How To Build The Perfect Rake (6 page)

Luc looked appalled. ‘Good God! But
why?’

‘I told you. Her admirers
pen endless verses in her name. One of them actually
is
a poet and he has
done a series of sonnets dedicated to her beauty and the moon. At
least, I think it is the moon. He really is completely ridiculous.
He has perfected the art of languishing while making vague
references to opium and laudanum, although I daresay he wouldn’t
think of touching either.’

‘Who is this idiot?’

‘His name is Endymion Falstaff.’

‘Good God!’

‘I know. It’s his real
name, as well. His father is also a poet, while his mother
expresses herself through liturgical dance. She, eh, brings the
scriptures to life with her body or so I have been told. Of course
they are all quite crack brained but it seems that Mr. Falstaff
senior is marvelously wealthy, thanks to
his
father, so he can more or less
behave how he sees fit.’

‘Olympia,’ he was eyeing her narrowly, ‘is
this one of your hums? Because I’ve never heard so much nonsense in
my life.’

She giggled. ‘It is rather
extraordinary, I must say. Mr. Falstaff is quite the most
nonsensical man alive. He wears his hair long, in rather girlish
curls, has a preference for velvet daywear and is
never
seen without a
lace handkerchief clutched in his lily-white hand’

‘And Carisse is
interested
in this
buffoon?’

‘Carisse is not interested in anybody but
her own sweet self. But she is interested in hearing his sonnets so
of course she’s going. Her mama thought she should not but she was
overridden and, in her own way, I think Mrs. Houghton is flattered
that her daughter is to be – ah – immortalized in verse.’

‘It sounds sickening.’

‘It is sickening. All the more so as I have
been invited to partake of these delights. You are welcome to join
me.’

Luc thought about it. He had intended to
make a bit of an entry when he next saw Miss Houghton. It wasn’t,
Howe had impressed upon him over and over again, what one wore.
Being a rake or a Corinthian or a nonpareil had nothing to do with
clothing really. Instead, it was a state of mind. An attitude.
Lucien had to believe he was a little dangerous, that he was
capable of putting his own carnal pleasures beyond the demands of
decency if he were going to succeed. And there had been the rub
because Luc didn’t really believe anything of the kind. Howe had
accepted that, had known it from the first. So he had taught Luc
how to pretend.

‘I do it all the time, old thing,’ Howe had
yawned, lolling back against the settee, long legs out in front of
him. ‘If I did not pretend so well do you really think I could have
obtained credit for the past five years when I spend whatever
income I have long before I have it? People want to believe the
best or the worst in others. It is human nature. If you want to
convince people to believe the worst of you, you merely have to
hint at things. Vile things. Wicked things. They cannot resist a
hint of the wicked. It’s really quite simple.’

It had not seemed that way at the start; Luc
had not been able to get his head around the whole concept and had
rather overplayed his hand. But bit by bit, Howe had managed to get
the concept across and, after two weeks, Luc finally understood.
Less was more, as long as the ‘more’ one was alluding to be
credible in some way. He had spent the remaining week trying to
ensure that he was convincing.

But a poet’s meeting? It sounded
preposterous, not at all what he had been hoping for.

‘It’s not actually a poetry recital, as
such. There won’t be other poets there, spouting their nonsense
only the peculiar Endymion. And I know you do not think it the best
venue,’ Olympia said, watching the expressions cross his face and
accurately divining his thoughts, ‘but only consider, this might be
the perfect opportunity. You won’t have nearly the competition –
for what man in his right mind would want to attend anything so
dreary? – and might make an interesting backdrop. The rake and the
poet. You can’t really lose.’

She had a point. He stared at her for a long
moment, the nodded. ‘You’re right. But won’t it look odd, my just
turning up?’

‘Does it matter? You’re a rake. You
insinuate yourself wherever you wish. And I’ve been dropping hints
about you for weeks. The wicked Mr. St James. Not so much in Mama
Houghton’s ear, you understand. Her good opinion is essential. But
to Carisse. She said that she thought you were supposed to be a
very nice young gentleman -’

‘She’s heard of me?’

‘ –
but I told her that
you only appeared nice. Underneath it all you were a bit of a
dog.’

‘You never!’ Luc looked shocked.

‘I did. I thought I was supposed to be
promoting you as a rake? I can hardly say that you’re a sensible
young man with a preference for cribbage.’

‘I suppose you can’t,’ he agreed, then
squeezed her arm. ‘You’re awfully good to me Ollie.’

‘Hmm. I don’t know how good this is. I still
harbor serious doubts about you and the Houghton and I don’t think
I have done you any favors.’

‘I know,’ he murmured, just as Mrs. Richmond
gave a particularly hearty snore and woke herself up, the book that
had been hanging limp in her hands sliding towards the floor at
last. ‘Which is why you’re so good to me.’

After that, the conversation became more
general. Aunt Flora was delighted to hear that Mr. St James would
be accompanying her niece to the poetry soiree that evening,
thereby sparing her the necessity of attending what promised to be
a ghastly bore.

‘For it cannot matter
if
you
accompany
her, Mr. St James,’ Aunt Flora had fluttered, ‘for you have known
dearest Olympia forever. I’m sure that her dear mama would have no
objection for you are like a brother to her.’

It was something Olympia regularly forgot,
the propriety of appearing in Luc’s company without the mitigating
accompaniment of a chaperone. But Aunt Flora was entirely right;
very few people did think it odd if she and Luc were seen in each
others company without her aunt or a maid present. And if they did
think it peculiar that he was accompanying her to a evening out
without a third person involved… well, so much the better for his
burgeoning reputation.

Olympia and Luc prepared to part but a
sudden thought saw him turn around at the door.

‘What about you?’ he demanded. ‘Are fellows
making up to you?’

‘I have a decent amount of admirers,’
Olympia returned, surprisingly prim.

‘How decent? And are any of them up to
scratch?’

‘That remains to be seen.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Seriously. Have you
formed an attachment to anyone?’

‘I’d like to know when I’ve had the
opportunity, running around after your admired one,’ she returned
rather crossly. ‘What does it matter, anyway? I daresay I shall
find somebody I can tolerate.’

‘There’s no hurry. I mean, this is your
first Season. You can take your time, look around.’

‘Girls that don’t receive, and accept,
offers in their first Season are considered failures. Didn’t you
know that?’

Luc didn’t and he looked astonished at the
idea. ‘But that’s ridiculous. What if a female doesn’t want to get
married straight off the bat?’

‘Then she is thought of as dreadfully picky.
Or eccentric.’ Olympia sighed.

‘But seriously Ollie… you don’t need to
hurry into marriage. Your parents would not expect it of you.’

‘True. But what are my alternatives? I want
a family of my own one day and my own household.’ She shrugged,
pushing the matter aside. ‘It does not matter. The Season is not
over yet and, who knows? I might find the perfect man for me.’

‘Yes, well just make sure
he
is
perfect,’
Luc said darkly. ‘The things that Howe has told me about men… A
decent girl is not safe with most of the fellows out
there.’

Olympia gave him a wry smile. ‘I have four
very protective brothers, Luc. You think most men are going to try
and take advantage of me? I rather think I have the opposite
problem. Most men would be too scared to indulge in idle
flirtations.’

‘Do you
want
men to flirt with
you?’ Luc demanded, frowning.

‘Every girl wants men to flirt with them,’
she replied, patting his shoulder and pushing him through the door
at the same time. ‘If only to prove that they’re attractive enough
to be worth the effort. Now then… pick me up at seven-thirty and be
sure to wear something subdued, yet striking. You need to make an
impression. I shall be suitably goggle-eyed, hanging off your
arm.’

‘Don’t go overboard.’

‘I will do what I must. My performance will
be masterly. Just make sure yours is the same.’

Luc left, but he felt slightly troubled by
their last exchange. Was Olympia serious? Did she really mean to
settle on some fellow before the end of the Season simply because
it would look odd if she didn’t? Surely things did not work like
that, not when he knew perfectly well that neither of her parents
were in any hurry to see their only daughter wed.

‘She must be funning me,’ he said, but
doubtfully for it had the ring of truth about it. Society was
forever putting up ridiculous ideas that one had to fall in with.
It would be entirely likely that they had decreed that any girl who
didn’t catch a man on her first run through should receive a
penalty point. Actually, Polite Society often reminded Luc of a
scrum in rugby, with the most asinine rules in place. He would do
well to keep an eye on Olympia to ensure she did not do anything
foolish. The girl could be headstrong, nobody knew better than he.
If she looked like she might be settling on somebody unsuitable,
then it would be his duty to do something about it. In the absence
of her family, he would be happy to step into the breach.

Having left Martin Street, he went around to
his club to see if he could find Mr. Featherstone and catch up on
the latest gossip. At four in the afternoon he knew he would have a
good chance of catching him at White’s for it was too soon to be
out on the town on some social engagement and too late for him to
be still abed. Freddy was a notorious night owl, especially if he
had been playing cards and sometimes did not emerge from his bed
until two in the afternoon.

Sure enough, Mr. Featherstone was in one of
the large leather chairs in the main salon, enjoying a glass of
Madeira as he looked over the paper. Luc dropped down opposite him
and gave him a smile, the kind he had been working on perfecting in
front of a mirror.

‘Freddy, old chap.’

‘St James! You’re back,
are you?’ His friend looked him over and let out a low whistle.
‘Well you
look
the ticket, I must say.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. The
ticket?’

Mr. Featherstone gave a crow of laughter.
‘Capital! Now you just need to go and seduce the odd female or two
and you’re set to go.’

Luc winced, conscious that this remark
earned them a few disapproving looks from the older gentlemen
present. ‘Keep your voice down!’

‘
A rake is never
embarrassed, old thing. Even I know that.’

‘It’s amazing how much you and Olympia seem
to know about rakes, all of a sudden,’ Luc observed with a touch of
bitterness. ‘I should have gotten both of you to give me lessons
and not bothered with the genuine article.’

‘You’ve been to see Miss Grayson then, have
you?’ there was a curiously wistful note in Freddy’s voice, all of
a sudden. ‘How is she?’

‘You idiot, I told you not to start making
eyes at her! Never tell me you’ve been courting her.’

‘I may have called round a few times,’
Freddy said, sounding defensive, ‘perhaps asked her to dance once
or twice. She’s remarkably amusing. Not one to stand on ceremony in
the least. Makes a fellow feel comfortable. I told you I was going
to try my luck.’

‘Yes, But I didn’t think you’d be silly
enough to try. You’re not her -’

‘Type. Yes you’ve
mentioned that although you never really said why. You don’t regard
Miss Grayson in that way so I don’t think you’re any judge. No, I
do believe you should focus on obtaining the affections of Carisse
Houghton and leave Olympia to me. You can’t have
every
pretty filly in
London.’

‘I don’t want Olympia!’

‘Then stop sounding like a jealous
suitor.’

Luc paused, then took a
deep breath. Freddy was missing the point but there was no good to
be done in harping on it. ‘Very well. I am sure that Olympia has
the good sense to know her own mind,’ this was completely at odds
with what he
did
think, but he could see that getting Mr. Featherstone worked
up for nothing would be absurd. Instead, he would have a quiet word
to Olympia on the subject of Freddy tonight when he saw her. ‘In
the meantime, what has been happening around town?’

Freddy relaxed
immediately. By nature the most indolent of men, he did not like
being at odds with anybody. ‘Oh, the usual. Bertie Grantham took a
facer when his horse baulked at a fence. Broke his nose. It was
that sway backed black he bought from Archer. Told him not to take
the beast but there you go. Porky Luscombe has gone and got himself
engaged to some young filly. That’s the last we’ll be seeing
at
him
at
Belchers for a time, I dare swear.’

And so it went on, snippets of Society
gossip, all filtered through the judicious eyes of Mr.
Featherstone. After ten minutes Luc felt he hardly been gone at
all.