The Rake Enraptured (13 page)

"I should think it is almost precisely the length of time since you were last here." She sipped her tea contemplatively. "Yes. I should say precisely that length of time." She met his gaze in cool challe
nge.

"That must have been a great loss to your family. I know how the children cherished her. And you could not help but do the same."

"I did think so at one time. But then you know, Mr Holbrook, it amazes me how something that once seemed precious can lose its luster, become . . . tarnished even. Certain events can destroy one's perception of a thing's value. Until really it seems worth nothing at all, and one sees one is better to dispose of it before the . . . tarnish . . . can spread. Children are such impressionable creatures, you know. They can pick up really anything from those around them, if their world is not carefully guarded from all threat."

"I see exactly what you mean. Of course I
’m also aware how a person can make a mistake in their perception of another - say, an employee - and lose a valuable asset through mismanagement and error. Their house will always be the poorer for such a loss, and those with clearer vision will of course question their wisdom."

There was a snap as Mrs Trent's cup met
her saucer, and she glared at him. "I am constantly amazed how people may suppose they know anything about a situation or a person when in reality they know nothing at all and should keep their mouths shut."

"Do you know Mis Preston's current whereabouts?
"

"I do not."

"Have you provided a character reference for her to anyone else?"

"No one has inquired."

Beneath her words, he heard quite clearly that if someone had, she would not hesitate to lie to him and foil him. He felt frustration mount at once again mishandling the situation, though how he could have managed to be polite to a woman who had summarily dismissed Julia, he could not imagine.

"Then I am certain she is comfortably situated in an excellent position, and enjoying her change of fortunes." He
waited a moment to see if this sally would draw some counter intelligence, but Mrs Trent only narrowed her eyes and was silent. "I shan't keep you any longer from what I am sure is a day full of important tasks. Farewell, Mrs Trent." He stood, bowed punctiliously and then turned and let himself out.

The butler stood wooden-faced to one side of the doorway, surprised in the act of eavesdropping.

"Can you tell me where Miss Preston is now employed?" Colin asked him point blank.

The butler examined him with s
ome suspicion. "I don't believe I would be doing the lady a favor if I told you."

"Doing Mrs Trent a favor?"

"No, Miss Preston, sir. I beg your pardon, but I'm sure Miss Preston has a very good notion of how to get word to you if she should wish for you to have it."

"Good heavens, man. I don't mean to harm her."

"Intentions and then what actually comes to pass are two radically different things, sir."

"I've no need for philosophy. All I want is a direction."

"If you'll kindly come with me, I'll show you out."

"Will you then? I suppose you will. Damn your impertinence."

"Yes, sir," said the man imperturbably. "This way, sir."

Three chambermaids loitered in the hallway near the door, trying to look busy with dusting
and polishing. Colin recognized one as the same who had let him in and been so flustered by him. Immediately he stepped in close to her, lifted her face with a gentle hand and asked her softly, "Where does Miss Preston work now?"

Her eyes went very wide,
brown and startled as a deer. Her mouth dropped open.

"Miss Preston. Do you know where she is?" he prompted.

"Uh, with the Carstairs, I've heard. I don't know for certain."

"The Carstairs?"

"A lovely family, sir," said another of the young women. "Very kind. We don't have official word of it, but it's been said below stairs that's where she went."

"Thank you," he said fervently, found a handful of guineas in his pocket and divided them hastily between the pair. The girls were stunned by this largess, bobbi
ng and murmuring like pigeons, but he was away and out of the door. The Carstairs. He knew them a little, as one does vaguely know those who attend the same ton parties. Mr Carstairs was a military man, though he could not remember the regiment. Should he finagle an invitation to stay with them, or simply appear in the neighborhood? And were they in the City or the countryside? It was time to reconnoiter. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The sun was too bright. It reflected off the snow until Julia had to squint and look away. No one else seemed bothered by it. The children sledded shrieking down the slope and ran back up and their parents stood nearby with several neighbors, cups of hot posset in their hands. Mr Kingsley brought one to Julia and she wrapped her hands around it, grateful for the heat. The faint scent of almonds rose up from the frothy milk.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

"Heavens, your little ones are brave," she exclaimed in wonder at the sturdy toddlers, wrapped up like little chimney stacks of wool and fur. "Look at them go."

"I could wish they had a greater caution, especially Jane. She is so small."

"Big in heart."

"Indeed." With a tender smile he watched his three-year-old daughter Jane, and Michael who was four, sit together on the sled. One of the Carstairs children gave it a mighty heave and the two little ones hurtled downward, Michael whooping with excitement. "I admit it makes a man proud."

"They are dear children. And usually so calm and sedate."

"Unlike others I could mention," he said, and quirked a brow at her.

Julia laughed. "Yes, the Carstairs are regular scallawags but I admit I enjoy them hugely."

"I can tell."

"They are so vigorous, and so loved. I could wish every child had their confidence, even if they are a handful."

"Mr and Mrs Carstairs do have some unusual ideas about parenting."

"Yes. Far from conventional. I do wonder how the children will fare w
hen they are full grown and must conform to ordinary society. I think they will be very bored."

"Society must stand ready for the assault."

"They will turn it on its head."

"There are so many of them."

"Yes," she sighed, and counted heads as she did regularly to make sure she had not let one stray. Eight in all, sturdy and brimming with energy and mischief, from fifteen-year-old Harold down to Matilda, who was three and still under her nanny's supervision. Nanny stood anxiously on the sidelines, hands clasped under her chin, eyes very wide each time one of the older children tucked Matilda in a lap and took her down with them.

"You must be exhausted every evening when it comes time to go to bed."

Julia slanted a look at Mr Kingsley under her eyelashes, and found him gazing at her with a hint of the warmth she had seen increasingly on his face when he surveyed her. He was a widower these past three years, since Jane's birth, a gentleman and a landowner of some standing in the community.

More than that he was
a good man, kind to his children, well-liked by his neighbors and respected by his tenants. She had heard only excellent things of his character. He treated her with careful respect and consideration.

It was perverse of her to find him somehow lacking tha
t he did not steal kisses from her when no one was about. He was a careful man, and virtuous. No, there was nothing flippant about Mr Kingsley.

These past two months, since his attentions had become more marked, she had often tried to imagine what it would
be like to partner him in life. He would be steady and affectionate. She could depend on him to keep his word and be honorable. He was that sort of man. He would be a good husband, a wonderful father to any children they might have.

It was a good prospect
, one that should have charmed her more than it did. Instead she found herself inexplicably chilled by it, no matter how she tried to talk herself around to loving him.

What was wrong with her?

They had established a peaceful friendship, talked easily about the world and the people in it, and if his wit did not exactly spark her own, neither did he ever offend her. He was completely unobjectionable.

"I do become tired, but fortunately the house is very comfortable and I sleep soundly each night and awake fu
lly refreshed," she said steadily, and did not even blush to discuss her sleeping habits with him, though she felt the atmosphere between them alter and thought he was more conscious of the topic.

"Is something the matter?" he asked when she sighed again.

"I am chilled, I think. The posset helped though, my thanks."

"May I assist you with your shawl?" His voice was a comforting rumble, deep and soft. He was already adjusting th
e sensible wrap upwards to sit more snugly around her neck, and she felt the improvement immediately.

"Thank you. You are very thoughtful."

"You seem distracted."

"Do I? Awful thought! I hope you're the only one who noticed."

"Yes, I'm sure Mrs Carstairs would turn you off at once, she's such a dragon."

She laughed at this sally. Mrs Carstairs was a gentle, merry woman who loved her children beyond life and had a wide streak of practicality when it came to raising them and managing the household that surrou
nded them. She had sized Julia up swiftly, approved her and - once won - her good opinion was steadfast. "Absolutely, yes. I live in fear."

"I think your charges are planning a snow fight. We'd be well advised to step back out of range."

"You're too correct for comfort. They love to include me. I'm not fond of snow down the back of my neck, but they love to see me shriek and dance about."

"That must be quite a sight."

"I'm sure. No, don't give me that speculative look, or I'll suspect you next. I don't fancy a handful of snow where it will do the least good."

"You're no fun," he accused, a wide grin splitting his cheerful face. She shared it, enjoying the uncomplicated pleasure on his blunt features, the creases around eyes squinting against the glare of sun
on snow, his ruddy cheeks and ever-smiling mouth.

Initially she had worried what the Carstairs would think of their burgeoning friendship, but they seemed to look on with only approval. Even now Mrs Carstairs gestured in her direction, smiled fondly at h
er and Mr Carstairs and said something to the man standing beside her. Julia did not immediately recognize the figure, in his beaver top hat with the brim fashionably curled down low over his eye, the collar of his caped greatcoat raised to block the chill. A neighbor she had yet to meet?

Mrs Carstairs spoke to him with the self-conscious stiffness of one who addresses a stranger. Mr Carstairs on his other side inclined his head politely to listen to something the man said.

Then as the stranger shifted, even at a distance, Julia recognized the graceful, languid pose, the leisurely virility of it.

She sucked in a sharp breath, and Mr Kingsley turned her way with an expectant smile, his eyebrows raised. Julia choked and coughed, turned towards him, and blindly
took the hand he held out to steady her.

No, it was not. How could it be? The Carstairs had never spoken of him. Why would he be here in their country estate in the midst of the Season? There was no house party and the place was out of the way of any majo
r thoroughfare? What would bring him?

She must be mistaken. So often she had imagined him - his presence in her mind unwelcome but persistent. Cautiously she checked again, raising a hand to the rim of her bonnet to conceal her glance and peering past her
own fingers.

It was him. There was no doubt of it. He was here in the flesh.

She rolled her lower lip between her teeth in vexation, even as her eyes hungrily devoured him. He looked the same. Bulkier within winter clothing of course.

"Miss Preston?"

"I'm sorry. I truly am distracted."

"This chill is doing you no good at all. Would you like me to return to the house to fetch you another wrap?"

"Oh, you are too kind. My thanks, but no. This one will do. I hope everyone will soon grow bored with the sledding, and we'll go inside to the fire."

"You really do feel the cold, don't you?"

"I confess I do. I'm afraid it's having so little flesh on my bones. I try to cultivate more padding but I can't manage it."

"If not for your discomfort I'd have said you were per
fectly formed," he complimented her with an easy smile.

It took a conscious effort to smile back, to respond as usual. She wanted to go to Mr
Holbrook and demand to know what he did here. To scold him and drive him away. She wanted to ask how he was and see if his eyes would still light up that certain way when they rested on her.

Crazy foolishness. Julia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, dismayed to find herself so instantly susceptible, and prayed for strength. She had no intention of repeating past
mistakes.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked with raised brows, having missed what Mr Kingsley said. 

"I'm sure they will not miss us if we go inside. There is nothing for you to teach out here, and surely many preparations you could make for lessons inside."

"Yes, you're right." Only she would need to go to the Carstairs and excuse herself, which would me
an passing within scant feet of Mr Holbrook. Too close for comfort, but then she could hardly be comfortable even standing so many yards away, aware of his presence like a prickle of discomfort up her spine. Was he staring at her as he used to do? No, she would escape him and go inside.

Mr Kingsley offered his arm and she took it and walked steadily, her head high, to where her employers stood.

"Miss Preston?" said Mrs Carstairs, turning to acknowledge her with lifted eyebrows and the faint smile that was habitual carving delicate lines in the fair skin of her face.

"If you'll excuse us, Mr Kingsley is seeing me inside so I may prepare for the afternoon's lessons."

"Certainly, though while you're here I should introduce to you to an acquaintance of ours. Mr Holbrook. He has come to see the Roman ruins."

He bowed, and his face was shockingly the same as ever: too handsome for ease, too well-remembered for comfort. "I am a great student of the antiquities, and I could not resist the opportunity. Though actuall
y Miss Preston and I have already met," he added as if it was an afterthought.

Now she blushed as their
gaze joined and she saw lurking behind his deadpan expression a spark of some indefinable emotion, intense and burning.

"Oh?' said Mr Carstairs with a p
leased smile. "Then you know each other? Excellent. Miss Preston has some interest in the antiquities herself."

"Good fortune indeed. I hadn't realized, when we met before, or I would have talked your ear off," he drawled to her with a crooked smile that b
elied the intention in his eyes. "I have a room at the inn at Hazelwood and when I asked what was worth seeing in the neighborhood the innkeeper waxed loquacious. I dared to impose myself."

"Not at all," said Mrs Carstairs politely. Julia saw by the assess
ment in her eyes she was reserving judgment but prepared to be friendly to this stranger.

"A fellow soldier is always welcome in my home," said Mr Carstairs. He was as always more casual than his wife, ready to dispense with formality. "Cavalry man, weren'
t you, Holbrook?"

"Lieutenant-Colonel."

"Good man. Part of the full charge that took down the left bank of cannons at Waterloo?"

Mr
Holbrook's eyelids drooped a little. "Certainly."

"Brave thing that was, and stunning to see. But the carnage, man. The carn
age."

"A black day."

"For all of us," Mr Carstairs agreed. "You must stay for luncheon. You can ask Miss Preston about the ruins. They're mostly covered in snow but she swarmed all over them when she first arrived, and made a hundred sketches."

"A half doz
en, perhaps," Julia murmured.

"An excellent eye. I'd never paid them so much attention, growing up with them, though I must have clambered about them a thousand times. As do the children. We can hardly keep them out of there."

"Well if Miss Preston will grant me some of her time I'd be delighted," said Mr Holbrook, and again she saw the casualness was a pose. He had an object and it had nearly succeeded in it. He wished to speak to her.

He had come for her.

She did not know if the knowledge terrified or excited her more. The situation was horrific. She did not want him here.

She did not want to want him.

Oh, abominable man, to destroy her peace this way!

"I'm afraid I must prioritize the planning of lessons-" she began, trying to escape the snare.

"You needn't be too strict on yourself, Miss Preston," said Mrs Carstairs, warmed by her husband's approval of their unexpected guest. "The children are happy, and an hour or two less of reading and arithmetic will do them no harm. Let them enjoy the good weather while the sun shines."

Never was it more irritating to be subservient to another than when her instincts told her flight was her best option. She was not safe with Mr
Holbrook. Not when she felt this way after two shared glances and a few lying words.