How to Romance a Rake

by Manda Collins

  She raised one perfectly arched brow. “Do you know what I refer to?”

  Juliet felt a blush rise in her cheeks. “I … I … think so.”

  “I do not mean to be unkind, my dear, truly I don’t. But husbands require certain … duties of their wives. Duties that require a certain degree of … physicality. I simply do not believe your injury would allow you to participate in such activities. At least not with the regularity that a young man would require.”

  Juliet kept her eyes on her toast, suddenly not as hungry as she was when she entered the room.

  “An older husband,” Lady Shelby said briskly, “would be much more willing to overlook your frailty. Indeed, I believe he might even be willing to let you continue with your study of the pianoforte. After all, you will need some way to occupy your time.”

  Stunned, but unsurprised, at her mother’s tactlessness, Juliet didn’t bother to reply. It would do no good to argue with her, she knew. And upon the subject of Lord Turlington, she was not to be gainsaid.

  “Come, finish your breakfast and we’ll be off. Turlington has a new painting at Southerton’s. It is of Desdemona, I believe. One of his new series based on the heroines of Shakespeare. I will try to persuade him to take us to Gunter’s afterward. You will like that, won’t you?”

  Lady Shelby rose and glided from the room, her smooth gait everything that Juliet’s was not.

  Was this really what things had come to? she wondered. Was she to be forced into marriage with a man who repulsed her simply because her mother willed it? For the millionth time she wondered what had persuaded her mother to become so hell-bent on marrying her daughter off to Lord Turlington. To go from disbelieving that her daughter could marry at all to attempting almost daily to press her into marrying Turlington was strange indeed.

  She wished Anna were here to discuss the matter with her, or that she were somewhere that Juliet knew she was safe. Her letter of last evening had left her uneasy and worried. She wondered if Lord Deveril had been able to learn anything new during his visit to Hans Town.

  Unbidden, the memory of how she had felt in Lord Deveril’s arms sent a little thrill down her spine. She had a suspicion that marital duties with the viscount would be just as energetic and frequent as her mother had described. And despite her injury, she had a feeling that she would adapt to the situation if her husband were someone like Deveril, someone she could respect and care for. As opposed to the older, and unsettling, Lord Turlington. She tried and failed to imagine the older man investigating the disappearance of her former music teacher as Deveril was doing. Turlington would dismiss the matter as beneath his notice, she had little doubt. Which was another point in Deveril’s favor.

  Not that Juliet was keeping a tally.

  What was most surprising with regard to Lord Turlington was her mother’s sudden championing of the man as the ideal suitor. Something, Juliet was convinced, had made Lady Shelby change her mind regarding her daughter’s marriageability. And Juliet wanted to know what that something had been.

  With a sigh for her wasted breakfast, she rose from the table, leaning on her elegantly carved walking stick, and made her way to fetch her bonnet and pelisse.

  When they arrived at the Southerton Gallery it was to find the entrance teeming with curious visitors.

  “Never say this is all for your painting, Turlington,” Lady Shelby cooed, making Juliet feel slightly ill. She’d been complimenting the gentleman lavishly from the moment he handed them into his carriage. And somehow managed to make it seem as if Juliet were the one making the compliments.

  “I’m afraid not, Lady Shelby, Miss Shelby,” he said, ushering them through the crowd. “I believe this is for the latest work by Il Maestro.”

  Juliet had read about the mysterious painter in the Times. His identity was unknown, and the subject matter he depicted was shocking in the extreme. While Juliet found Turlington’s paintings disturbing, those of Il Maestro were outright frightening. Drawing from the gothic tradition made popular by the novelists Walpole and Radcliffe, Il Maestro’s paintings were bone-chilling, depicting all manner of unspeakable acts. And in a city where hangings were still viewed by some as jolly good entertainment, works like these were considered tame by most.

  “Mama, please do not let us go inside,” Juliet asked, her distress such that she actually clutched her mother’s arm, something she had not done since a small child, when she’d been scolded severely for wrinkling her mother’s sleeve.

  “Do not fear, Miss Shelby,” Lord Turlington chided, chucking her under the chin as if she were a child. “It is merely artistic expression. It cannot harm you. Though I approve of your diffidence. A lady can never be too careful about what she allows herself to be exposed to.”

  And against her will, Juliet was ushered into the busy gallery, where the line snaking around the room led into a side room, where presumably Il Maestro’s latest monstrosity was on display.

  When the line had moved but a little, Juliet took advantage of her mother and Lord Turlington’s distraction as they discussed some esoteric art technique with an acquaintance to slip back into the crowd. Making her way past small groups of people, she finally reached the side entrance to the gallery, where she slipped into a small courtyard that had been set up for visitors to rest their weary feet. Taking advantage of a bench, Juliet gingerly lowered herself to sit, and plied her fan in an effort to cool her overheated cheeks.

  “Ah, here you are,” she heard from the doorway. She turned to see Lord Deveril, resplendent even in day wear of buckskin breeches and highly polished boots, with a bottle-green coat, snowy white shirt, and neck cloth.

  “Lord Deveril.” She smiled, feeling a little breathless to see him again. Especially in light of the aforementioned duties. “I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

  “But Miss Shelby,” he chided, bowing over her hand, “I did tell you that I would report as soon as I’d learned something.”

  “Oh, of course. Mrs. Turner.” She blushed to have forgotten her friend so quickly. “You are so kind. I had not expected you to learn anything so soon.”

  “Well, the news isn’t much, I fear,” he told her, his expression serious as the gentle May breeze ruffled his golden hair. “May I?” he asked, indicating the seat beside her.

  She really shouldn’t, but Juliet found it impossible to refuse him. She gave a small nod and he sat beside her.

  Quickly he outlined his and Monteith’s experience that morning at Mrs. Parks’s establishment.

  “We found little to indicate whether or not Mrs. Turner’s flight was voluntary or by force, though it did not appear that she’d packed a bag,” he said. “And I found something that I thought would be of interest to you.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he removed a small blue bound book.

  “Oh,” she cried, taking it from him. “It is her teaching notebook. I bought this for her last Christmas when she complained of running out of space in her old one.”

  “I have only made a cursory examination,” Deveril explained, his expression serious, “Not having been a friend, I did not feel quite right about invading her privacy in such a manner. But I thought that perhaps you would be the most appropriate person to read over it.”

  “Thank you,” she told him, her eyes filling with moisture. “You cannot know how much this means to me.”

  “I think I do,” he told her, taking her gloved hand in his. “I also wanted to let you know that Mrs. Turner left something else behind. Something not quite so easy to carry in my pocket.”

  She frowned. “Her piano?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, his brow furrowed in a frown. “I’m afraid that Mrs. Turner left her daughter behind with Mrs. Parks.”

  Juliet’s heart sank. If Mrs. Turner had left Baby Alice behind then something was definitely wrong. Though Mrs. Turner was fond of Parks, she was not comfortable with leaving Alice there for extended periods.

  “Where is she?” Juliet asked, rising from h
er seat, her need to be doing something, anything, urging her to action. She gripped her walking stick in frustration. “She cannot stay with Mrs. Parks. What if whoever has taken Anna comes for Alice as well?”

  Alec stood too, staying her with a comforting hand on her arm. “I have brought her to my house in Berkeley Square,” he said, attempting to calm her agitation. “I thought it best, given your mother’s dislike of Mrs. Turner and the circumstances of Alice’s parentage.”

  Juliet nodded. He watched as she took a deep breath, and reined in her emotions. He suspected, given her past difficulties, that this was a skill she’d been forced to learn on her own, in order to survive in her parents’ household.

  “That is for the best,” she said, her emotions once more under control. “I know Mama would not agree to let Alice stay with us, no matter my wishes. But what of your own family? Will your sisters object?”

  He smiled. “They are used to my quixotic temper and will not be bothered in the slightest. In fact, I suspect they both will sneak up to the nursery every chance they get. I will have my man of business hire an appropriate nursemaid for the babe. And you are, of course, welcome to visit the child whenever you wish.”

  “I am grateful for your willingness to upset your household in such a manner,” Juliet told him, “You behave as if it is nothing, but taking in a child, especially one with the stigma of illegitimacy, is no small thing.”

  He took her hand. “There is a special place in Hades for those who hold the sins of a child’s parents against them.” He gave a bitter laugh, “I should know. And given what Monteith and I found in Mrs. Turner’s flat this morning, your friend had no notion that she’d be gone for more than a few hours. I am well able to care for her until her mother’s return. If anyone asks, I shall put it about that she’s the child of a distant cousin who was called away suddenly…”

  He did not add that he suspected that tale might be close to the truth if she was, as he suspected, his uncle’s by-blow.

  “I cannot thank you enough, my lord.” Her worry was evident in the shadows beneath her eyes. Still, she seemed to draw from some inner reserve of strength, straightening her spine and returning to the subject at hand. “So, if you believe Anna had no idea she’d be leaving, was her note coerced?”

  * * *

  Alec longed to set her fears for her friend at rest, but he could not bring himself to lie. “I think it likely.”

  Her resignation made his gut ache, still he knew she would not wish him to lie to her.

  “Given your knowledge of her habits, and her affection for her child, I find it difficult to believe that your friend left her home voluntarily. There was no visible sign of struggle in her rooms, but Mrs. Parks heard an altercation. She assumed it was the couple in the house next door, but I believe that it must have been Mrs. Turner and the man who took her away.”

  “But why?” Juliet demanded, her worry turning to anger. “Anna never divulged the name of the man who attacked her. She lived a quiet and unassuming life far removed from the society she was born into. She was a threat to no one.”

  “We will not know the answer to that until we find out who took her,” he said, “and where.” He suppressed a pang of guilt at the thought of his uncle’s possible involvement in the matter. Juliet would not be so grateful for his assistance when she learned the truth.

  “I would like to come see Alice,” she told him. “Would that be agreeable? Once she’s settled?”

  “Of course, you are most welcome to come visit the child,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to bring one of your cousins along.”

  He was about to issue an invitation for her to come that very afternoon, but was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Shelby and Lord Turlington, who rushed forward as if they had spent hours searching for her, rather than the quarter hour Juliet had likely been outside.

  “Where on earth have you been, Juliet?” Lady Shelby demanded, her frown directed at both Juliet and Deveril. “It is highly improper for you to be here alone with Lord Deveril. I would think a gel of your age would know better. And you, Lord Deveril, you should know better as well.”

  Alec stepped closer to Juliet, offering her his physical support if she had need of it.

  “Lady Shelby.” He bowed. “A conversation between friends in broad daylight can hardly be considered improper. I found Miss Shelby resting here and we kept one another company. You do your daughter a disservice to suggest otherwise.”

  Turlington stepped forward and offered Juliet his arm, which she had no choice but to accept.

  “Miss Shelby, I hope you are recovered,” he said, his gaze never leaving Deveril’s. Alec noted with annoyance Turlington’s possessive posture. “Come, let me show you Rickarby’s new work. It is dedicated to the Regent, you know.”

  That left Alec alone with Lady Shelby. He found himself inwardly amused. For all of his father’s and uncle’s bad behavior, he himself had never been warned off from any particular young lady. Quite the contrary, he often found himself being pursued by matchmaking mamas with designs on his title.

  “I do not know what sort of game you are playing with my daughter, my lord,” Lady Shelby said coolly. Her eyes, although the same color green as Juliet’s, were infinitely more calculating. “I thought at first that you must be using her as some sort of amusement. A man must grow weary of being fawned over constantly. I imagine her clumsy attentions must be refreshing when compared to more skilled compliments.”

  He said nothing, though his distaste for Juliet’s mother grew by multiple degrees.

  “But now,” she said, her expression speculative, “now, I believe you are up to something altogether more … sweet.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you’ve developed some sort of tendre for her,” she said baldly. “And I dislike telling you, as I realize how unlikely it is to have any gentleman show an interest in her given her … flaw, but I’m afraid Lord Shelby and I have already promised Juliet’s hand to someone else.”

  If this were true, Alec surmised, then no one had told Juliet about it.

  “I suppose you mean Turlington?” Alec felt a muscle in his jaw flex at the idea of Juliet being manhandled by one such as Turlington.

  “Of course.” Lady Shelby nodded. “I haven’t informed my daughter yet, of course. But she will do her duty. If nothing else Juliet is a biddable girl. And given the fact that she has little other chance at marriage, I believe she will be persuaded to accept him. That is, so long as you maintain a safe distance from her.”

  “And what makes you believe that I pose any danger to your plot?” He gazed intently at a speck of dust on his coat sleeve, refusing to let his adversary know how attuned he was to her response.

  “Oh, come now, Lord Deveril. I know the signs. At least when it comes to my daughter. She all but bursts into flames when you enter a room.”

  Though he was careful not to show it in any way, Alec inwardly cheered.

  But Lady Shelby’s next words dampened his triumph. “Do not think that I do not appreciate your condescension. She is far too plain for a high stickler like you. Why, you’ve got waistcoats that are prettier than my Juliet. But I must ask that you curtail these little tête-à-têtes with her. Because while he is handsome enough, I know perfectly well that Turlington cannot hold a candle to you when it comes to looks and charm. And make no mistake, Juliet will marry him eventually. It only remains to be seen whether she does so willingly or through coercion. It will be a kindness on your part if you will allow her the illusion of making the decision for herself.”

  And, thinking she’d made her point, Lady Shelby sashayed back through the side door and into the gallery within.

  Stunned into silence, Alec watched her go with a mixture of astonishment and contempt. If he were honest, he did feel a surge of triumph at Lady Shelby’s revelation that Juliet showed a preference for him. But that happiness was tempered by outrage on Juliet’s behalf.

  Did she r
eally have so little respect for Juliet’s wishes that she would force her into marriage with Turlington? Even if she were as plain as Lady Shelby said, and he was in definite disagreement with her views on the matter, there seemed little need to force Juliet into marriage. Unless, of course, Lady Shelby had some other motive for backing the match. Which, doubtless, she did.

  It was the only explanation for her pains to warn Deveril off.

  Any other mother of an unmarried daughter would eat Prinny’s pocket watch if it meant securing a viscount as a son-in-law. The fact that Lady Shelby was against the very idea meant that she had some other scheme up her elegant sleeve.

  Alec ran a weary hand over the back of his neck. He’d best visit his uncle sooner rather than later. The more he learned about his family’s responsibilities toward Mrs. Turner and little Alice, the sooner he would be able to set Juliet’s mind at rest. At least on that score.

  He’d consider how to prevent her mother from marrying her off to the loathsome Turlington later. For that he’d need assistance from Monteith and Winterson. He had little doubt that Cecily would find her aunt’s plans regarding Juliet’s matrimonial status objectionable. And Cecily with an objection was a force to be reckoned with.

  Four

  Alec ran his uncle to ground in his bachelor rooms at the Albany where he was looking much the worse for wear after a night spent at the gaming tables.

  “Come to ring a peal over my head, have you?” Roderick asked, his eyes narrowed against the anemic sunlight peeking through a chink in the drapes. Casually attired in a dressing gown and hunched over the small breakfast table, the older man scowled into his tea.

  Waving away the offer of refreshment from his uncle’s valet, who hovered nearby, and indicating that he should leave them alone, Alec surveyed his father’s youngest brother. “It is nothing to me if you wish to spend what little income you have in the pursuit of winnings that will never exceed your losses,” he said baldly.