The Infamous Rakes

by Amanda Scott

  There was nothing much to say to that, and the conversation, in deference to Lady Adlam’s wishes, became more desultory, but Felicia’s mood did not improve. After Lady Augusta had gone home, Lady Adlam retired to her boudoir to nap, and Adlam took himself off to Oakley and Campion’s to learn more about the wine being shipped from Lisbon.

  Shortly afterward Tom came in to inform Felicia that if Freddy was to have even a small chance of continuing his improved behavior he must be taken outside to vent some energy, and she readily agreed to let him take the two younger children to sail boats on the Serpentine in Hyde Park. Glad to have one worry off her mind, she retired to the drawing room alone to attend to her correspondence, but managed to write only a few sentences before her mind drifted to other subjects, then fixed itself upon one tall, sadly irresponsible subject in particular.

  She could no longer even attempt to deny her attraction to Crawley. He had dominated her thoughts from the moment of their first meeting, but although she had responded to his cheerful good humor—and to his moodier moments as well—she had not felt as if he encompassed her whole world until the second time he kissed her. Only then had she realized how much he affected her.

  But it was useless to harbor such feelings. Not only was he an irresponsible fortune hunter but a fickle one as well. She repeated these sad warnings fiercely to herself, as she had done over and over during the long, sleepless, tearful night. Not easily given to tears, she had not wept long, and her sobs had been carefully muffled by her pillow so that no one else might hear her, but undeniably she had cried a little. Not for the first time, she wished there were someone in whom she might confide, someone who could explain her seemingly inescapable feelings for a man who was the antithesis of any she had ever thought she might love.

  He was selfish and capricious, and thought he had only to tell other people to change in order to make them do so. Moreover, he had shown that he could be thoughtless and cruel, even to children. But he was kind, too, and warm, and when he looked at her or touched her, she felt protected and cared for in ways she had never felt before. He had said she was beautiful, and he had come to respect at least some of her opinions. Moreover, she had begun to turn to him more and more for the advice she had once scorned to accept. And although that was not enough, she feared that she had come to love him.

  She realized that even if she had a confidante she would not know how to confide in one, for even as a child she had kept her private fears and troubles to herself, and she knew no other way. The only person to whom she had even partially revealed her inner thoughts was Crawley himself.

  Not until she felt tears in her eyes did she realize she had succumbed to self-pity, and fight to collect herself. It was just as he had said the previous night. People did not really change, and it was foolish to sit, ignoring her tasks and wishing he might be different. It was useless too, however, to think she would succeed with her present correspondence, and having neither the heart nor the energy to leave the house to pay calls, she had nearly decided to go tell Mrs. Heath that they would, after all, turn out the linen cabinets, when Dawlish was announced.

  Her mood improved at once, for not only could she now turn her thoughts to someone else’s troubles, but she had had no opportunity yet to speak privately with him about his. He had not attended the play on Thursday, and the previous evening she had seen him only in company, most particularly with Belinda. When he was shown in, he looked harassed again, and it occurred to her that he had been looking so rather often of late.

  He took a seat at once when she invited him to do so but refused refreshment, saying bluntly, “I need advice, ma’am, and I thought it best to come to you.”

  Gratified that someone truly believed her advice was sound, she smiled encouragingly and said, “It is Belinda, is it not? I saw you dancing with her last night.”

  “Obstinate chit,” he growled. “Couldn’t stand that preening nonsense anymore, so I took her aside and tried to put a flea in her ear. Her own brother won’t attend to the problem, and she is used to talking things over with me, so I thought—particularly since she thinks I want to marry her—that I’d have a try, but it only made her angry. Danced with me once after that, before Miss Theo threw her temper tantrum, but only because I refused to let her beg off and she couldn’t bear to be seen sitting out. She wouldn’t speak a word to me. What am I to do, Miss Adlam?”

  “You said you would talk with her,” Felicia reminded him. “Not to scold, but to discover her true feelings toward you.”

  “I know, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. First off, Ned would murder me, though I think I can bring him around in time—especially since his own affairs are in better trim—but I doubt that she will agree to any such thing now, and I’m not the man to put my head in a mangle for nothing.”

  “Does Lord Crawley have his affairs in better trim?” Felicia asked, forgetting Belinda instantly when her attention fastened on a more interesting point of Dawlish’s speech. “I must suppose he won money at the Newmarket races, then. Did he, sir?”

  He glanced at her as if he had not really been attending, then said, “Ned, you mean? Newmarket? Oh, yes, he did in fact. Dashed amazing thing. A mare named Tuneful, who has bolted every race she ever ran before, beat Popinjay, who’s never been beat before. The odds were enormous, and Ned won about a thousand pounds.”

  “I see.” Felicia sighed and forced her mind back to his problem. “I do not know what to tell you, sir, if you cannot bring yourself to declare your feelings to Belinda. If she thinks you took her to task out of brotherly affection—”

  “I took her to task,” he snapped, “because she has no business going about pretending to be as condescending and arrogant as your idiotish sister when she is nothing of—”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Dawlish,” Theo said from the doorway.

  He spun around in his chair, dismay written all over his cherubic features, and gasped, “Miss Theo! I’d no notion you were anywhere about. Oh, look here, I’m dashed sorry. Never meant a word of it, I promise you.”

  Looking wan and red-eyed, she shook her head, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind her. “Don’t apologize,” she said bleakly. “I have been utterly scathing to Belinda. I must have told half a dozen people that she was behaving badly, but now that my eyes have been opened, I see with perfect clarity what you all saw before. She was imitating me, was she not? What I disliked in her are the very things I do myself.”

  “Now, I never meant that,” Dawlish said desperately. Looking at Felicia, he said, “Tell her, ma’am. Tell her I’d never had said a word if I’d thought she would hear—No, dash it, that ain’t what I mean either. Oh, what a muddle.”

  “I am glad you have come downstairs, Theo,” Felicia said, feeling sorry for Dawlish and striving for his sake to introduce a note of normality into the conversation. “The house has been very dull this afternoon. Dawlish has been our only caller.”

  He turned redder than ever, and Theo said, “There is no use trying to wrap this in cotton wool, Felicia. You always try to make things easier for everyone, but I am not a fool, and I begin to see myself much more clearly than I like.”

  “No one said you were a fool, my dear.”

  “No, but you all allowed me to behave like one. It is very lowering to think that Aunt Augusta was the only one who tried to stop me before Richard made me see myself as others do. He did, you know. He paints only truth, and his truth was painfully plain to see in my portrait. It was a brilliant painting, and I have written to him to apologize for spoiling it.”

  Felicia did not know what to say, but irrepressibly Dawlish murmured, “Ought to apologize for calling him a painter. Dashed if I don’t think Dickon hated that even more than the rest.”

  The comment got a wan smile from Theo. “I know that. I apologized for the whole. I wrote that I had spoken out of anger and that I know he is a great artist, better than anyone else.”

  Felicia said, “You really ought n
ot to have written to him at all, dear. It was most improper, and if anyone else should learn that you did so, it will only add to the scandal.”

  “I don’t care about that. It was dreadfully difficult to write to him, but I cannot bear for him to be angry with me, and so I did it, and I sent Peters to take it to him straightaway so that I could not change my mind.”

  “Good gracious, Theo, sending your footman to Vyne! People will think you were arranging a clandestine meeting, or worse.”

  But Dawlish, in his continued attempt to make amends, instantly took Theo’s side when she insisted that, since she rather than Vyne had been in the wrong, she had been obliged to write, and Felicia suddenly found herself wishing she could write a similar note to Crawley, apologizing for her own hasty words the night before. But she knew she could not. Not only would it be improper, but she did not think she could bring herself to apologize for speaking what was, after all, only the truth.

  She realized the discussion between the other two had taken a sudden, more hazardous turn when Theo snapped, “It was not at all dreadful, was it, Felicia?”

  Felicia said, “Don’t speak to me so shrilly, Theo. I missed what was said, so I cannot answer your question.”

  Dawlish said, “You will have to agree with me, ma’am. I said that it was a dreadful picture to have painted of her.”

  Felicia, caught off her guard, glanced warily at Theo, but the younger girl still looked indignant. “Do you not think it was dreadful, my dear?”

  “It told you, it was brilliant,” Theo said. “I saw that at once. If it had been a portrait of someone we did not know, everyone would have exclaimed at how miraculous it was that any artist could get so much personality into a single picture. Richard would have won the gold medal, no matter what anyone else entered. And I spoiled that for him.” Silent tears welled into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  Felicia got up at once and gave her a handkerchief, “Dry your tears, Theo. You must not distress Lord Dawlish.”

  “But I feel like crying,” Theo wailed, sniffing loudly now, “and I warn you, I shall cry even harder Monday morning when the names of the medal winners are printed in the Times.”

  She refused to be consoled, particularly since there was no response whatever to her apology. There was no word from Crawley either, although Felicia tried not to think too much about him, and devoted her efforts—unsuccessfully, for the most part—to soothing her sister. However, Monday morning, when she entered the morning room to discover Lord Adlam reading his newspaper aloud to Theo, she saw no tears, only astonishment.

  Adlam said, “Upon my word, Felicity, that fellow who painted your sister’s portrait has won a medal for it from the Royal Academy. Thought it had been ruined, but the chap must have been able to repair the damage, for only listen to what I just read to Theo: ‘The distinguished portrait artist, Sir Richard Vyne, has been awarded a special gold medal by the Royal Academy for a portrait described to us by the president of the Academy as being so unique that one must see it to enjoy it. Therefore the Times and other London newspapers have agreed, to forgo printing its description. The Exhibition opens this very day at noon, so our readers may see this unusual work for themselves. Record crowds are expected to attend.’ I should say they will,” Adlam said, beaming at Theo, “with such a portrait as yours to see, my dear, I shall go myself, I daresay. Haven’t seen it yet, have I?”

  “No, Papa,” Theo said, looking perplexed, “but I do not believe it can be my portrait. The paper does not say so, after all, and it may well be someone else’s. To be sure, Richard has not said anything about anyone else sitting for him, but he must have other subjects. This picture must be one of them.”

  Adlam was clearly disappointed but cheered up again when it occurred to him that he need not vie with the crowds expected at the exhibition opening merely to see someone else’s portrait. He bade them both a good day and retired to his bookroom.

  Theo bit her lip, turning urgently to Felicia. “I must go to the exhibition, Felicia. I have got to see that portrait.”

  “Perhaps he did a second one of you,” Felicia suggested.

  “Perhaps. I don’t know which would be worse,” Theo confessed, “to see my true self displayed to all of London or to see that he had won with someone else as his subject.”

  Remembering the paper’s recommendation, Felicia said, “I do not think we ought to go alone, Theo, not to the opening at all events. There is a huge crowd expected.”

  “All the more reason to go early,” Theo said grimly. “It is nearly half past ten now. I cannot wait until I hear from someone else, Felicia. I must see the thing for myself, today. If you do not go with me, I swear I will go alone.”

  “No, no, you must not do that. Perhaps we ought to tell Papa it might be your portrait, after all, so that he will go with us. Or perhaps Aunt Augusta would accompany us.”

  “No! I don’t want Papa, and I simply cannot bear the thought of Aunt Augusta preaching maxims at me if Richard has painted more of my faults for everyone to see. Moreover, she would not go without Major Brinksby or some other gentleman.”

  This was unanswerable, and in fact another solution had occurred to Felicia, one that might solve her own problem as well. She said, “Would you object as much to Crawley’s escort?”

  “No, not at all,” Theo said instantly, beaming, “but are you expecting him to call? He has not done so since the ball.”

  “No, but perhaps I could send a message, asking him if he would be so kind as to—”

  Theo hugged her. “Do it.”

  “I feel odd even thinking of such a thing.”

  “Piffle, I am sure Aunt Augusta does that sort of thing all the time. She would not encourage Major Brinksby to call upon her often, so she must send him an occasional invitation, for he frequently escorts her to the theater or the opera. How else would she manage it?”

  Felicia allowed herself to be talked into writing her note with what she felt must be truly suspicious ease, but Theo was too full of her own concerns to pay any heed to Felicia’s. Excusing herself to change her dress, she left the room.

  Felicia rang for a footman and sent him for writing materials, then spent the intervening moments trying to compose a proper but nonchalant request. She was interrupted in this endeavor by Freddy, who erupted into the morning room with a wide, expectant grin on his face.

  “Today is the day,” he announced happily.

  “Day?” Felicia said. Seeing his happiness crumple, she remembered and said in dismay, “Oh, Freddy, darling, I’m dreadfully sorry, but we cannot go to the Tower today.”

  “You promised!”

  “I know I did, but something of greater importance has come up and I must go with Aunt Theo to the Royal Academy Exhibition rather earlier than we had meant to go.”

  “Oh. Well, I’d rather see the beasts at the Tower, but I suppose the exhibition will be interesting.”

  “Oh, Freddy, I know I said I would take the three of you, but now I do not think—” In the face of his dawning disappointment, she changed her mind and said, “Very well, but you will have to be a good boy, because there is to be a vast crowd, and so I am asking Lord Crawley to lend us his escort.”

  “I don’t mind. Crawley’s a great gun if only you don’t put him in a pelter. Tom’s gone out, but can Sara Ann go, too?”

  “May she,” Felicia said, correcting him automatically, but shrinking from the thought of having two children to deal with as well as Theo, whose behavior on this, even more than on most occasions, was certain to be unpredictable. “I do not like to say ‘no’ when I am allowing you to go,” she began, only to be ruthlessly interrupted.

  “She won’t mind,” Freddy said at once, then added with a mischievous look over his shoulder as he turned toward the door, “Only asked ’cause I thought I ought to, but it will be famous if only I get to go. Makes up for being left behind when Tom and Sara Ann got to go before.”

  “You deserved that,” Felicia sai
d, but she spoke to air, for he had gone.

  The footman brought her writing materials, and she sat down to her task, wondering what on earth Crawley would think to get such a request after the way they had parted, but hoping fervently that he would not deny her his escort.

  When Felicia’s note was delivered, Crawley was not alone. Taking it from the footman’s salver, he grinned at Dawlish, who reclined at his ease in a chair by the library hearth, with a glass of Madeira in hand, and said, “I recognize this handwriting, but I confess I never expected to see in on a billet addressed to me.”

  “Been meaning to speak to you about that,” Dawlish said, sitting up straighter. “Only meant to help, you know, but—”

  “Spare me your assistance, Mongrel.” Crawley said, breaking the delicate seal and unfolding the single page. “You nearly always make matters worse when you attempt to help. Remember the excellent aid you rendered to Thorne? Nearly got him married to the wrong woman. Now, what is this she’s written? Ah, I see, the exhibition. Theo must have seen the morning papers. I cannot imagine what ails Adlam that he must allow females to read what cannot be good for them.”

  “What is it?” Dawlish demanded.

  “Miss Adlam, who spends her time trying to please everyone on this earth except those who deserve it, requires an escort for herself, her sister, and Master Freddy Adlam to the exhibition because she understands that rather too many persons are expected to attend it to make it safe for two unescorted females and a child. They should stay at home then. Sensible thing to do.”

  Dawlish shook his head and looked wise. “No use to expect Miss Theo to stay at home if she means to go out.”