The Rake (10 page)
Authors: Mary Jo Putney
She swallowed hard. “If you can bear it, it would be better if you came tonight. I'm afraid of what Merry might do to get you there tomorrow.”
“If you're sure you don't object, I'll be over at half past six.” He gave her a wry smile. “I'm sure the conversation at your house will be more enlivening than at mine.”
He nodded and left the office, his head nearly brushing the lintel of the door. With a dazed mixture of alarm and amusement, Alys realized that it was not Meredith's virtue she should be worried about. It was her own.
After clearing her correspondence, Alys had just enough time to return home, bathe, change for dinner, and stop by Meredith's chamber for a serious discussion.
Merry sat at her dressing table trying a new hairstyle. She swiveled on her stool and gave her guardian a mischievous smile. “That worked very well, didn't it? The boys will be delighted to meet Mr. Davenport.”
Alys sat down on the bed with an inward sigh. Clearly she had her work cut out for her. “Merry, I'm very upset about your forward behavior today. Not only did it pass the line of what is pleasing, it was potentially dangerous.”
Merry laughed and pulled a handful of blond hair to the crown of her head. She turned back to the mirror and studied the effect. “How could it be dangerous?”
“Meredith, stop fussing with your hair and look at me. This is serious.” When she used that tone, Alys was always obeyed. Her ward obligingly turned and faced her.
“Reginald Davenport is very different from your shy young local admirers,” Alys said warningly. “If you issue a blatant invitation, he may accept it.”
“We were only flirting,” Merry said, her wide blue eyes guileless. “He flirts very nicely, so it seemed a good chance to practice. He's hardly likely to ravish me, is he?”
Snapping with exasperation, Alys said, “Being ravished is not the only danger. Davenport's dealings with women are notoriousâeven flirting with him could damage your reputation. Falling victim to his charm could damage you a good deal more. Falling in love with him would be a guarantee of breaking your heart. Can I spell it out any more plainly than that?”
Merry gave a peal of laughter. “Good heavens, Alys, I'm hardly likely to fall in love with a man old enough to be my father. He's not even good-looking.”
Alys blinked with surprise. Surely Meredith could not be unaffected by Davenport's mesmerizing aura of virility? She tried to remember what had attracted her when she was Merry's age, and decided that even at nineteen she would not have been indifferent to a man like Reggie Davenport. Of course, she would have known better than to succumb to that kind of low animal appeal. Merry was just showing her common sense by refusing to find him attractive. Pray God she continued as wise.
Fixing her charge with a no-nonsense gaze, Alys said, “Will you take my word that it is better to be careful where Davenport is concerned? I've seen a good deal more of the world than you, and I promise you, the man is trouble.”
Merry stood and crossed to give her guardian a quick, affectionate hug. “Poor Lady Alys. We do lead you a miserable life, don't we? If it isn't William sneaking into the stables, it's Peter trying to learn to drive to an inch, or hordes of my silly suitors underfoot. You must be sorry you ever took us on.”
Her tone had the teasing confidence of someone who knew she was wanted, and Alys found her lips curving into a smile of response. “I'll admit that with the three of you, life is sometimes too full. But without you, it would be very empty.”
Meredith gave a wise, enchanting smile that made her seem more the parent than the child. “I promise I won't do anything rash that will ruin me forever, but I don't think I will be able to resist the temptation to flirt. Though Mr. Davenport is not at all the sort of man I could fall in love with, I did think he was rather sweet.”
Fascinated, Alys tried to imagine how Davenport would react to the knowledge that a young diamond of the first water considered him “rather sweet.” Suppressing a smile, she asked, “What is the sort of man you could fall in love with? We've never really discussed that.”
Merry frowned at her reflection. “I'm not absolutely sure because I haven't met him yet, but I would want him to be a man of grace and charm. Reasonably intelligent, but not a great scholar or wit, or he would find me sadly frivolous.” She began deftly pinning her ringlets into place. “Naturally, I must find his appearance pleasing, but it will be better if he isn't staggeringly handsome. I don't want a man who is terribly vain.”
Alys leaned against one of the bedposts and folded her arms in a most unladylike fashion. “Need the gentleman be rich and titled?”
“Well, at least comfortably well-offâI don't think I would find poverty very amusing.” She secured the last curl with a well-placed hairpin. “A title might be nice, but it's hardly essential.” She turned to face her guardian, her heavenly blue eyes lit with humor. “If I ever did meet a nobleman, he would surely feel that he was conferring an enormous favor by marrying a girl of no great fortune or birth. I would prefer the gentleman to be so smitten that he thinks I am doing
him
a favor by accepting.”
him
a favor by accepting.”
“You're a cold-blooded wench,” Alys said with some awe. She wasn't sure if her ward was brilliantly clear-sighted, or merely endowed with more than her share of feminine wiles. Regrettably, wiles had been left out of Alys's makeup. Perhaps her unwanted dimples were what she had been given instead “I gather that you want this future husband to keep you on a pedestal?”
“I wouldn't mind a low one.” Merry looked down at her hands, flexing the fingers as if inspecting her carefully groomed nails. “When I find the right man, I'll make sure he doesn't regret his choice.” In a voice that for once was entirely serious, she added softly, “I do intend to be a very good wife, you know.”
Alys gave a nod of sudden understanding. What her ward really yearned for was security and comfort. Having lost both parents and her adoptive mother by the time she was fifteen, Merry's ambitions were modest, practical ones rather than dreams of mad passion or social grandeur. Surely such a sensible young lady was unlikely to fall victim to the fleeting pleasures of a rake's casual, lethal charm.
Relieved by the insight, Alys stood. “Our guest should arrive soon. I presume you will wait here so you can make a grand entrance?”
“But of course.” Merry laughed, gravity vanquished. “A new man in the neighborhood is an opportunity not to be wasted, even if he is rather stricken in years.”
Even though she knew Meredith was teasing, Alys shook her head in disbelief as she went down to the drawing room to await her guest.
Stricken in years!
Davenport looked like he could outride, outfight, and outwench any man in Dorsetshire.
Stricken in years!
Davenport looked like he could outride, outfight, and outwench any man in Dorsetshire.
She hoped he didn't feel compelled to prove it.
Chapter 7
Reggie raised his hand to the knocker of Rose Hall, the steward's residence, then hesitated. He had accepted the dinner invitation because he thought that anything would be better than another evening alone in the big house, but now he wasn't so sure. Two young boys, an aspiring femme fatale, and a magnificent Amazon who despised him were odd company for a man who usually socialized with hard-drinking sportsmen like himself.
Well, too late to retreat now. He grasped the knocker and rapped firmly.
The little housemaid that answered had a face that Reggie was beginning to recognize as typical Herald physiognomy. After she bobbed a quick curtsy, she wordlessly led him to the drawing room. It was not a large house, having no more than four or five bedrooms, but it was comfortable and well-maintained. Reggie had regularly visited the kitchen as a child. His father's steward had a cook gifted at making tarts, and Reggie had ingratiated himself in the manner of all small boys.
Miss Weston was waiting in the drawing room. She rose at his arrival. Her height and natural dignity made her look like a queen, even in her extremely conservative dark brown dress. Reggie spent a moment wondering how she would look in Gypsy red, with her hair tumbling around her shoulders rather than in a no-nonsense coronet. As he bowed, he decided that she would be quite splendid.
Smiling, she said, “I thought you might like a few minutes of peace before the children join us. Would you like a sherry?”
Sherry was hardly his favorite drink, but since it was better than nothing, he accepted. As she poured two glasses, Reggie felt an insistent pressure on his shin. He looked down to see a very large, very shaggy cat twining suggestively around his ankles. With a small sound of distaste, he stepped back. The cat followed, apparently determined to be his best friend.
His hostess turned and saw his predicament. “Sorry. I thought Attila was safely out of the way. He must have been lurking under the sofa.” She handed Reggie a drink, then bent to scoop up her pet “I gather that you don't like cats?”
Even for a woman as tall as Alys Weston, the beast was a very substantial armful, a patchwork of striped and white fur with great curving whiskers that framed an expression of supreme disdain. “Not much,” Reggie admitted. “They're sneaky, unreliable, and selfish.”
“That's true,” Alys said gravely, “and they have many other fine qualities as well.”
For a moment he wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Nothing earlier in the day had led him to believe that his steward numbered a sense of humor among her formidable virtues. But a suspicion of dimple showed in her right cheek; he had noticed earlier that it came out before the left one. “Perhaps I don't like cats because they're too much like me,” he said with a grin.
Laughing, she took the cat to the door and dumped him, protesting, on the other side. “Go down to the kitchen, Attila. There must be something there to interest you.” Closing the door before her pet could whisk back in, she turned to her guest. “So you're sneaky, unreliable, and selfish?”
“Oh, indubitably,” he said, sipping at his sherry. “And I have many other fine qualities as well.”
This time both dimples showed as she sat gracefully in one of the brocade-covered chairs. “What are your other fine qualities?” Then she paused, a stricken expression on her face. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that.”
“Because it's too personal a question, or because you're afraid of what I might consider a fine quality?” Reggie asked as he took a seat opposite his steward.
“The latter reason, of course,” she said sweetly, then looked even more stricken at her unruly tongue.
Taking pity on her embarrassment, Reggie said, “Since you are not on duty, nothing you say can be held against you. Although I must say, I prefer your insults to having you frown me down.”
“Lord,” she said with a guilty start. “Is that what I was doing all day?”
“Yes,” he replied succinctly.
“It's because of my eyebrows, you know,” she said earnestly. “Even when I'm in a good mood, people often think I'm about to bite them.”
“And when you're in a bad mood?”
“Oh, then they fly in all directions.”
“I suppose that looking fearsome is a useful trait, given the work you do,” he said thoughtfully. “It can't have been easy to get the Strickland tenants and workers to accept your authority.”
“There have been problems,” Alys admitted. “It is not a simple matter where one victory wins the war. They would take orders more easily if I owned the estate, but they don't quite approve of a female steward. Still, after four years the tenants and I understand each other tolerably well.”
“I can understand their feelings. I don't approve of you myself.” As she bridled, he raised one hand. “Nothing personal, but it's a confounded nuisance that the âA' in A. E. Weston doesn't stand for Albert or Angus.” He studied her gravely. “If you value your reputation, you would be wise to look for another position.”
Alys froze, her sherry glass poised in midair halfway to her mouth. Then she lowered the glass, her face pale. “Are you discharging me?”
“No,” he said, feeling as guilty as if he'd struck her physically. “Just giving you some good advice.”
Relaxing fractionally, she said in a freezing tone, “In that case, just as you prefer to worry about your own dignity, leave me to worry about my reputation.”
“As long as you work for me, your reputation will be affected by mine, no matter how blameless your behavior,” he said bluntly. “When people hear that I have a female steward, they will chuckle knowingly and assume you're my mistress, especially when it's discovered that you are young and attractive.”
Alys's face colored with embarrassment, and her gaze dropped. He wondered whether she was upset by the possibility that she might be taken for his mistress, or by his compliment. The latter, he suspected. Any suggestion that she was attractive seemed to throw her off balance.
She raised her head, her expression set. “I am no green girl who must always be above the merest hint of suspicion, and I am well-known in the neighborhood. It's unlikely the local people will assume I have suddenly become lost to all propriety.”
“You might not be concerned about your reputation, but I am about mine,” he retorted. “Believe it or not, I have every intention of behaving circumspectly. Strickland is my home now. It always has been, really.” He studied his nearly empty glass as if fascinated by the remaining sherry. “I have no desire to offend everyone in Dorsetshire.”
“So you'll save your outrageousness for London?”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Or perhaps I will give it up entirely. Being outrageous all the time is a confounded amount of work.”
Reggie's tone was light, but as he spoke he realized that his vague thoughts of the last few days had crystallized into a decision. It was time to put down the roots he had always yearned for, to stop filling his idle hours with gambling and drinking and wenching. In short, it was time to grow upâbefore it was too late.
He looked up to see that his steward was scrutinizing him closely, as if she sensed that his words were not casual and wondered what they implied for her. Both the brown and the gray-green eyes were bright and individually attractive. Though the contrast between them was startling, it exactly suited her. As a bonus, she had the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. Whoever had nicknamed her Lady Alys was perceptive. Miss Weston was not at all like the common run of females.
While honor had compelled him to warn her off, he was glad that she showed no desire to leave Strickland. It was true that her sex was a complication, but he admired her competence and integrity, and enjoyed her occasional flashes of barbed wit.
Besides, she was the best-looking steward he had ever seen.
She broke the lengthening silence, saying thoughtfully, “I suppose that outrageousness is boring once it has been mastered. Trying to be respectable should present all kinds of interesting new challenges.”
“It will certainly have the charm of novelty.” His mouth quirked into a half smile. “It does seem a pity to deprive high-sticklers of the pleasure of condemning me, but there are always new young rascals coming along to create scandal-broth.”
She tilted her head to one side consideringly. “You mean that you became a rake as a sort of public service?”
“Exactly so. Virtue needs vice for contrast.” He smiled wickedly, wondering if he could ruffle her feathers. She was very attractive when she forgot her dignity. “Good and evil are completely dependent on each other. Even God Himself needs Lucifer more than he needs his bands of well-behaved angels who never put one wing astray.”
She gazed wide-eyed into space, her expression arrested rather than shocked. “I'm not sure whether that is heresy or philosophy.”
“What's the difference? Heresy is just philosophy that the establishment doesn't approve of,” he said provocatively, thinking that Miss Weston had a much more flexible mind than his first impression of her had led him to expect.
Before the theological waters could grow any murkier, the door opened and Meredith floated into the room. Reggie rose at her entrance. The girl really was very lovely, not least because of the impression she gave of not taking herself and her beauty too seriously. He bowed over her hand, wondering what Julian Markham would think of her. He'd have to invite his young friend down for a visit.
Lady Alys gave Meredith a glass of sherry and refilled Reggie's, and they exchanged commonplaces for a few minutes until the two Spenser boys entered, dressed in company best and bursting with curiosity. Reggie rose to meet them. The degree of excitement on their well-scrubbed faces was a reminder of how quiet life in the country was, and how seldom new people arrived to provide diversion. If he really intended to make his primary residence at Strickland, it would be an enormous change from the ceaseless variety of London. But then, it had been a long time since mere variety had afforded much pleasure.
Peter was an attractive stripling, his brown hair a contrast to his blond siblings. The height and starch of his shirt points and the complicated folds of his cravat showed aspirations to dandyism, but humor and intelligence showed in his blue-gray eyes. Shaking Reggie's hand, he said politely, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davenport. I've heard a great deal about you.”
While Reggie wondered what that meant, William, seven and effervescent, skipped the preliminaries to say enthusiastically, “That stallion of yours is a prime 'un, sir.”
“Bucephalus is the finest horse I've ever had,” Reggie agreed. “He has speed, style, and endless stamina.” He shook William's small hand, which was not quite as well scrubbed as the round face. “He has a chancy disposition, though. Keep your distance unless I'm around. He broke the arm of one admirer who got too close, and he won't allow anyone but me ride him.”
If he had been better versed in the ways of small boys, Reggie would have been suspicious of the gleam in William's eye. However, the little housemaid entered to announce that dinner was served and the exchange slipped his mind as the group adjourned to the dining room.
While the dinner party was quite unlike any other Reggie had ever attended, it was not without amusement. Conversation was general around the table with everyone, even young William, accorded the courtesy of a hearing. Topics included local events, literature, and the boys' progress in their lessons. Despite Lady Alys's warning that a family meal might prove to be a strain for a bachelor, the young Spensers were excellent dinner companions.
Reggie applied himself to the simple but well-cooked meal and observed the family dynamics. And it was a family, even though the relationship was not one of blood. Alys was the center around which the three young people circled, gently and humorously guiding the conversation, monitoring William's table manners, listening with total attention when one of her wards spoke. The Spensers were indeed very lucky, and Reggie's respect for his steward increased again.
The meal had progressed to the sweet course when Peter overcame his initial diffidence enough to ask Reggie, “Is it really true that you once wagered a thousand guineas that you could ride a hundred and sixty miles in fifteen hours, and shoot forty brace of grouse at the midpoint of the trip?”
Considerably startled, Reggie said, “Good Lord, has that story made its way this far south? That happened in Scotland, years ago.”
“You mean, you actually did that?” Peter said, awed delight on his face.
“One of my odder wagers, but not quite as foolish as it sounds,” Reggie admitted. “The actual terms of the bet allowed twenty-four hours, which gave me some leeway in case the grouse were elusive.”
Not content with this episode, Peter said eagerly, “And you won a midnight coach race to Brighton?”
“It was midnight when we left. I reached Brighton about four in the morning,” Reggie said, bemused.
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