The Reluctant Rake

by Jane Ashford

  “I’m sorry,” said Tom again, gradually getting his laughter under control.

  “I’m no chit of a girl,” declared Bess.

  Tom turned interested eyes upon her. “You don’t look much over sixteen,” he replied.

  “I’m eighteen!” But Bess’s eyes shifted from his.

  “Of course you are,” said Tom, his grin reappearing. “What are you going to do with her, Richard?”

  Sir Richard Beckwith’s temper snapped. “I haven’t the faintest notion,” he answered.

  Tom went off in another gale of laughter, throwing his head back and folding his arms over his chest.

  “Who’s there?” called a feminine voice from the front hall. “Tom, is that you?”

  Tom’s hilarity was abruptly cut off, and his head swiveled toward the kitchen door. “It’s Mama,” he said.

  “Of course it is,” said his brother with a sigh. “Because everything that can go wrong this evening will, apparently.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “Go and fob her off, since your noise has attracted her attention. I’ll keep Bess here.”

  “Right.” But even as Tom rose, the kitchen door swung open once again, and Lady Beckwith stepped through it, her bright green eyes lively with curiosity. She surveyed the tableau within for a moment, cocking her head as if trying to work out a sum. Her gaze finally came to rest on Bess.

  “Hello, Mama,” said Tom.

  “You should go to bed,” said Sir Richard at the same instant.

  Lady Beckwith looked from one to the other of them. “Go to bed?” she echoed. “Not just yet, I think. Tom, have you been in some mischief?”

  Her younger son looked deeply hurt. “I? Why do you assume it is I?”

  “Because it always is,” answered Lady Beckwith fondly.

  “Not this time. This is Richard’s scrape. He’s bought a girl!”

  “I beg your pardon!” Lady Beckwith’s astonished gaze shifted to Sir Richard.

  “Mama, I really do wish you would go to bed,” he said. “I will take care of this.”

  “You cannot expect me to disappear docilely upstairs after such a remark,” retorted his mother. “Is this one of Tom’s jokes?”

  “No. But he has put it, er, rather baldly.”

  Lady Beckwith examined both her sons. What she saw seemed to satisfy her, for the frown that had begun to mar her still beautiful face eased. “Is this the girl you have bought?” she asked Sir Richard.

  Tom started to laugh again, and his brother glared at him. “I suppose I must tell you the whole,” he said.

  “I think you must,” agreed Lady Beckwith.

  “Oh, lord!” exclaimed Bess. She flung herself into a chair again. Tom nearly choked.

  Sir Richard repeated the story, up to the point when he and Bess had reached the house.

  “I see,” said his mother as he paused. “Well, that was laudable of you, Richard, if a bit hasty. I don’t quite see—”

  “No,” interrupted Tom, “and you won’t either. Richard, you’ve left out the best part.”

  “Will you keep quiet,” was the reply.

  “What is the best part?” inquired Lady Beckwith, looking at both her sons in turn as if unsure whether to smile.

  Tom pointed at Bess. “She don’t want respectable work,” he said. “She wants to be set up as…er, that is…” He faltered under his mother’s cool gaze.

  “I see.” Lady Beckwith turned to Bess, who met her with defiance. “So, Richard, what do you intend to do?”

  “He won’t do anything,” declared Bess, standing again. “Because I won’t be staying around to be done to. I’m leaving.”

  “To go where?” demanded Sir Richard.

  “Back where I came from, I suppose. Thanks to you! Ah, I’m that angry I could hit the lot of you.”

  “You mustn’t go back,” said Sir Richard. His mother glanced at him with sudden concern. “We will find some place for you. Some acceptable place.”

  Bess eyed him with suspicion.

  “But where, Richard?” protested Lady Beckwith. “You cannot expect me to keep her here. I am as charitable as anyone, I hope, but it simply would not do.”

  “Of course not. At least, she must stay for one night. And then…”

  Tom and Lady Beckwith gazed at him.

  “I’ll think of something!” he finished.

  “You can’t make me stay,” said Bess.

  “Can I not? What about my two thousand guineas?”

  “Two thousand!” gasped Lady Beckwith.

  “I’ll return it,” said Bess. “Throw it right back in your face, I will!”

  “Yes? Including the half that was to go to the club?”

  Bess ground her teeth. “You’ve ruined everything!”

  “I will show you a place where you can sleep,” added Sir Richard. “And tomorrow we will decide what is to be done.”

  “I’ll run away,” declared Bess.

  “You will have no opportunity,” was his reply. “Come along.”

  “I’ll show her a room,” put in Lady Beckwith.

  “There’s no need for that, Mama. This is my problem.”

  “Is it?” Lady Beckwith eyed him narrowly, but he returned her gaze without wavering. “Nonetheless, I should like to take her.”

  Sir Richard shrugged. “Very well.”

  Bess, who had watched this byplay with great interest, now glanced from Sir Richard to his mother with renewed speculation. Her rebellion seemed muted for the moment. She picked up her cloak and moved forward. “Good night, then,” she said, brushing close to Sir Richard as she passed him.

  Lady Beckwith’s frown returned, but she said nothing, merely indicated that Bess should follow her.

  “But, Richard,” said Tom as the door closed behind them, “what are you going to do?”

  “That is what I must now consider,” his brother replied. “As yet, I have no idea.”

  Four

  Sir Richard Beckwith and Miss Julia Devere had arranged to go together to Vauxhall the following evening, accompanied by her parents and his family. It was to be an opportunity for all of them to become better acquainted, now that the engagement was a settled thing.

  Julia looked forward to the outing with mixed feelings. She was eager to see Sir Richard and reassure herself about his character. She would know, she told herself, when she met him face to face whether the story was true. But she was also apprehensive. What would she do, she wondered, if it were?

  Her parents were unaware of her dilemma; they never listened to gossip, and even if they had, there were many who found it more amusing to withhold such a tale from the principals, watching and snickering behind their hands as they carried on, oblivious to their notoriety.

  As for Sir Richard, he thought of putting off the meeting. The problem of Bess hung heavy on his hands, and he felt beset from all sides. His brother laughed at him, his mother gently reminded him that she could not keep a girl who had sold herself before numerous gentlemen of the ton in the Beckwith household, and the inevitability of exposure nagged as well. The longer Bess stayed, the more certain it was that someone would discover what he had done and spread the news. Sir Richard had no idea that his escapade was already one of the juiciest on-dits in London. Yet a strong desire to see Julia outweighed all these concerns. When Sir Richard thought of her, he felt a sudden lifting of his anxieties. Visions of her serene smile cheered him, and in the end he decided to defer his decision for a few hours and keep the appointment.

  Thus, of the group that gathered that night, only Sir George and Lady Devere were just as usual. The others met with varying degrees of self-consciousness and covert observation.

  Lady Beckwith, with her greater experience, handled it best. She devoted herself to the elder Deveres and left her sons to
entertain Julia.

  Thomas, who retained something of the boy about him at twenty-two, lost his teasing humor in Julia’s presence. It had not occurred to him before that the presence of Bess in their house might affect Julia; it did now, and he found it hard to meet her eyes.

  The engaged couple were thus left generally to themselves. They greeted each other with suppressed emotion. Julia, seeing Sir Richard, was at once convinced that Lord Fenton’s story was a cruel lie. She could not be so mistaken in his character. The happiness that welled up in her at this conclusion was difficult to contain; it kept breaking out in smiles and laughter and made her light-green eyes sparkle.

  Sir Richard, too, felt happy. Everything about Julia pleased him, and tonight her well-ordered beauty and perfect manners seemed particularly captivating in contrast to the upheaval that had intruded into his life.

  They came to Vauxhall by water, admiring the spectacle of colored lanterns among the trees from the boat and disembarking at the landing to join the groups strolling along the broad avenues. Sir Richard had taken a box for the evening, and when the older members of the party were settled there, he suggested a walk, and Julia quickly agreed. She took his arm, and they started off together under the benevolent gaze of her parents and the more uncertain scrutiny of the Beckwiths.

  “A fine night,” said Sir Richard.

  “Yes. It is wonderfully warm.”

  “The moon is rising. There.” He indicated a soft glow on the eastern horizon.

  “A full moon tonight, I think.”

  Sir Richard agreed, and they strolled on in silence.

  It was not, however, the silence of unease or lack of words. It was a delightful, comfortable silence that the two of them had discovered almost as soon as they met. Richard and Julia, together, somehow called up a private world that enclosed and nurtured them. When they were alone, this atmosphere rose about them and made each feel content and happy. The annoyances of daily life dropped away; they simply did not think of them. And when they did speak, they were in perfect agreement.

  They walked on, each conscious of the other as their shoulders brushed or the pressure of Julia’s hand on Richard’s arm shifted minutely. He looked down at her, thinking how lovely she was in green. And as if he had spoken, Julia raised her eyes. Their footsteps slowed in unison for a moment, then continued as before. Neither was aware of the stares that followed them along the path, or the whispers and raised eyebrows they elicited.

  “Here,” said Sir Richard, steering Julia into a side path that wove between high flowering hedges.

  “Oh, the scent!” she exclaimed. “Verbena. Isn’t it exquisite?”

  He nodded, and led her on. At the end of the path, they came to a tiny pillared temple with a domed roof, gleaming white among the lanterns. They stepped up and stood within it, the hum of the Vauxhall crowds seeming far behind them now.

  “Look,” said Richard, and Julia followed his gesture.

  The moon had lifted above the horizon and hung huge and golden before them, seemingly close enough to touch. Its light was strong enough to throw shadows, and it felt almost liquid as it poured down over the fragrant bushes around them.

  “Oh,” breathed Julia. “I feel as if I had strayed into fairyland.”

  “Yes,” murmured Richard. He moved slightly, and Julia turned to gaze up at him. Naturally, as if they had done it a hundred times, his arms slid around her waist and hers along his arms to his shoulders. Richard bent his head and kissed her softly.

  The result startled them both. The kiss swept them up as it grew harder and more passionate. Richard, stirred to his depths, tightened his arms and pulled her close against his body. Julia, taken unaware by a flood of new feelings, yielded gladly, and laced her arms about his neck.

  Time, sound, thought stopped as they clung. Their private world was suddenly extended in a direction neither had foreseen. Richard showered kisses on her cheeks and brows, and down her neck to her bare shoulders. Julia’s fingers tightened in his blond hair.

  The laugh of a woman in a nearby path separated them abruptly, and the tide of desire washed back upon itself. They stood apart, breathing quickly and gazing at one another. Though as an engaged couple they had more latitude than before, this had gone beyond the limits of propriety, and neither Richard nor Julia was accustomed to such adventures. Too, their senses were still swimming, and their surroundings retained an air of unreality.

  “I…should beg your pardon,” murmured Richard at last.

  Julia shook her head.

  He scanned her heart-shaped face, fully illuminated by the moonlight, and was abruptly filled to bursting with happiness. He couldn’t keep from smiling. “Well, that’s good, then,” he added.

  Julia bit her lower lip, then returned his smile. In the next instant, they were both laughing, a little embarrassed, but mainly giddy with joy.

  Sir Richard offered his arm again, and Julia took it, though this simple act was now wholly different than it had been earlier. They walked together back toward the boxes, from time to time meeting each other’s eyes and smiling again.

  “Had a pleasant stroll?” asked Sir George Devere when they arrived. Julia sternly repressed a giggle. “We ordered supper. Will you have some ham, my dear?”

  “Thank you, Papa,” she replied, and sank into the chair Sir Richard held for her.

  Lady Beckwith surveyed them with anxious eyes. Unlike the rest of her party, she was well aware of the unusual attention their group was receiving. The story of Richard’s visit to the Chaos Club was known, she was certain. And though a small part of her was amused at this aberration in a son she had sometimes found ever so slightly stuffy, a far greater part was distressed and concerned. The Deveres were not the sort to understand or overlook such a thing. Indeed, though she liked Julia very well, and could see that her son was happy in his choice, she thought the girl would break it off at once should she hear of Bess Malone. And she would hear; some well-wisher would see to that. What could she do to save the situation? she wondered.

  “Lady Beckwith and I have been discussing the wedding,” said Julia’s mother. “She thinks our idea of holding it in the country a good one.”

  “London weddings have become so common,” agreed Lady Beckwith. She had grasped this plan at once, for it would remove the Deveres from town, and the gossips, most quickly.

  “I should like to be married at home,” said Julia.

  “Let us consider it settled, then. Six weeks from now, in the country. We must start to work at once, Julia. We have a great deal to do.” Lady Devere did not sound displeased at the prospect.

  Julia met Sir Richard’s eyes, and they exchanged a tender smile. Lady Beckwith, seeing it, groaned.

  Five

  The following morning, it was only too obvious that a solution to the problem of Bess must be found. She flatly refused to spend another night in the attic bedroom next to the housemaids where she had been placed. Moreover, the upper servants clearly didn’t believe that Bess was a cousin of Sir Richard’s gamekeeper, which was the story they had been told. Lady Beckwith, knowing that the gossip of the ton would spread rapidly to its servitors, insisted that the girl must go before scandal broke over all their heads.

  Sir Richard agreed. But he remained at a loss about where to send Bess and how to settle her future. He’d taken on this responsibility, and though the girl’s refusal to enter respectable employment had temporarily stopped him, he did not think of abdicating it. Both his high principles and his stubbornness prevented that. Still, he had wracked his brain without result. He could think of no plan that would satisfy both Bess Malone and the proprieties.

  Finally, at breakfast that morning, when his mother asked him yet again what he meant to do, he replied, “I shall get her rooms, I suppose.”

  Lady Beckwith choked on her tea.

  “Only until I can make some more p
ermanent arrangement, of course, Mama.”

  “Why not simply give the girl some money and send her on her way?” was the reply. “You have tried your best to help her, and she refuses.” Lady Beckwith was not an unfeeling woman, but the sight of her eldest son teetering on the brink of ruin hardened her heart. If Richard threw away his chance of happiness over this girl, she would never forgive him, she thought.

  The object of her concern looked slightly shocked. “I cannot do that. I must see her creditably settled.”

  “Even if she doesn’t wish to be?” answered his mother, goaded.

  “She is in no position to judge.” Sir Richard’s tone was mildly reproving, and Lady Beckwith gave up. She had often in the past been grateful for her son’s sense of duty; now, she wished that he did not so resemble his deceased father. If only he were more like Tom, she thought, or myself, we could laugh and forget this.

  When Bess was informed that she would be given lodgings in town, she clapped her hands and gave a little skip of joy. “I shall need some fine new clothes as well,” she declared.

  Sir Richard frowned. “There is no question of that. You must understand—”

  “I can’t stay in London with only this one shabby dress,” interrupted Bess. “It’s a disgrace.”

  “That scarcely matters, since you will not be going out. You will not—”

  “You mean to make me a prisoner?” Bess’s blue eyes flashed, and she tossed her head. “I’ll run away. I won’t be locked up in some dingy room. No more than I’ll be a housemaid. It’s ruining my life you are.”

  “I am attempting to save you from ruin,” retorted Sir Richard angrily.

  “What do you know about it?”

  They faced one another, both incensed, Sir Richard’s gray eyes adamant against Bess’s flaming blue ones.

  “If I can’t have new clothes and go about a little, I’ll find some other gentleman to give them to me.”

  “This is blackmail!”

  Bess shrugged.

  Sir Richard turned his back and stared out the window. This had become more than a moral question; he refused to be bested by a chit of a girl. But he could see no way of forcing her to his will without the possibility of a greater scandal than the one he sought to avoid by removing her from his house. “Very well,” he said through clenched teeth. “A gown or two.”