The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Which he wasn’t.

  But they didn’t know that. All they knew was he had been with so many women that even the men who called themselves rakes looked like innocent boys standing next to him. Not that the talk was minutely true. Hundreds of women was quite a stretch, even for a man of his appetite, and he hadn’t fed said appetite in over a year.

  The butler heaved a deep sigh, which spoke volumes, then looked behind Phillip as if to make sure nobody knew he was entering their house, and quickly ushered him in.

  His pride would have been pricked had he any left, but instead, he was grateful the butler had insight Phillip hadn’t. And even more grateful that the duke’s butler had been reading his papers, for he had tea and biscuits brought in from the kitchens. Food wasn’t that scarce yet at Phillip’s house, but good hot tea was.

  Nodding his head in a silent thank you, Phillip ate, and then he waited.

  As he finished the last of the biscuits and his tea began to cool, Emma rushed in with Sebastian at her side.

  “I knew it!” She tapped Sebastian across the chest with her glove. “I was just telling him this morning after reading the papers that you would be desperate enough to take me up on my offer.”

  “Ah, desperate.” Rawlings rose so he could bow to the duchess. “A word I’ve been overusing as of late. And yes, you are correct in your assumption. Did you know someone threw an apple at me this morning? And the number of lovers I’ve had has tripled over night. Imagine my shock to wake up in my bed alone whilst I was apparently debauching half of London.” Frustrated, Phillip hadn’t meant to announce all that information to the duchess, but he was at his wit’s end. Had he just said debauch in front of the Duchess of Tempest?

  She burst out laughing, as did Sebastian.

  “Glad to amuse you this morning,” Phillip grumbled and reached for his tea. “I need a wife and fast.”

  “How fast?” Sebastian asked.

  “Fast.”

  “Yes, you’ve said that.” Sebastian closed the door to the salon and took a seat. “Now, answer the question.”

  Swallowing a bit of tea before answering, Phillip said, “Before my birthday.”

  To his credit, Sebastian did not swear, nor did he laugh. He merely stared at Phillip as if he had just announced that the world would end in two days, and that he was, in fact, God, come to pass judgment on the entirety of London.

  “That’s not so bad, is it?” Emma said, gliding to the settee. “After all, your birthday isn’t until…” She looked away and closed her eyes.

  “Get there faster, love,” Sebastian mumbled. “Oh, fine. You’ve never been one for numbers. He has less than three months to not only change his reputation, but find a woman willing to trust him.”

  Emma’s face fell.

  It was always reassuring when one’s friends had such faith in his abilities.

  “Should I just leave then? Am I that hopeless?” Phillip swallowed, the fear rising in his chest. “I am aware I’ve been compared to the devil himself.”

  “It’s not so bad as that, is it?” Emma’s voice held the optimism that Phillip lacked. “After all, you did help Sebastian and me.”

  Phillip tensed. “Yes, but it seems one good deed isn’t enough to erase all the bad.”

  Emma laughed. “Well, this will be too easy.”

  “This?” Phillip asked.

  “Easy?” Sebastian laughed.

  Emma took a sip of tea. “Men, always thinking with logic rather than strategy. What we need is to clean up his reputation—make an announcement of sorts that he’s starting a charity, wishes to marry for love rather than connections. But we’ll have to change a few things.” She looked him up and down before glancing away and sighing.

  “Change things?” Even as he asked it, he knew the answer. His hair was unfashionably long, curling around his ears. His face hadn’t a good shave in two days, and then he looked at his clothes. Black and white. Always black and white.

  “I see,” he mumbled, suddenly wishing the tea was laced with brandy. “I don’t have the money to completely change my wardrobe and way of life, Emma.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Is she always this vague?” he asked Sebastian.

  Sebastian nodded. “Yes, but I’ve come to accept her the way she is, flaws and all.”

  Emma stuck out her tongue. “Gentleman, we’ve some shopping to do. If you’ll just give me a moment, I’ll notify Abigail that we’ll be gone for the afternoon and unable to receive any callers. After all, time is short. We can’t afford to waste even as much as an hour.”

  At the mention of Abigail’s name Phillip’s chest constricted. “Will she be joining us?”

  “Doubtful,” Emma said, rising from her seat. “She retired early last night complaining of a headache. I believe she’s ill, or that she believes herself to be ill. Though for the life of me, I cannot imagine what would cause her to feign a sickness during her first ball.”

  Phillip swallowed the knot of guilt lodged in his throat. Breaking eye contact, he stirred another heap of sugar into his tea. “Right then. I’ll just wait until you’ve said your goodbyes.”

  ****

  Abigail sat drinking her tea in the comfort of her own room. She practiced her best and most impressive smile, for she would ask her father for more pin money. In order to obtain the gowns necessary, she would need more blunt—blunt she did not have. Unfortunately, her mother had already outfitted her for the remainder of the Season. They would think her the most ungrateful sort if she asked for more, especially considering the Season was coming to an end.

  Since she was staying with her sister and the duke, she would have to walk the short distance to her parents’ townhome near Grosvenor Square. Taking one last look in the mirror, she attached her bonnet and grabbed her pelisse.

  “Going somewhere, dear?” Emma asked from the door.

  Abigail swallowed convulsively. “Yes, I thought a walk would be in order before afternoon callers.”

  Emma sat on the bed, smoothing out her skirt. “Is something amiss, Abby? You would tell me if something was troubling you? I know we haven’t been close of late.” Emma looked away. “I truly want to be a good sister to you. I am sorry if your debut ball wasn’t what you expected.”

  Curse Emma for making her feel guilty. Slumping her shoulders in a very unlady-like manner, Abigail took a seat next to her sister. “I wasn’t trying to deceive you, sister. Indeed, I was tired, but the ball you sponsored was perfect.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes.” Abigail smiled. “Would you mind terribly if I took a walk?”

  Emma scanned the room. “I trust you’ll bring your maid?”

  “Of course.” Abigail hadn’t planned on it, but her maid wouldn’t say a word about their destination. “I plan to return before callers.”

  “Oh, my. Sorry, dear. It seems having a child on the way has muddled my wits. We won’t be accepting callers today. An important matter has arisen, and I must be the one to deal with it.”

  “Oh?” Abigail asked. “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  Emma leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. “No, but it will be if we don’t do something to help our friend.”

  “Friend?”

  Emma was inspecting the gloves in her hand. “Hm? Oh. Yes, our friend. Lord Rawlings. It appears he must marry within the next few months. In his current state, it would take more than just a well-placed dashing smile to make him appeal to the ladies. Mrs. Peabody’s slander has been brutal to the poor man. Not that he didn’t at one time deserve her scorn. I do believe she’s some rejected lover of sorts. Or maybe she’s nursed a secret tendre for him. Either way, I’ve offered to help him clean up his reputation, and we must get to Bond Street before the dinner party tonight.”

  Abigail’s mind began tirelessly working with the new information. He was looking for a wife? Why didn’t the scoundrel look at her? Had she not made her intentions known? It was now imperative that she talk to her father, and if he
said no, she might just cry real tears. What if the people of the ton saw the man she already knew Rawlings to be? What if Emma did such a good job that he would never notice her again? Part of her had to swallow the indignation that he had ignored her so scornfully, but still. There was always hope. And after she made a visit to Madame Valerie’s Dress Shop his eyes would be opened. Surely a man of his tastes would fall head over heels.

  She turned her attention back to Emma. “What dinner party is this?”

  “Oh, Renwick has decided to throw a small get-together. It seems all Renwick’s children are off visiting Lady Fenton’s country estate for the last few months of Lady Renwick’s confinement. The poor dear is probably going mad already. The ball was her very last event before being locked in the house. I do believe Renwick will stop at nothing to keep that girl happy, and he does know how much she enjoys spending time with friends.”

  “Who will be attending?” Abigail’s brain was thirsty for information.

  “Oh, ‘tis just a small gathering, nothing extravagant. I believe Rawlings has been invited, Belverd, your dear friend Lady Rosalind, and us.”

  “Splendid.” Abigail kissed her on the cheek again and bade her farewell.

  “Do be careful, Abigail!” Emma called.

  Abigail waved and ran down the hallway at a reckless pace, not even pausing as she rushed down the stairwell, straight into Lord Rawlings’ arms.

  His curse vibrated off the walls.

  Strong hands came up to brace her shoulders. “Running from your sins, Miss Gates?”

  So, it was back to Miss Gates—not Abby or even Abigail, but Miss Gates. Goodness she felt ancient and immature all at once. “I was merely…stretching my legs.”

  “Tsk, tsk. Ladies do not mention legs or ankles, or heaven forbid, any sort of appendage in the presence of a man. But I suspect you wouldn’t know that, considering the type of behavior I’ve seen you exhibit in the past few days. First kissing a man out in the open, dancing with devil-may-care abandon, and now running around like a hoyden in the schoolroom. I’m shocked, Miss Gates.”

  “Shocked?” She lifted her chin giving him full view of her flushed face. “And what, pray tell, has shocked the great Lord Rawlings this afternoon?”

  “Did I say shocked? Hmm…maybe not so shocked as I am amused. You haven’t changed a wit since I last saw you, Miss Gates. Still as foolhardy as ever. I say, the only thing missing are those pigtails, and I’d be looking at the same girl I left so many years ago.”

  ****

  Even as the words came out of his mouth, he was cursing at himself. Her face paled, shoulders slumped, and that ever-present spark of mischief all but dissipated before his very eyes. And then, suddenly, she straightened her shoulders and sent him a heated glare he felt all the way to his toes.

  “Thank you, Lord Rawlings, for reminding me.”

  “Reminding you?” he scoffed, though he was acutely aware of how uncomfortable her cold stare made him.

  “Why yes. Reminding me of our vast difference in age. You see, I always find it refreshing to talk with older gentlemen, as it gives me practice for men of my own age. They are so very aggressive. I find that when I talk with men of a certain age, I am put immediately at ease with my choice to take you up on your advice.”

  “My advice?”

  “To search out someone suitable of my own age. Naturally, not someone older, more seasoned, and consequently boring—without the least bit of understanding of what a lady with my careless nature, sans pigtails, truly desires or needs to be happy. Good day, my lord!”

  And with that, the impetuous little chit marched off as if she had just been elected queen.

  “Rawlings?” Sebastian’s voice called to him through the indignant haze of passion he felt. “Rawlings, do close your mouth. What are you staring at?”

  “The…” He awkwardly cleared his throat and helplessly glanced down at his boots. “The floors. Say, have you had them redone?”

  Sebastian looked at him through squinted eyes and then leaned closer to his face.

  “What are you about, Sebastian?”

  “I can never remember. Are the pupils larger when foxed or smaller?”

  “Foxed? I am not foxed!”

  “You’re staring at my blasted floors as if they arouse you. I’d say you’re foxed. At least I hope so, or we have bigger problems than your impending need to marry.”

  “Ready?” Emma glided into the room.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Phillip flicked away Sebastian’s hand as it gently touched his shoulder, apparently trying to calm him. “Right then, shall we?” he said, glaring at the duke.

  Emma looked between the two men and clapped. “Oh, this will be so much fun! Now, Phillip—”

  “Since when do you address me by my first name?”

  “Since you were in short pants, now move. We have a lot of ground to cover and only a few hours to do so before the dinner party. Mark my words, Phillip. You’re going to be the catch of the Season if I have anything to do with it.”

  Sebastian gave Phillip a sympathetic look.

  “Oh, and, Sebastian, you are coming as well.”

  “Am I?” He shot daggers at Phillip. “But, dear, I would be in the way. I would…” He stopped talking the moment he noted the icy glare from his wife. “Right then, let me just get my hat.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dear readers, beware. As I was walking through Bond Street toward the church where I dutifully pray every day, a sudden feeling came over me—similar to that when in the presence of sinners. It appears a wolf in sheep's clothing is lurking around London. One of the devil's own was masquerading as an angel of light as he helped a young child into his parents’ carriage. Eating an ice and parading with the Angel Duke and Duchess, one would have never believed the good Samaritan was indeed Lord Rawlings. A reformed rake? This author is not convinced. Mothers, keep a watchful eye over your young ones, and debutantes, ignore the devil’s good deeds. It is obvious that something is afoot!

  —Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers.

  The jaunt to Bond Street proved just as uncomfortable as Phillip suspected it would be. With Emma talking about ways to change others’ outlook about his reputation and Sebastian offering advice on charities, it was no surprise that by the time they reached their first stop, the only thing Phillip wanted was a drink and something to shoot.

  But his reputation was in need of repair.

  So instead of getting foxed he settled for ices, hoping that the sweetness would somehow rub off on his dark mood and overall shoddy frame of mind, that Emma could magically bring him up to snuff within the course of a few months. Were people that easy to sway? Was it possible that it would only take a change of outward appearances, and he would have the ton eating out of the palm of his hand?

  “Ah, the boot makers.” Sebastian opened the door.

  “And why do I need new boots?” Phillip asked, entering into his own personal vision of hell—usually he preferred an entirely different sort of amusement for his lazy afternoons. The smell of leather and shoe polish burned his nose as he made his way to the front.

  Emma pushed ahead of both men and stopped when the shopkeeper looked up. “Spare no expense.”

  Phillip opened his mouth to speak just as Sebastian nudged him in the ribs and shook his head. “Allow her this one boon, Phillip. She wants to help, and you know we’re good for it. You’ll make it up to us one day.” And with that Sebastian winked and joined his wife in the picking out of new boots for Phillip.

  Guilt did not sit well with him as he thought about the stolen kiss with Abigail. Nobody could find out. After all Emma and Sebastian were doing for him, the last thing he needed was to somehow disappoint them by ruining the younger Gates sister. The unfortunate part was that the one time in his life he wanted to make something honest of himself was also the same time he had to keep a lie in order to maintain that same appearance.

  Ironic.

  The rest of the a
fternoon passed along the same way as it started. New boots, a new hair cut, a shave, cravats, pantaloons, breeches, jackets, hats, and to his absolute vexation, gloves. Why, he had asked, did he need new gloves? His were in perfect shape, albeit worn. Sebastian had then given one of the longest lectures of Phillip’s life about the necessity of new gloves that were smooth, without stain or wear, and how many a woman will judge a man solely based on his gloves.

  Phillip called him out.

  So Sebastian felt the need to then address several patrons within the glove shop. Which wasn’t at all fair if you asked Phillip. After all, who was going to disagree with a duke?

  ****

  Emma continued to discuss the night’s festivities as Phillip and Sebastian loaded the last of the packages into the carriage. “I believe we are finished.”

  Never had Phillip heard a more beautiful phrase. “Thank God—I could not handle another shop. In fact, here and now I’ve decided I shall never shop again.”

  “Agreed. Men should not be subject to such things. What we need is a good hunt and a fight at Jackson’s,” Sebastian said.

  Emma glared. “Complain all you want, but when I’m right, and you boys are wrong, you’ll be falling all over yourselves to apologize.”

  “Rawlings?” A shrill feminine voice pierced the otherwise pleasant late afternoon air.

  Turning, he came face to face with his stepmother. Tall and slender, but with the emotion of a cold fish, it was no surprise to see her shopping. She spent money as if it never ran out.

  “Ah, mother.” He gave her a curt nod and turned toward the carriage. Leaving was his only option. After all, she despised him just as much as every other woman in London.

  “Your graces.” He heard her say.

  Emma spoke. “Lovely to see you, my lady, but we must be going.”

  “Of course, I am sorry to intrude. I see now that you must have been shopping, my dear. Heaven knows my son has no money of his own after he gambled it away. Isn’t that right, my dear?”