Flirting with Ruin (3 page)

‘Rosalind!’ Her friend’s eyes were wide, her narrow face avid with interest. ‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. A stranger. He is not from here, merely travelling through. A Scot. It doesn’t matter who, I will not see him again, but—Kate, for the first time ever I could understand why women cast their reputation to the winds. When he kissed me…’

‘He kissed you! In the Rothermere Arms!’

Rosalind burst out laughing. ‘I thought you were unshockable.’

‘So too did I,’ Kate said wryly.

‘Not at the inn. We danced there, in the taproom, and then we went for a stroll in the woods and it was there that he kissed me. And when he did, Kate, I swear it was different from anything. I felt—I felt—I don’t know how I felt, but I didn’t want it to stop.’

‘And did it?’

‘Two grown people with only a tree for a prop,’ Rosalind said with a soft smile, remembering his words, ‘of course it did. Eventually.’

‘My God! So it is true what they say of the harvest moon then?’

‘Well
he
was certainly potent enough, but whether it was to do with the moon or not…’ Rosalind pushed her chair back and went over to gaze out the window, cooling her heated cheeks on the cool pane.

‘And now?’

She turned back to face into the dining room and shrugged. ‘And now nothing, Kate. It was just a—fleeting fancy We were strangers who passed in the night, that is all.’ She threw herself back down in her chair with a swirl of petticoats. ‘Actually, that is not all. I think I will make some changes to my life. I’m bored, and kicking over the traces simply isn’t helping—I’m just as bored with that. I need something else. Some other excitement. Last night I felt alive. That’s what I want.’

Kate smiled wanly. ‘That is what we all want.’

Rosalind was immediately contrite. ‘I’m so sorry, that was tactless of me,’ she said. Her instincts were to give her friend a hug, but she remembered that Kate hated to be touched, and instead contented herself with leaning across the polished breadth of the breakfast table to press her hand instead. ‘You must miss your brothers dreadfully.’

‘I keep expecting them to come walking through the door. If they had been living at home, I think I would have accepted it more easily—you know, their absence would have been more obvious. But because they were both away in the army, it is as if they are still there. Am I making sense?’

‘Perfect sense.’

Kate sniffed. ‘Phaedra feels it worse than I. She and Ned were so close—and so alike. She spends all her time down at the stables—not that she ever did anything else—but it is different now. Her horses are her only consolation, and though she has been forbidden to ride out while we are deep in mourning, I cannot bring myself to reprimand her for doing so. She is hiding from facing the facts, she won’t talk, and I am no use at all to her, so if her horses help—well, I shall not be the one to stop her.’

‘What about your other brothers?’

‘Giles is in London, hiding just like Phaedra. You have most likely seen him more recently than I, since you share a taste for the shadier reaches of society. He is probably trying to drink himself into oblivion. And Harry too. He was with Ned at Waterloo, you know. But he too is hiding in work—a new post, something diplomatic that he won’t talk about. Neither of them want to come to Castonbury, and who can blame them. Too many memories. I wish they were here today, though.’

‘Today?’

Kate began to crumble her untouched bread roll. ‘We had a note yesterday from an officer who fought with Ned. A Major Lennox. He is here in Castonbury. He has brought some of Ned’s effects and a commendation from Wellington himself—which we knew about, of course, from Harry, but it seems this major has to deliver it. He comes today for an audience with my father. Rosalind, I know it’s a lot to ask, but if you would sit with me, I would very much appreciate it. This commendation, it is an honour, I know, and I hope it will help my father, but I can’t help feeling it will be difficult, meeting a man who was actually there with Ned when he—at the end. I don’t want to break down in front of Phaedra. Will you sit with me?’

‘Dearest, of course I will. If you are sure I would not be intruding.’

Kate shook her head. ‘No. My father probably won’t even notice.’ She got to her feet. ‘Major Lennox arrives at noon. We are meeting in the drawing room.’

Rosalind looked down at her bright primrose morning dress. ‘Then I had better make haste and change.’

Chapter Three

Fraser drove himself to Castonbury Park in a gig borrowed from Albert Moffat, the landlord of the Rothermere Arms. He had known Edward Montague’s family was influential, but he had thought nothing of it. Passing through the huge ornate gates under the watchful eye of the gatekeeper, he was taken aback by the sheer grandeur and beauty of the stately pile in front of him.

The grounds were extensive. Rolling parklands to the south stretched back to a tree-lined horizon. The main entrance he had come through faced north, the wide carriageway sweeping through more formal grounds and gardens. Two lakes, Fraser noticed as he drove slowly by, the larger with an island in the middle, separated by a suspiciously rustic bridge. A little pavilion on the farthest stretch of water suggested there would be good fishing. Then came Castonbury Park itself. Neoclassical, with the pleasing proportions of the Palladian, in style, the frontage, which was flanked by two galleries curving out to an east and west wing, consisted of an imposing colonnaded portico that reminded Fraser of the Palais Bourbon in Paris. The tall windows on the main floor were pedimented. Behind them Edward’s family, twice bereaved by the war, waited for him to provide them with consolation.

Handing over the reins to a waiting footman splendidly clad in scarlet-and-gold livery, Fraser felt a craven impulse to turn around. A hand-cast medal, a hand-written commendation from Wellington, a few personal belongings bound in a trunk were all he had to offer. What consolation could any of those be? If Lord Giles was anything to go by, none. He’d met him and his rather less forbidding sibling Lord Harry at their club in London, thinking that one or both the brothers would prefer to be the bearer of his news to their family. He’d been wrong. Lord Giles, now the heir apparent to the dukedom, had no intention of going to Derbyshire in the near future, and Lord Harry was about to take up a new post abroad. Fraser had thought at first that they didn’t care. Upon reflection, he realised they cared too much, and could not find it in his heart to blame them even if he wished fervently, now the day was come, that one of them could have had a change of heart.

He wished it was over. Writing bland letters, making of the bloody reality something palatable in the aftermath of battle for bereaved families was bad enough. Facing them was a thousand times worse. Fraser, who had never once faltered in the line of duty, who was famed for his fearlessness, could almost believe he would rather take up arms again than execute this final commission.

Inside a gloomy hall dominated by a vast number of stone pillars he was relieved of his hat and gloves by a sepulchral butler. Fraser had dressed with care for this visit. His hat was beaver, his gloves York tan. He had polished his Hessian boots to military perfection himself. His pantaloons were an elegant grey and without a wrinkle, his linen crisply white, his waistcoat sombre. His dark blue cutaway coat of superfine with its polished brass buttons was, Scott, the tailor, had assured him, the latest style. Having lived most of his life in uniform or buckskins, Fraser had been forced to outfit himself from scratch in London after he sold out. Scott had been recommended by a fellow officer. Holby, who made his boots, by another. Well-born and well-healed, these gentlemen had clearly not considered the expense. Fraser was base-born and for much of his life down-at-heel. Fortunately, he had invested very wisely over the years, and though he still flinched at the cost of his new attire, it had hardly made a dent in the allowance he had awarded himself from the capital the manager at Coutts’s bank had been more than happy to keep safe.

‘His Grace will receive you in the drawing room with the ladies,’ the butler, who was called Lumsden, announced, turning towards a set of stairs at the rear of the great hall.

‘Ladies!’ Fraser exclaimed.

‘Lady Katherine and Lady Phaedra, Lord Edward’s sisters. Mrs Landes-Fraser, who is their chaperone and His Grace’s sister-in-law. Miss Araminta Montague will not be present.’

‘Miss Araminta?’ Fraser repeated dumbly. He had never heard of an Araminta or a Phaedra or even a Katherine, never mind a Mrs Landes-Whatever.

‘Miss Araminta is Lord Edward’s cousin,’ Lumsden explained, obviously disdainful of his ignorance. ‘And Mr Ross Montague, who is currently in India, is her brother, so he will not be present either.’

‘I had not realised. I thought it would just be the duke.’

‘The family has been much affected by the deaths of the eldest and youngest sons, Major Lennox,’ the servant said, unbending a little. ‘The circumstances of Lord Jamie’s death are as yet unknown. It was felt—to be frank, sir, both Lady Kate and Lady Phaedra insist upon being present. They hope that hearing the details of Lord Edward’s bravery will be some consolation.’

‘I doubt the real details would give them anything but nightmares.’

The butler paled. ‘Forgive me, Major, but may I ask, did he suffer?’

It was the question they always asked, the truth they never wanted to hear. Fraser closed his eyes. The noise, the stench, the horror of that last and bloodiest of battlefields were never far from him. The war haunted him. It haunted all of them who survived. Opening his eyes again, he found the butler’s anxious gaze fixed upon him. The man had obviously been very fond of Edward. Most likely he’d grown up on the estate, and would have known the lad when he was in short coats. Fraser shook his head. ‘He didn’t suffer,’ he lied, as he always did, touching the old man reassuringly on the shoulder.

‘Thank you, Major Lennox. That is some consolation at least.’ Lumsden gave him a small smile, all traces of his former disdain now gone. ‘Now, if you will follow me, I will take you to the family.’

Fraser followed him up the stairs into a magnificent reception hall on the main floor of the house, which seemed to be made entirely of marble. Lumsden opened the door of the drawing room. It was a lofty room, ornately corniced. Blue damask walls, blue window hangings, a number of huge gilded matching-blue sofas set against the walls, giving the impression of being some sort of oppressively formal underwater chamber.

The Duke of Rothermere sat alone on the sofa at the far end. A faded man, was Fraser’s first impression, a shadow of his former self by the looks of it, thin, grey, leaning heavily on a gold-topped cane. An older woman and a very young one, both dressed in black, sat on another of the sofas, the former still as a statue, the latter moving restlessly, clasping and unclasping her hands, looking as if she would flee at any moment. Nervous, and on the verge of tears, by the looks of things. The younger sister, Lady Phaedra, Fraser surmised. On the third sofa sat another woman in mourning with an interesting face who must be Lady Katherine. And beside her, the only person not clothed in black…

Dark red hair. Lush red mouth. And blue, blue eyes.

Rosalind. Dear God, it was Rosalind. What the
devil
was she doing here?

* * *

Rosalind thought she was seeing things. She screwed her eyes tight shut, rubbed them, and opened them again, but he was still there—only slightly blurry now. Fraser. Just Fraser. Who was being announced as Major Lennox. How could she have been so bloody
stupid
as not to have put two and two together before now?

A startled look from him told her that he was equally astonished by her presence, but he so quickly regained his composure that it was a small consolation. He was bowing over the Duke of Rothermere’s hand. It was not the most accomplished of bows, not really nearly low enough, especially not for Kate’s father, who was such a stickler for etiquette, but for once His Grace didn’t seem to mind.

Fraser—Major Lennox, for God’s sake!—was every bit as—as compelling by the light of day. He was dressed carefully, neatly, but without flamboyance, just as she would have expected. The scar on his cheek was more livid in this light. It must have been deep, for it was obviously still healing. His appearance really was most—
manly
was the word that sprang to mind. Rosalind quickly suppressed a smile. Such a very overused word,
manly,
but so wholly appropriate. Really, she could quite forgive herself for having been so carried away last night. Was that a relief, or not? Lord, she had no idea, but what she did know, was pretty certain of, was that seeing him again was giving her ample grounds for regretting she had not allowed herself to become even more carried away.

‘May I offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your son, Your Grace.’

Fraser’s words cut into Rosalind’s thoughts, making her feel horribly guilty. She cast a sideways glance at Kate, who was holding herself rigidly and eyeing Phaedra just as surreptitiously. The younger girl looked to be upon the verge of tears already, but catching her sister’s eye, she tossed her head back and managed a smile. Not a watering pot, and determined, despite her youth, to hold herself together, Rosalind thought admiringly.

Obeying the duke’s regal nod to be seated, Fraser—she just couldn’t think of him as Major Lennox—had embarked upon a careful account of Lord Edward’s last battle. It sounded, Rosalind couldn’t help thinking, like something from the
Iliad,
with the duke’s youngest son in the role of Hector, all nobility and bravery, with nary a hint at blood and gore. Lord Edward was a lion, a Trojan, an Ajax. The personal recitation signed by the Duke of Wellington himself, and the hand-cast medal that Fraser now passed reverently into the duke’s hands, were so well deserved as to make them superfluous, he seemed to be implying.

‘You must be proud of your son, Your Grace,’ Fraser continued, and it was almost a command, the way he said it, Rosalind thought, her admiration growing. ‘He died bravely and without pain. He died for the country he loved, wearing the colours he revered. Without people like Ned—Lord Edward—who made the ultimate sacrifice, we would still be at war.’

It was not lies, she was sure, but it was a vast distance from the truth. Rosalind waited for the duke to say so, but to her astonishment the old man smiled. It was a weak smile, but it was the first she had seen from him in this visit. He kissed the medal too. A quick peek at Kate showed that she was also moved, furiously blinking in an effort not to cry.

Phaedra, on the other hand, had given up any attempt to keep her emotions in check, and had leaped to her feet. ‘May I see that, Papa? May I hold Edward’s medal?’ Clasping it to her breast, she turned to Fraser. ‘Thank you, Major. I can’t tell you how much it means to hear—to know that Edward did not suffer, to hear that his loss was of value. I can’t tell you,’ she said fervently.

‘Indeed, Major, may I add my thanks to my sister’s.’ Kate’s tone was more measured, but there was no doubting her sincerity. ‘It must have been very difficult for you to face us today. It was most kind of you to take the time to come to Castonbury. Forgive me, but we cannot help but notice you yourself have also suffered.’

‘Nothing. This was nothing,’ Fraser said, though Rosalind noticed he had to stop himself midway, as his hand went to touch the scar.

‘You will stay,’ the duke said in his quavering voice. ‘I too am very much obliged for the consideration you have shown us in coming here. There was never any doubt, of course, that Edward must have died bravely. He was a Montague, it must have been so,’ he continued with a touch of his old arrogance. ‘But still, it has been most reassuring to have that confirmed. You will stay, Major, and dine with my family.’

It was not a request but a command, as everyone in the room was perfectly well aware, but nonetheless Fraser shook his head. ‘Thank you, but I will not intrude any further.’

The duke looked quite taken aback, but his eldest daughter intervened. ‘Indeed, Father, Major Lennox has given us quite enough of his time, and no doubt has business of his own to attend to,’ she said. ‘I will see you out, Major.’

‘No need, Kate. I shall see to it.’ Rosalind had spoken, leaped to her feet before she’d even realised she meant to do so. ‘You will wish to speak to Phaedra,’ she whispered in explanation, earning herself a grateful look from Kate and feeling immediately guilty, but unable to help herself. She had not thought to see Fraser again, but now he was here there was no way on earth she wasn’t going to snatch some time alone with him. There was nothing worse in the world, in her opinion, than ‘if only.’ Edward Montague had been cut down in his prime. She could not help but think of all the life he was missing. Now fate had given her a second chance, and she was not going to miss it. Whatever it may mean.

Fraser said his formal goodbyes without looking at her. She took his arm and led him out of the room, and still he looked straight ahead. Only as the door of the drawing room closed behind them, and she crossed the marble hall, down the staircase to the great hall did he visibly relax, and she realised just how tense he had been. ‘Thank God that is over,’ he said softly.

‘You pitched it perfectly.’

Fraser stopped dead on the stairs. ‘You knew?’

‘That you told them what they wanted to hear rather than the truth?’

‘Ned was a brave lad.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Nor do I doubt that your account was very much sanitised, and I very much admire you for it. As I said, you pitched it perfectly. I meant it as a compliment, Major.’

‘So formal! Last night, I was just Fraser.’

Rosalind blushed. ‘About last night, Major.’

‘No. Let’s not, not here,’ Fraser said, looking around the gloomy space with its myriad of pillars. ‘It’s like a damn crypt. Take the air with me, Rosalind.’

It was exactly what she wished, and exactly what she knew she ought not to do. ‘It is Lady Rosalind, I’ll have you know,’ she said, turning her nose up.

Fraser laughed. ‘Is it, by God! Take the air with me, my lady.’

‘I took the air with you last night.’

‘You did, and it was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life.’

‘I ought to go to Kate,’ Rosalind said, not because she believed it but because she felt she ought to.

‘Lady Katherine will be best left alone with her sister. Come for a drive with me, Ravishing Rosalind, what possible harm can it do?’