It Takes a Hero (6 page)

Still, confronting their only servant or complaining to the woman wouldn't do. Mrs. Wortling had the same look about her that the last housekeeper had held moments before she'd thrown up her hands in despair and quit.

It had taken them nearly two months to find Mrs. Wortling, and Rebecca had been nearly at her wits end between trying to maintain the house, carry on the colonel's correspondence, and keep them financially afloat.

"Tea, Mrs. Wortling, if you please," the colonel said, sweeping into the room and settling into
his chair, looking and sounding like the regular country gentleman that he was supposed to be.

"Harrumph," Mrs. Wortling snorted before stomping off to the kitchen.

"Bex," the colonel said, looking up from his paper. "Did you write to Mr. Billingsworth about that tract on the Roman ruins nearby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmm," he murmured. "Wonder why he hasn't seen fit to respond. We'll give him until the end of the month. Then be a dear and write him another reminder." He sighed. "If my translations are correct the lost wages of Hadrian are buried not far from there. Such a treasure will make us rich, not to mention famous."

Treasure!
Rebecca held back a loud groan. How she wished she'd never heard the word. It held nothing but empty promises and unending disappointments.

She glanced over at her desk, with its mountain of papers and letters and bills. Not for the first time, Rebecca wondered what it would have been like to marry Lt. Habersham, now Viscount Pease, and live a life of luxury, instead of the poverty in which they struggled.

Not that she knew any other way to live.

Oh, there was the colonel's retirement pay, but he had never held a regiment, never made a very good showing in the army, so the half pay he received was not nearly enough for them to live on.

Luckily, his cousin, a local baron, had offered them this cottage in which to live.

But what would she do if something happened to the colonel? Then where would she be? Continue living on Lord and Lady Finch's good graces? Not if she had her way.

Pulling a small ledger from her writing desk, Rebecca looked over her contingency plan. All she needed was a little more money, then she'd find the security and stability that had alluded her all her life. It was all she'd ever wanted and she wasn't going to let anyone stop her.

Glancing up, she saw two figures ride by, Mr. Danvers and his young companion. To her relief, they didn't stop, but continued riding. Hopefully, he'd given up and was leaving Bramley Hollow for good.

And good riddance to him
, she thought, trying to dismiss him from her thoughts, but it wasn't that easy. His dark good looks and charm had left her ruffled and disquieted. So much for her practical resolve to avoid such men. They only reminded her of all she had lost so many years ago, and of all she still desired.

Well, if there was one good point to consider, it was that if the arrogant lout came looking for her, his reception would be the colonel and his trusty Brown Bess. That ought to send him running back to London.

Looking over her list of things to do she added one more item.

Leave the powder unlocked.

«
^
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Though I am never one to carry tales out of turn, I do believe Miss Darby carries a terrible secret in her heart. What vexes me something terrible is, I can't for the life of me determine how we can get
her to divulge it. Discreetly, of course.

Lady Lowthorpe to Miss Cecilia Overton

in
Miss Darby's Daring Dilemma

R
afe Danvers had never actually met the infamous Lady Finch, but his brothers, Colin and Robert, and their cousin, the Duke of Setchfield, all swore that if one ever got in a bind, the baroness was perhaps the only person in England (besides the now missing Mr.
Pymm) who would know the answer to any puzzle.

Though the baroness stayed for the most part at her husband's Kent estate, that didn't stop her from keeping her nose firmly stuck in the
ton
and all its gossip. She employed no less than three couriers whose sole positions were to ride back and forth to London with her legendary correspondence, in addition to her full-time (and much beleaguered) secretary who copied out her advice sheets and kept her vast records of marriages and children and events and sins. Her letters were considered either a welcome boon of good information or a blistering barrage of advice that would leave the recipient's ears burning for weeks to follow.

No one dared slight the lady or countermand her advice, for one day they might need Lady Finch's good graces to save them from a peccadillo, or worse yet a scandal, that with only a few of her well-placed endorsements could wipe the path of disgrace free and clear.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Cochrane said as they rode closer to the gates. "Mr. Pymm always said Lady Finch was in with the devil himself. A good example of what happens when you let women read and write."

"Pymm said that?" Rafe asked.

Cochrane nodded. "That and more. She sent him a letter once. I don't know what it said, 'cause he burned it, but I dare say whatever she told him singed his pride more than that match did the parchment. Had him muttering her name like a curse for a good seven months."

Rafe laughed. Must have been some letter. He'd never gained such a favor from her—either in admonishment or in advice.

He supposed she left those particular privileges to his sisters-in-law. After all, Olivia, Robert's wife, had been Lady Finch's secretary for seven years.

As they passed through the gates of Finch Manor, Cochrane gaped at the massive pair of stone lions guarding either side of the entrance.

A timbered manse, an old gatehouse Rafe reasoned, sat just inside the walls, while a long drive stretched past it and up toward the main house.

Situated on a small knoll, Finch Manor was an elegant collection of stone and marble, grand evidence of the passion for building that had struck several generations of Finch lords. Rafe knew the current baron loved botany and had added a great glassed orangery to the south wing, along with classical gardens all around the house.

"Gads," Cochrane muttered, taking a glance up at the three-storied house that spread out before them. " 'Iffin that Bettlesfield Park that Lady Tottley is offering you is even half the size of this one, they'll have to make you one of those lords."

"I doubt that is going to happen," Rafe said. Given his less than sterling service in the army and his tarnished reputation around town, he'd have to save the entire royal family from a mob of anarchists before he'd have a hope in hell of ever seeing even a meager "Sir" before his name.

But as he gazed at the manicured lawns and the smooth yellow stone building, he felt an odd ache tug at his chest.

This was a home. A place one settled and stayed. The kind of place where one actually unpacked one's trunk.

He didn't hold out any hope that the property Lady Tottley had dangled before him could be as well-kept as the meticulous lawns and blooming gardens of Finch Manor, but the green hills and trimmed hedges of Kent spoke of an ordered life that so far in his thirty some years had eluded him.

And until the countess had offered it, he'd never held any interest in gaining property, for to be rooted in a house, one had to belong to a place.

And Rafe Danvers had never fit in. In Spain, his English blood had kept him at arm's length from his aristocratic relations. In England, his Iberian heritage was just as frowned upon. The army had been too full of rules and regulations and ridiculous notions that a man could lead troops into battle just because his father had the price of a commission.

His return to London hadn't been much more welcoming, especially once he'd decided to do the unthinkable—offer his services for hire. But then again, he really didn't care what society thought.

At the door, Rafe produced his card to the butler and explained his connection to the family, especially his sister-in-law, the Marchioness of Bradstone.

The man grinned at the mention of "Mrs. Keates," and welcomed Rafe and Cochrane into the foyer before setting off to tell her ladyship of her visitors.

Cochrane stood in the middle of the round marble entryway and gaped up at the columns and paintings and lush blue drapes.

"A far cry from Seven Dials, eh, Cochrane?" Rafe asked.

"I never," he muttered back.

The butler returned and led them through the house to the dining room. It had wide windows that let in the late afternoon light and beyond was a garden and gazebo awash in spring flowers.

The table was elegantly set for dinner. A young lady in widow's weeds faced them, while a gentleman of some years sat at the far end of the table, his nose buried in a journal.

"So I finally meet the infamous Raphael Danvers," a voice booming with enthusiasm called out.

Rafe turned and fixed his gaze on a regal figure in a mauve gown and purple turban. Lady Finch.

Cochrane looked ready to bolt.

"Lady Finch, I presume," Rafe said bowing low. "It is an honor to meet you."

"People always say that to me, but few mean it," she laughed.

"My family owes you a great debt, and therefore I do consider it an honor. You've helped my brothers and now here I am also seeking your counsel."

At this, her eyes lit with interest.

Rafe had never doubted for a moment that Lady Finch wouldn't rise to the occasion, especially when the opportunity to meddle came begging at her doorstep.

She drew closer to him, studying him with a scrutiny that would have been considered rude by most. Rafe, having grown up with a twin brother, was used to the minute examination.

"You have your brother Robert's fierce mien, but from what I hear, you also possess Colin's sharp mind."

"Thank you, ma'am, though I doubt either of them would appreciate your assessment."

She laughed. "I suppose not. Not given what else I've heard about your more interesting exploits," she said, whacking his arm with her fan and then glancing over his shoulder. "And who do we have here?"

"Beg your pardon," he said. "May I present my assistant, Cochrane."

Cochrane managed a halfway decent bow, though he kept a wary eye on the baroness. Apparently Pymm had used stories of Lady Finch on the lad like parents used the boogeyman to frighten children into proper behavior.

"Cochrane what?" the lady asked, coming around Rafe to get a good look.

"Just Cochrane, ma'am," he managed to stutter.

She drew closer, her sharp gaze fixed on him. "You have a familiar look to you. Who was your father?"

"I don't rightly know, ma'am. Mr. Pymm took me in when I was just a wee lad."

"Pymm, you say?" she managed, glancing over at Rafe.

He nodded to her.

"Harrumph! That old weasel took you in of his own freewill?"

"Aye," Cochrane said. "Raised me like his own son."

Rafe watched as the lady took one last searching gaze of Cochrane's features. From the arch of her brow, he suspected she doubted the boy's assertion of Pymm's paternal charity.

"Cochrane, would I be correct in assuming that Mr. Danvers hasn't fed you yet today?" Lady Finch asked.

He shook his head. "Not since breakfast, ma'am."

"A crime," she said, good-heartedly. "Please, you both must join us for dinner."

Rafe shook his head. "We didn't mean to intrude on your meal and would be just as happy to wait until you are finished."

He ignored the indignant and painful nudge into his back. Turning down a free meal was sacrilege to Cochrane.

"I insist," Lady Finch said. "It is only my secretary, Mrs. Radleigh, and Lord Finch and he is no company whatsoever when his Orchid Society journal arrives."

Lord Finch glanced up and managed a nod to his guests, then went back to his reading.

The lady of the house let out an indulgent sigh. "As you can see, we keep country hours here and do not stand on ceremony." She nodded to the butler. "Addison, could you please set places for Mr. Danvers and our famished new friend, Cochrane."

"You may find your larders emptied," Rafe warned her.

"It will give the kitchen staff something to do," she said, as a grinning Cochrane happily took the chair Lady Finch waved her hand toward.

She smiled after him, and then took her place at the head of the table. She motioned Rafe to take the one beside her. "What brings you here to Finch Manor, Mr. Danvers? Don't tell me it is true that Lady Tottley has hired you to end these
Darby
troubles I've been deluged with."

This took him aback. Lady Tottley had sworn her coconspirators to secrecy.

"Never mind," Lady Finch said. "I can see from your face you've taken a vow of silence on the matter. So tell me everything. Especially since it was my suggestion."

"Yours?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I've been inundated with letters from every mother with a marriageable daughter pleading with me to help them. I may have hinted to Malvina she hire you to help her find this author and gently suggested that you might be able to persuade them to stop writing."

"Now I know whom to blame," Rafe said.

"You may thank me in the end," she said. "That is if Lady Tottley rewards you as generously as I advised her. She had better have dangled something pretty substantial before you to entice you to take time away from your work on the Codlin case." She patted her lips with her napkin. "Now, humor an old lady, and tell me what she offered and I'll help you in any way I can, for I can't imagine someone as purse tight as Malvina Witherspoon offering anything that would make it worth your time, not with the East India Company having raised their reward to two thousand pounds."

Cochrane waggled his brows at Rafe, an
I-told-you-so
sort of gesture.

Rafe set aside his wonder at Lady Finch's sources and smiled at her. Actually her offer was better than he'd hoped for. He'd thought he'd have to divulge a lot more than just his payment to gain her aid.

"Bettlesfield Park," he told her.