The Redemption of Lord Rawlings

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Phillip clenched his teeth, fighting with every ounce of his will to be the respectable man he knew he was raised to be. But it was deuced hard when one’s stepmother made such brash remarks.

  “Gambled. Such a dirty word coming from such a refined lady, wouldn’t you agree, Mother?” Phillip’s voice came out in short clipped tones as he continued to keep his back to his deceased father’s wife.

  “I see your respect for your elders hasn’t changed much. Pity. Your grace, it seems even your good habits have not rubbed off on my son.”

  “I couldn’t disagree more.” Sebastian’s voice was firm, immobile. And although Phillip was taut with stress his muscles did indeed relax as he felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder. “In fact, we were just discussing the new foundation to be made in Lord Rawlings’ honor, with a large donation given in his name.”

  “Foundation?” The dowager countess asked. “And what cause shall be in my saintly son’s name?” Her words were dripping with sarcasm. The only thing that kept Phillip from saying something he would regret was the pain he continued to inflict on his own hands as he clenched them into fists, draining them of all blood.

  “For the foundlings,” Emma offered. “For orphaned children, as well as children who find themselves in terrible situations. Whether it be from negligent mothers or stingy families. But we really must be off if we are to make our next appointment.”

  Emma pushed past Phillip and entered the carriage, nose in the air, she held her hand out to Sebastian, who did a quick bow and entered. Phillip went in last and fought the urge to smile as he glanced at his stepmother, who curtsied awkwardly and mumbled in irritation, “Your graces,” before briskly walking away.

  “Well done, Emma! Absolutely inspired!” Sebastian laughed. “Though, I do believe starting a foundation for foundlings in Lord Rawlings’ name will be a little hard for some to swallow. Don’t think I didn’t hear your little jab about mothers not taking care of their children.”

  “Horrid, shameful woman!” Emma huffed crossing her arms.

  Phillip snorted. “She’s always been that way. Too haughty for her own good. Though I think it vexes her to no end that I’m allowed into your drawing room while she is not.”

  “I would not receive that, that, that—”

  “Darling, please don’t hurt yourself.” Sebastian patted her hand.

  Emma huffed. “I find that I get so very angry when people are cruel.”

  Phillip silently watched their loving exchange and felt fortunate that such powerful friends would help him, would take him under their wings and laugh in the face of the ton. And although he appeared calm, his blood was still boiling beneath the surface as he sat in the carriage.

  No love had been lost on their relationship. His stepmother had been a cruel and cold woman. Upon his father’s death, the only money that had settled upon her had been that fit for her station. It was nothing to snuff one’s nose at, but at times he wondered if she didn’t aid in the rumors that made every woman in London cower in his presence. After all, if he didn’t marry by his birthday, every last cent of his inheritance would default back to her. Four estates and more money than he could spend in a lifetime would be hers if she killed him, or if he didn’t marry. Both scenarios seemed plausible in his current state.

  “Phillip?” Sebastian rattled his thoughts, and it was then he realized they were already at Phillip’s residence. “Shall we send a carriage for you in a few hours, for dinner?”

  “Yes, that would be…” Phillip didn’t finish his thought, for who was standing outside his door, but Miss Abigail Gates, father in tow.

  Chapter Eight

  Debased: To lower a person’s moral character. For example, Miss Abigail Gates will be debased if she continues to be seen with the likes of Lord Rawlings. But that was merely hypothetical. This author, for one, knows the Gates family would never allow such an association.

  — Mrs. Peabody’s Society Papers

  Abigail congratulated herself for the second time that day on her brilliance as she watched the color drain from Rawlings’ face. His mouth opened as if his intention was to greet them, then shut again. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He rubbed his face with his hand and then approached them.

  It fascinated Abigail, for it appeared the shock had given him more vulnerability. But when their eyes met, a shred of confidence and indifference cloaked his face and manners. His steely gaze scrutinized her before he turned to her father.

  “My lord, how may I be of service?” His proximity and clean shaven smell made her dizzy. Gone was the stubble Rawlings was famous for. Instead his face was all smooth strong lines, like that of a perfect marble sculpture.

  Wavering for only a minute, Abigail turned to her father, awaiting his response. “This might be best discussed indoors, Rawlings.”

  Rawlings’ murderous glare shot back to Abigail. He was undoubtedly concerned she might have let slip about their secret tryst to her father. If his look was any indication, Rawlings was contemplating killing her.

  Smiling triumphantly, she followed both men into Rawlings’ study, noticing how sparse it was. Money was tighter than she’d thought. Yet another reason Rawlings should be thankful instead of throwing daggers at her with every glance.

  It was just her glorious luck Rawlings had arrived when he did. For her father was already disturbed by taking her with him for such a meeting. It wasn’t for her ears, but she had begged and pleaded and made it nearly impossible for him to say no. He had relented on one condition. If Rawlings was home, they would be quick about their business, but if he was away, her father would consult him at a more appropriate time without Abigail.

  God was obviously smiling on her and the plans in her head. It was so simple. She need only share with her father that she was afraid she wouldn’t receive any offers this year, based solely on the fact that the man who had kissed her had yet to be discovered. It was her fear that he would reveal his identity and ruin her before her first real Season.

  Tearfully, she had explained that she needed a protector of sorts. Someone known for his rakish tendencies who could protect her from the sin and evil of the world. And then her mind very beautifully came up with an idea.

  “Father, what of Rawlings? We’ve known him for ages. I know you trust him despite what the papers say. Who better to protect me this Season and watch out for me than he? Surely, a man of his repute would hear any sort of gossip before it fell on the wrong ears, and he is so very brotherly.”

  And like a fish with a juicy worm dangling from a hook, her father bit.

  Unfortunately, now that the fish had eaten the worm, she was pushed outside the study to await her fate in the hallway. Not one to give up, the minute the doors closed, she pressed her ear as tightly as she could against the cold surface and waited.

  ****

  Sweating profusely, Philip cursed his butler for starting a fire. He was, in fact, ready to relieve him of his duties immediately. As each log was thrown into the inferno, his mood darkened until finally he resorted to praying. Though he doubted prayers for alcohol or spirits would be answered, as God was not inclined to aid humans in becoming mindlessly drunk. The butler soon left, and with him all Phillip’s hopes of having some sort of witness to the unspeakable atrocities about to befall him for unwittingly compromising Lord Gates’ daughter.

  “Have a seat, won’t you?” Phillip motioned to the chair and took one opposite Abigail’s father, awaiting his imminent doom, so to speak, and a trifle embarrassed that he could not offer any sort of drink to his visitor. The marriage, and the money with it, could not come soon enough.

  “Ah, yes. I mean to keep this visit short, Rawlings. We’ve known each other for quite some time, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Phillip nodded, because what else could he do besides blurt out all his sins?

  “And after a long conversation with my daughter, it is apparent that you are, after all, a very well-known rake—”

  “Yes, and—” Ph
illip interrupted, but Viscount Gates held up his hand.

  “Furthermore, you’ve been like family to both my daughters, and though you’ve had a rough reputation over the past years, I can’t see why you would not—”

  “I understand, my lord.” His breath was coming in shorts gasps now as he waited for the inevitable.

  Lord Gates gave him an odd look. “As I was saying, I can’t see why you would not be a good protector of sorts.”

  “Protector?” Phillip almost choked on the word.

  “Yes, there has been a situation. And I ask that you keep this to yourself. Otherwise, I’ll ruin you beyond repair. Do you understand?”

  Phillip nodded, because frankly, he was unable to speak or mutter any sort of sense. Confused, he waited.

  Lord Gates leaned forward, his girth pushing tightly against his jacket and pants. “Abigail was accosted!”

  Phillip swore, but not because of what was just said, though the grimace on Gates’ face gave way to a different interpretation.

  “I do not say this to trouble you.” Lord Gates frowned and continued. “But if it were to come out, that she…she was attacked by this street urchin, this rogue, this—”

  “Rake?” Phillip offered.

  “Exactly!” Lord Gates puffed his chest and looked away. “She will be utterly ruined. Though the girl cannot for the life of her remember who this man was. She’s altogether fearful that he will come out of the shadows, so to speak, and spread vicious lies about her manner.”

  “How…” Phillip paused, trying to find the right words. “Frightening for someone as young as she.”

  Lord Gates scowled. “That daughter of mine is too blasted beautiful. And the worst part is, she knows it. I can’t abide her manipulations and ministrations, but I truly believe she is frightened.”

  “Do you now?” The door to the study moved slightly, giving Phillip the impression that the innocent maiden was behind it listening intently. “I will do as you ask, Gates. After all, it would be deplorable for young Abigail to be thrown to the wolves of the ton. Can you imagine the scandal it would cause your family if it were to get out that she had had a private tryst with someone?”

  Lord Gates shook his head. “It isn’t to be done. I cannot fathom the ramifications on her reputation. It is her first Season,” He shook his head at the thought as if it just occurred to him how old his daughter had become. “I must admit it would please her mother and me for her to make a good match.”

  “Yes. What are your prerequisites? For a good match, that is?” Phillip moved closer to the door then shoved his full weight against it, hearing a tiny unlady-like squeak from the other end, and to his amusement, a curse.

  “Someone with a pristine reputation and good family connections,” Lord Gates said, smiling at Rawlings.

  Rawlings continued to lean against the door. “And this paragon of integrity’s age is of no matter?”

  Gates pursed his lips together making his round face protrude even more. “I have no desire to see her marry someone older, but I also know she needs a strong hand to guide her. Rawlings, I trust you to not only be discreet as you try to find out the debased man who accosted her, but also to keep a wary eye for anyone who might be a good match for my Abigail.”

  Phillip chuckled. “I cannot imagine anything that would bring me more pleasure.” And he meant it. Somehow the girl had not only managed to use the situation to her advantage, but she had nearly given Phillip a heart attack in the process. He smiled and held out his hand to Lord Gates. “Truly, this has been a most enlightening pleasure. And I wouldn’t overtax yourself with worry, my lord. I know exactly how to handle her.” Simply kill her and be done with it.

  He said the last part loud enough for Abigail to hear, and if her deafening silence on the other side of the door wasn’t clue enough, the flushed face that appeared when he opened the door proved he had hit his mark. Nervously, she flinched and looked away as she tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her nostrils flaring as if she was on the verge of saying something she’d later regret, when her father appeared from behind Rawlings.

  “Things are settled, my dear. Now to the issue of your dresses being ruined.”

  The tense atmosphere in the room lifted, but it was unfortunately promptly replaced by that of more sexual tension than he had ever experienced. Abigail smiled sweetly and then winked. The minx winked. He should strangle her.

  “Yes, Father. But it isn’t at all proper to talk of such things here. After all, some of the things that were ruined were personal effects. Most of the materials were fine silks and smooth materials that feel cool as they drape across my delicate skin.”

  Ah, perfect. How does one punish the girl he’s supposed to be protecting? And in front of her father no less? It was just his luck the idea of scolding the girl turned more erotic by the second, and if the blasted innocent didn’t stop twirling that silky tendril with her fingers he was going to go mad.

  She stopped, just enough to gain his attention, for he was fixated on the piece of hair that continued to fall out of place. Like cat and mouse, he was hypnotized.

  And then she put the blessed piece of hair in her mouth.

  Consequently, it was at that precise moment that Phillip made an oath to cut her hair and be done with the whole obsession here and now.

  Lord Gates gave him a peculiar look and he snapped to attention. “Sorry, woolgathering. You were saying?”

  “Nothing of consequence.” Lord Gates gave a doting smile to his daughter. “It appears my daughter is to go shopping this afternoon for new…” His face turned slightly red as he lifted his hand in the air as if to grab the correct word from nothingness.

  “Dresses,” Phillip finished for him. “Splendid. Well, I do have a dinner to prepare for, so if you’ll excuse me? Winifred will see you both out.” They didn’t need to know he had a good three hours before he was expected. His nerves had taken enough.

  Once Phillip heard the door close, he swore profusely, making men everywhere proud for his creative usage, and slammed the door to his study. One thing was for sure, the girl would either ruin him or he would ruin her before the Season’s end. There was no other option—no other choice. Ruination, it seemed, would always be his destiny.

  ****

  Next to sadness guilt was the second worst emotion for Abigail. Fighting with her conflicting emotions, she continued to smile and go through the motions as she stopped at the modiste on Bond Street. She hated taking such desperate measures to get Rawlings to notice her, but what else could she do? At every turn he refused to see her as a woman of equal standing, as a peer. He saw her as vexing and innocent.

  It was up to her, and only her, to prove him wrong. It would only be a matter of time before he saw what was right in front of him. Unfortunately, her father had worded it to sound more brotherly than she would have liked, but still. Rawlings made a promise to watch over her, which meant he would be forced to dance with her and stay close to her to make sure she wasn’t in any sort of trouble. She had no intention of telling her father they had shared a kiss.

  No, the kiss was done on purpose to ignite his passion. Instead it seemed to only fan a flame of fury. Was it her fault Rawlings thought she was blackmailing him? It had pricked her pride when he had made fun of her innocence. But after watching her parents interact with one another, and seeing how Emma and Sebastian got along, she realized a love match, even if it was one-sided, was more agreeable than being with someone you despised.

  Abigail ran a gloved hand over the dress boxes on the seat beside her. So she had told a white lie about her dresses being ruined. Her parents could afford it; they had agreed to some new chemises and a few ball gowns, which is all she needed in order to gain Rawlings’ attention. A gown of deep blue satin was the only one she was able to take away from the shop on such short notice, the rest would arrive before the next ball was to commence.

  Now to ready herself for a most important night—the night she would
secure Rawlings as her betrothed.

  Her mood brightened dramatically as she walked into the Tempest townhome. Smiling, she sighed and began to make her way toward the stairs when she heard her name.

  Turning, she saw Emma and Sebastian both seated in the salon. “Yes?”

  “Come and sit for a bit, Abby.” Emma patted the chair next to her.

  Sebastian appeared angry as she flopped alongside her sister.

  Emma nodded to the door, the maid left and re-entered with a few dresses of Abigail’s that had been hidden among her things.

  “I’ve been told you went shopping for new dresses?” Emma said dryly. “Imagine my surprise when the maid found a few of your old ‘ruined’ dresses whilst cleaning your room. Care to explain?”

  Abigail could only stare. If she told the truth, they would know. Better they think her frivolous than lovesick. “I needed more dresses and knew Father wouldn’t purchase them for me, since he had already paid for an entire wardrobe.”

  “And what was wrong with these dresses?” Emma looked to Sebastian for help. He sat, silent, emotionless.

  “They aren’t the thing. Surely as a duchess you know that, Emma. I mean, look at the neckline, and they are all in pastels. How am I ever supposed to make a good catch with pastels?”

  “All debutantes wear pastels, Abigail.” Sebastian looked away. “Do you understand how much blunt your parents have spent on you already? Are you not thankful?”

  Abigail was silent. Of course she was thankful. Did they think her that spoiled?

  Emma patted Abigail’s hand. “It was wrong of you to deceive Father and us. You have enough. There are plenty of young girls who would kill to be in your position, Abby. You should apologize to Father for your deception and return the new dresses.”

  “Return the new dresses?” Abigail said angrily. “Why would I do that? I would be a laughingstock. Imagine, the daughter of a viscount returning dresses.”