes to violet.”

“Thank you,” she said carelessly. “I am still the same person inside.”

His gave that wolfish grin that set her heart beating. “I haven’t seen inside. I look forward to it.”

Her face grew hot. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t you like pretty things?” he asked.

“Yes. But it’s a person’s character that matters most.” This is what her father had told her, and here she was madly in love with a rake.

His eyes gleamed and a corner of his mouth lifted. “How commendable,” he said soberly.

“The horses are being brought round from the stables.”

“With little more than a dish of tea?” he asked wearily.

“You will enjoy a huge breakfast when you return.”

They went to mount their horses. While crossing to the park they passed shiny carriages, phaetons, barouches and landaus, travelling up Park Lane to meet and be seen on the south carriage drive. Blake was greeted by many who knew him. By the time they reached their destination, he and Willy had a long list of invitations.

The bridlepath was already quite crowded with riders cantering through the leafy green grove. Seizing a gap, Blake urged his horse into a spirited canter and Willy, glad to be riding a better horse, followed closely behind. She loved riding and being among trees again. She tried to ignore an inexplicable bout of homesickness. How could she be, when Blake reined in and turned to see how she fared? It was not home she missed precisely, it was to be among those who knew and loved her, she decided.

“You’ve lost your bonnet,” he said. “Shall I help?”

He brought his horse up to hers and reached across, grabbing the bonnet that hung down her back by its loosened ribbons.

“Thank you,” Willy reached back and their fingers touched sending a wave of heat to her cheeks. Vexed at her weakness, she stuck the bonnet back on her head.

“I’m glad to see you enjoyed the ride,” he said. “You have roses in your cheeks.”

“Riding brushes away the cobwebs.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “You know, you are full of surprises, Willy.”

“Good ones, I hope.”

“Mostly. Your want of propriety will vanish with age and experience.”

“I suppose I should be thankful for that.” Willy turned her horse’s head and galloped back the way they came, forcing a man riding a white pony to pull up to make way for her.

Blake rode fast to catch up and reined in beside her. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism.”

“Shall we return to the house? I’m sure you are hungry.”

* * * *

That evening Blake took Willy to the ballet. Their crimson plush, private box was just above the stage. Perhaps because he’d hurt her feelings, he was at his most charming. He complimented her on her gauzy, pastel-pink evening gown decorated with flowers, his eyes lingering for a moment on her bosom and shoulders. He was behaving like a beau. She found she loved it when he laughed at something amusing she said, and when he lightly stroked her skin above her glove, and particularly when his hot blue gaze made her tremble.

The night was simply perfect until the end of the performance and the gas lamps lit up the theatre. As the patrons began to leave their seats, a red-haired woman in the box opposite raised her opera glass in their direction. She wore a cerise gown and feathers in her hair. Her low bodice seemed to barely skim her nipples, making Willy’s gown with its modest flounce, look like it was meant for a convent. Diamonds sparkled at the lady’s throat and in her ears. She made a sign in their direction. Willy turned to see Blake nod at her.

“Do you know her? Who is she?” she asked.

Blake frowned. “No one of consequence.”

“But she must be someone.”

“Really, Wilhelmina. This is something you do not do.”

She hated that he was vexed with her again. “But I merely asked who she was.”

“Ladies do not acknowledge those of the demi-monde.”

“Why ever not?”

He looked away. “I don’t intend to discuss it.”

“Then perhaps I should ask Aunt Elizabeth when she joins us afterwards.” Lady Elizabeth had chosen to sit with friends, but she kept an eagle eye on them from her box.

“Please don’t. It will only offend her.”

“I see,” Willy said in a small voice. Suddenly she did see, all too well.

As they descended the stairs, Blake said, “I shall have to return to the country at the end of the week, to make sure the work is going as planned. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

She waited in the foyer while he went to the cloakroom, suspecting it was she who was driving him away from London. As she stood to one side to allow the crowd to file out of the theatre, a handsome blond man came up to her and swept off his top hat. He looked quite cavalier in his black cape lined with red satin.

“I saw you from my carriage riding in Rotten Row with Dangerfield. I thought you a neat rider,” he said, taking her hand. “Forgive my manners, my name is Vincent Loudon.”

‘How do you do,” Willy said smiling. “Are you a friend of Blake’s?”

‘I most certainly am.” The man looked at Willy warmly. “I have the advantage of knowing who you are, Miss Corbet. And now I know why I’ve seen so little of Blake these last few weeks.”

Blake came to join them and proceeded to assist Willy into her evening coat. “How do you fare Vincent? Did you do well at the races this Saturday past?” He turned to Willy, “Vincent has some very fine racehorses winning cups every time they run.”

“Blake, you sly dog,” Vincent cried, slapping Blake on the back. “Where have you been keeping this beauty? Why haven’t we seen Miss Corbet at any of our social gatherings?”

“I’ve been seeing to things at Hawkeswood—country houses don’t look after themselves. You don’t seem to mind that your ancient abbey crumbles into the ground.”

“Highly romantic, don’t you think?” Vincent threw back his cloak, his brown eyes smiling into Willy’s. “Don’t tell me Miss Corbet has been all alone in London.”

“Oh no, Aunt Elizabeth has been here with me,” Willy said.

“That’s hardly exciting is it, for a young girl on her first trip to the Capital.”

Willy felt Blake’s hand on her arm. She opened her fan and held it up to her face, smiling up at Vincent over the top of it, just as she’d seen Amabel do a hundred times. Warming to the role, she made a moue with her lips. “Blake tells me he must return to the country at the end of the week.”

“Then please allow me to escort you around. I should be delighted,” Vincent cried. He turned to Blake. “With your permission, Blake.”

“Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind, should I feel it necessary.” Blake’s tone made it clear the question would never arise.

His friend laughed good-naturedly. He bowed and kissed Willy’s hand. “Then I must hope to find you at soirées, Miss Corbet.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “I know, how about a day at the horse races? Do you care for it?”

“I’ve never been.” Willy was genuinely delighted. “I would love to go.”

“Next Saturday, perhaps?” Vincent raised his fair eyebrows. “Blake? If you’re not in London, your mother might come as chaperone.”

“I’ll send you a note,” Blake said.

“Good man,” Vincent slapped Blake on the back again, returned his top hat to his head and rushed out into the street. Darting dangerously between carriages he hailed a passing handsome cab.

“My goodness,” Willy said faintly.

“Vincent is a lively character,” Blake said. “You like him?”

“Yes. I believe I do. Has he a wife?”

“No.”

Feeling him glance at her, Willy smoothed her gloves.

He said little after his mother joined them for the carriage ride home. The lovely atmosphere Willy had so enjoyed had long deserted them. As she and her aunt went up to bed, she heard him go out again.

Agnes waited to help her undress. “Did you enjoy the evening, Miss?”

“The ballet was lovely,” she said. “But I’m so tired, just undo me, Agnes, and go to bed.”

The next morning, Willy was surprised when Blake appeared at the breakfast table. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Willy … I’m sorry about last night.”

Willy had tossed and turned for hours. She preferred the truth, although at times it was hard to bear. She had grown weary of crossing swords with him. “Do you love that red-haired lady?”

“What! Of course not.” Blake gave a short laugh. “You extraordinary girl. You have a way of turning everything topsy-turvey.” He took her hand in his. “Let’s forget it shall we? Call a truce?”