The Rake

  Tonight, half an hour after hearing his light, booted steps, she heard a different sound. Curious, she rose and opened her door a fraction, and saw a girl leaving Reggie’s room. She froze, feeling ill. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough to distinguish details, but Reggie’s visitor was one of the maids, Gillie or Janie from the size and shape.

  The girl paused in the hall, wiping her eyes as if she had been crying. Then she pattered toward the stairs that led to the attic. Alys eased the door shut and pressed her forehead against the cool panels. So he was sleeping with one of the maids. She wondered how long the affair had been going on. The girl was sniffling as if she was a virgin who had just been seduced.

  Not that it was any of her business what Reggie Davenport did. Wretchedly she returned to her bed, drawing herself into a ball and tugging the covers close for warmth. She had thought there was a little understanding between her and Reggie—some laughter, a certain similarity of mind—but that must have been her imagination. If any connection did exist, it certainly did not include any interest in her as a woman. She had been a fool to think otherwise, even briefly.

  Remembering how he had kissed her, she pressed a fist against her mouth, her teeth cutting into the knuckles as she fought against crying out with pain. She had been watching her irascible employer closely all week and guessed that he had stopped drinking. Now that he was sober, he clearly wasn’t interested in her. He’d been drunk both times they’d kissed, and apparently the experience had been so dreadful that he was altering his entire way of life rather than run the risk of a reoccurrence.

  Strong and confident in so many ways, in her sense of herself as a woman Alys was utterly vulnerable. And so she wept through the night, until she fell into the sleep of the utterly exhausted as dawn began tinting the eastern sky.

  Chapter 15

  The next morning Reggie discussed the pregnant housemaid with his housekeeper. Mrs. Herald clucked her tongue disapprovingly, but she was a kindhearted woman and agreed that they couldn’t put the girl out when she had nowhere to go. Having borne children herself, she was also willing to assign Gillie’s duties with an eye to the girl’s condition.

  The only other person Reggie told was Mac Cooper, who raised his eyebrows in an unusual show of emotion. “That pretty brown-haired lass? Pity her lover isn’t around to horsewhip.”

  “I agree.” Reggie was dressing for dinner, and he paused to pull on a fresh white shirt. “If it’s any comfort, the young man will probably find that life as a common seaman is quite punishment enough.”

  Mac said with a questioning note, “You’ve not been drinking the last few days.”

  “Very observant of you,” Reggie said dryly as he tied his cravat.

  Undeterred, the wiry valet said, “Sobriety is no bad thing.”

  Reggie donned his waistcoat. “Glad you approve.”

  Mac put on his lofty, upper-servant expression. “I’m sure that it is not for me to approve or disapprove.”

  Reggie made a rude noise. “Since when have you not had opinions, you cockney fraud?”

  “I never said I didn’t have opinions,” Mac said with a hint of smile. Then he added, his London accent thickening as it always did when he was concerned, “It’s that worried I was getting.”

  Reggie gave his servant a hard look as he tugged on his beautifully tailored coat. “In other words, I was going to hell in a handbasket, and everyone noticed except me?”

  Mac considered for a moment, then said simply, “Yes.”

  Reggie smiled with reluctant amusement. Mac had never been overconcerned with tact. Then he went down for dinner, glad that Julian would be arriving the next day. The household would benefit from some of his friend’s easy good nature.

  After his master left, Mac went through the motions of cleaning and straightening automatically. So little Gillie had been given a slip on the shoulder. Perhaps he would ask her if she wanted to go for a walk this evening. She’d be in need of a bit of cheering up. A slight smile on his face, he completed his work and headed to the servants’ quarters for his own dinner.

  Much of a steward’s job involved moving around and keeping a watchful eye on how work was progressing, and Alys spent her morning doing exactly that. After riding up to the pastures to consult with Gabriel Mitford about when the sheep would be ready for shearing, she stopped to check on the haying.

  Most of the grass meadows had been cut, the fragrant shocks piled into small stacks that dried the hay and kept it cool. She dismounted into the ankle-deep stubble to talk with the bailiff. He admitted that work was going well, adding with a countryman’s caution that if the weather continued sunny, they would be finished the next day.

  As Alys mounted to ride to her next task, she caught sight of her employer in the line of laborers moving steadily forward against the tall grasses. She had known that he was working on the haying, but had not chanced to see him.

  Davenport riveted her attention, and not only because he was the tallest man in the field. His dark hair was tousled from the breeze, his sleeves casually rolled up, his open-throated shirt revealing his darkly tanned skin. She was struck by the beautiful image of a man and the land, and the sense that he belonged here.

  Absorbed in work, he was unaware of her scrutiny. His lean body moved in a steady, graceful rhythm, his powerful arms and shoulders swinging the scythe from right to left, the mowed grass falling neatly to the side.

  As she watched, the knot of misery that had formed in her breast the night before dissolved. It is said that every man is the hero of his own play, and every woman, too. Alys was the heroine in the story of her own life, and ever since Reginald Davenport had come to Strickland she had viewed him in terms of the role he played in her own personal drama. As her employer and a forceful, magnetic man, he had automatically become a leading player. He had absolute power over her livelihood, had saved her life, and, perhaps inevitably, had come to be a focus of her secret dreams and unadmitted desires.

  Now, for the first time, Alys changed her perspective and tried to see how his world must look to him. Though he had not said so in words, she believed that the central drama that now absorbed him was an attempt to rebuild his life, to find some sense of connection and meaning. He had changed in small ways since he had come to Strickland. Now, by stopping his drinking, he was trying to change on a much more fundamental level.

  She had known other men who routinely drank themselves insensible. Most would have vigorously denied that they were drunkards, and only the barest handful ever attempted to stop, no matter how destructive their habits. Yet Reggie, a self-admitted rake, was making the effort. The desperate, angry tension she had felt in him these last days was a measure of the difficulty of what he was attempting.

  She was only a minor actor in Reggie’s world. His happiness or misery, his drinking or sobriety, had nothing to do with her. The silent battle that he was waging with his inner demons was far more important to him than she would ever be.

  The thought was a curiously liberating one. Davenport was a complicated man, one who could act with both heroism and villainy, though he was neither hero nor villain. A man who, while not old, was certainly not young; who had the recklessness to create problems for himself, and the honesty to admit when he had done so. From what she had seen, he was fair and compassionate in his dealings with those around him.

  He was also very much alone.

  He didn’t need her professional skills or her femaleness, her wistful fantasies or her regrets. What Reggie might need at this difficult time was friendship, acceptance, and understanding. Those things she could give freely because, quite simply, she liked him.

  She urged her mare forward and rode away, resolving to work harder at being a friend, no matter how snappish his temper. And even though he had a lamentable taste for housemaids as bed partners.

  After a late luncheon at the manor house, Alys was on her way to the stables when she saw Reggie working with a tall gray gelding in the paddock. Moved
by her new resolution to be more friendly, she decided to stop and watch for a while before going out for the afternoon. William was there already, his small, sturdy body balanced on the paddock fence while he watched, enthralled. He barely turned his head to greet his guardian when she joined him.

  Alys had to admit that Reggie was a sight worth watching as he put the gelding through its paces. She already knew that he was a superb rider. Now she saw that he was a superb trainer as well. Rather than using his strength to dominate the horse, he worked with his mount, not against it, patiently guiding and correcting with nearly imperceptible shifts of weight and touch.

  When he was done, the result would be a vastly superior hunter. It was an understatement when she commented, “Very light hands.”

  William nodded reverently. “He could ride Smokey without any reins at all.”

  When Reggie’s circle-turning exercise brought Alys into his view, he hesitated, then turned the gelding to where she and William sat. Though he appeared pleased to see her, his expression was a bit wary, lacking its customary glint of subversive humor. He was probably unsure how she would greet him. They had scarcely exchanged a dozen words in the last week.

  She smiled cheerfully. “From the looks of those hindquarters, I’d guess that Smokey is a first-rate jumper.”

  His face eased at her friendly greeting, “You’re right. A little wild, but very strong over fences and with tremendous stamina.” He reined in the gray by the fence so William could pat it. “He’ll do for the hardest hunting in the Shires.”

  One could give a hunter no higher compliment. Alys said, “Are you training the new horses for sale, or for your own use?”

  “For sale,” he said. “This one will be worth ten times his purchase price in another year. Two of the others I bought in Dorchester will be equally good.”

  “And the fourth?”

  “She’s too small for flying country like the Shires, but will do well enough in rough, hilly counties like Devon, where cleverness over fences is more important than speed.” Reggie automatically calmed the gelding when Nemesis slipped through the fence and caused the horse to sidle away nervously. “A horse that’s bred for racing but isn’t fast enough is a sad creature that has failed in its purpose in life. A horse bred for hunting is far more versatile. The fastest can be raced in steeplechases, and the rest are almost always suitable for some kind of hunting or riding.”

  “So hunters are philosophically more satisfying than racehorses?”

  “Exactly.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “And better business as well.”

  By this time Alys was no longer surprised to learn that a rake could have a shrewd head for business. She shifted on the fence, beginning to find the narrow board uncomfortable. “If you intend to expand the horse training, you’ll be needing more men for the stables.”

  William chimed in, a hopeful gleam in his blue eyes. “I can work as a stable lad.”

  Reggie smiled. “I think Lady Alys would prefer that you keep to your schooling.” He glanced at her. “You’re right, though, more will be needed, and soon. Do you know anyone in the neighborhood with experience of horse training?”

  Alys bit her lower lip, considering. “Jamie Palmer, the supervisor at the pottery, used to be a groom. He was particularly good with young horses.”

  “Can the pottery spare him?”

  “He would be missed,” Alys admitted. “But his assistant is very capable, and I think Jamie would prefer to work with horses if he has the choice. Shall I ask him?”

  Reggie shook his head. “I’ll stop by the pottery myself. I’ll want to know him better before offering a position.” He gathered his reins, preparing to go. “By the way, did I mention that a good friend of mine, Julian Markham, is coming for a visit? He should be here sometime later this afternoon.”

  “No, you didn’t say.”

  Alys must have looked doubtful, because Reggie said with a trace of humor, “Don’t worry, he’s one of my more respectable friends. He won’t cause any trouble.”

  Before Alys could think of an appropriate response, they were interrupted by the sound of hooves and the jingle of harness. A smart chaise drawn by matched bays swept into the yard between the stables and the paddocks. Alys shaded her eyes with one hand to study the newcomer. “I’d say your friend has arrived.”

  “So he has.” Reggie smiled. “Julian has always had good timing.”

  His eyes popping at the sight of such a bang-up equipage, William scrambled down from the fence for a closer look. Alys followed at a more dignified pace while Reggie dismounted and tethered the gelding, then came through the gate.

  The driver of the chaise handed his reins over to his groom, then jumped lightly to the ground while Reggie stepped forward to welcome him. Alys examined the newcomer with interest. She had assumed that a close friend of Reggie’s would be about the same age, but Julian Markham was considerably younger.

  He was also quite the handsomest man she had seen in the last dozen years. Since Randolph, in fact. Even after hours of driving, his well-tailored forest-green coat and gleaming boots were elegant to a point just short of dandyism.

  After shaking hands, Reggie turned and introduced his friend to Alys and William. Markham bowed gracefully over her hand. When he straightened, his gray-blue eyes widened slightly when he realized that she was as tall as he. Or perhaps it was her mismatched eyes that surprised him, or her tan pantaloons.

  Whatever he thought, he was far too well mannered to show disapproval. He said with a smile, “Reggie told me about you, Miss Weston, and of the superlative job you have done at Strickland.”

  For a moment she wondered if he was being sarcastic, but Julian had a smile of singular sweetness and charm. In fact, he was altogether quite adorable. She wondered whether Peter or Meredith would be more impressed. Peter would see him as the perfect London gentleman, while Merry would be hard-pressed not to consider him as husband material. Well, perhaps he was.

  As Alys made a suitable reply, Merry herself appeared on the scene, drawn by the signs of activity. Smudges of dry clay marred the shapeless, ill-fitting gown that had been acquired from a maid after the fire, and her golden hair was tied back with a plain black ribbon. Obviously she had been at the pottery, working on her china designs.

  Davenport said, “Meredith, I’d like you to meet a friend who has come to visit.” Merry turned to greet the newcomer. For an instant horror flickered across her face. Alys almost laughed out loud even as she winced with sympathy. Meeting a handsome, elegant young gentleman when looking like an urchin was the stuff of nightmares. Luckily, Merry could not look less than pretty.

  Alys glanced at Reggie just as his eyes turned to hers. For a moment they wordlessly commiserated about the painful tribulations of youth. Then he performed the introductions. The speed with which Meredith rallied and gave Julian a dazzling smile was a credit to her aplomb. Within moments the young people were chatting easily.

  While William went to investigate the chaise and team, Alys gestured Reggie to one side and asked in a low voice, “As a good guardian, I’d better find out if your friend is eligible.”

  “Very,” he said succinctly. “Heir to a viscountcy and a substantial fortune, no major vices, and a gentleman to the bone.”

  “A paragon,” Alys murmured. “How on earth did the two of you become friends?”

  Just as she realized how insulting that sounded, Reggie grinned wickedly at her. “For the best of all possible reasons—because our friendship infuriates his father.”

  “I am properly chastened,” she said with a laugh. “Tell me, did you ask him down with matchmaking in mind?”

  A slight smile quirked his mouth. “Not precisely, but the thought did cross my mind that he and Merry might suit. A match would solve your concerns about finding a worthy husband for the girl, and Julian would be lucky to have her. Merry has far more to offer than most of the chits that come onto the London Marriage Mart.”

  Alys was oddly
touched that he was concerned for the welfare of her wards. She glanced at Merry and Julian, who were laughing together. Obviously there was mutual attraction, in spite of Meredith’s deplorable gown. The two of them looked very well together, and not only because both were exceptionally good looking. Perhaps it was the general air of intelligence and good nature they had in common.

  But in a practical world, it took much more than looks, compatibility of mind, or even love, to make a marriage. “Would his family object to his marrying a girl whose birth and fortune are lackluster by society’s standards?”

  “They would not be enthralled,” Reggie admitted, “but Julian could probably bring his parents around if he wanted to.”

  Alys was relieved to hear that. Of course it was absurd to speculate about a match when the young people in question had only just met, but she had quickly learned that worrying was part of being a parent, even a surrogate one.

  Alys and Reggie broke off their conversation as Merry and Julian approached. Deciding that being a gracious hostess was more important than stewarding, Alys suggested, “Would you like some refreshment after your journey, Mr. Markham?”

  He smiled. “Thank you, Miss Weston, I’d like that very much.”

  Alys collected her wards—easily in the case of Merry, who was anxious to change, with some difficulty in the case of William—and carried them off to give the men a few minutes of privacy.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Julian demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me Miss Spenser was such a stunner, Reg? I would have chucked my other obligations and been here a fortnight ago.” Then an alarmed expression crossed his face. “Unless ... is she your ... ?” He stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

  “My petite amie?” Reggie suggested helpfully. “Nonsense. Surely it is obvious that she is a lady.”

  Julian flushed. looking very young. “Sorry. Of course she is.”