Redeeming the Roguish Rake

by Liz Tyner

  The man next to Davis glared at Fox. ‘You owe me.’

  He turned to the disgruntled eyes. ‘How do I owe you? I don’t think I’ve ever proposed to your wife. I may have danced with her once, but…’

  ‘No.’ The word had the finality of both letters. ‘You never danced with her. She was feeling quite ignored. I bought her some emeralds. And I’ve been telling her she’s the centre of my heart.’ He shrugged. ‘If you’d danced with her, she might not have missed the proposal. I keep having to reassure her it was an oversight on your part.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘It was an oversight. Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ He nodded. He didn’t remember the woman at all.

  ‘Are you going to ask her now? There’s a soirée coming up.’

  ‘I can’t propose now. It might hurt my—Rebecca.’

  ‘And who might she be married to?’ Havisham asked.

  ‘Me.’

  The man choked, snuff trickling down his jaw.

  A high-pitched voice from behind Fox snarled out, ‘The canine has been penned?’

  Foxworthy turned to see Millicent Peabody’s husband standing behind him. Peabody’s white hair curled at his ears, The lace on his cuffs had length enough to cover both hands and accentuate the longish fingernails Peabody favoured.

  Fox smiled, his attention completely focused on Peabody.

  ‘Without the visit from your hired toughs, I would never have met Rebecca.’

  Peabody’s gaze didn’t waver. ‘I heard you were beaten, but I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I know you did.’

  Peabody’s lip hooked up enough so that his smile almost touched his ear. ‘Foxworthy. I didn’t do it. So soon after you proposed to my wife? They would have looked to me first and asked no questions. I would likely have hanged for killing a peer’s son. I’m a merchant and have few friends in society. It would have been a quick trial and a snap of the neck for me. I am fortunate you lived.’ His lips straightened. ‘Fortunate, but not happy to see the sight of you.’ His eyes flicked over Foxworthy’s face. ‘I would have done a better job on that nose.’

  ‘They said your name.’

  ‘Would they say their own?’ Peabody raised his hand, scratching his ear. ‘You’ll have to find someone else to congratulate for your meeting with your wife. I had nothing to do with it. In fact, I have you to thank for making me realise how much I dislike my wife. I sent her away the next day. I’d been thinking about separating from her and, when you proposed, it made the way easy for me. I accused her of carrying on behind my back. Now I have no one to please but myself.’

  He bowed to Foxworthy. ‘I was angry at first, but then I realised what a favour you did for me.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you.’ Then he turned. ‘Not that I mind one hair that you received a beating.’ He snorted as he walked away. ‘You did me such a favour, Foxworthy.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The town house didn’t look that elaborate from the outside in the night air, but when Rebecca stepped inside, the butler’s eyebrows rose to his powdered wig. If the maid hadn’t travelled with her, she doubted her word would have been trusted enough to be allowed inside the house.

  In moments, she was shown to a sitting room where a woman held a dog so fluffy that it yelped before Rebecca realised it wasn’t a pillow.

  Foxworthy’s mother rose and naturally assumed a portrait pose. Lamplight bathed her and she sparkled. Rebecca didn’t know if glass beads were sewn into her dress or real jewels, but the woman’s gown twinkled as she moved.

  She glanced at the woman’s head, expecting to see a tiara, and more lights winked back at her. As she moved closer, Rebecca counted five jewelled pins resting in the woman’s hair, not truly holding it in place, but ornamenting it.

  His mother’s eyes dripped gratitude. ‘Dearling,’ she said. ‘I will be for ever in your debt for saving my son. I want your happiness above my own and I welcome you into my heart. I did wish to be with my son on his wedding day, but…’ She sighed. ‘I could not leave London.’ She shrugged. ‘Not to mention that my husband did write and tell me it was to be a very simple affair as he didn’t expect our son to attend.’

  She raised her brows. ‘He did. Didn’t he? Fenton did show up?’

  Rebecca nodded.

  Air whooshed from her lips and she coughed. ‘Forgive me for being a little ill. The maid says this sickness has visited each of the servants in turn and now they’ve all recovered, but I’m the one sniffling.’

  The countess looked at Rebecca and took both Rebecca’s arms in her cool hands. ‘And you are the sainted girl who found my son and kept him alive. You will have my gratitude for ever.’ She sighed deeply, stepped back and appraised Rebecca. ‘My husband wrote that Fenton proposed to the vicar’s daughter and that you’re like a daughter to him.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sure his father pushed the two of you together. He thinks he knows best for everyone.’ She shut her eyes, shaking her head. ‘I will always have a place in my heart for the earl and an oath or two.’ She gauged Rebecca’s response. ‘Did he mention me?’

  ‘The earl usually speaks with my father. I have hardly talked with him recently.’

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s good. I see him every other year or so. But we are getting to an age where I suppose we should be together more. Especially if there might be grandchildren about.’ Her eyes lingered on Rebecca’s stomach. ‘Dare I get my hopes up that it is the reason you wed?’

  ‘No.’ Rebecca felt her cheeks warm. ‘I’m not expecting a babe.’

  Then her eyes turned to Rebecca. ‘When my son married, I just assumed there would be a child on the way as I couldn’t really see him marrying for any other reason.’ She leaned her head towards Rebecca. ‘For as many times as he’s proposed I would have expected him to marry long before now.’ Then her face brightened as much as her gown. ‘He was waiting for you.’

  Rebecca wasn’t sure about that.

  ‘If I had known you were going to arrive today, I would have planned a welcome. You must meet the entire family. Particularly my sister. She thinks her sons walk on clouds because they married while my Fenton was…well…proposing.’ She held her chin held high. ‘And he married a vicar’s daughter. He always has to cut a bit of a splash. This will show my dear sister who is always boasting about her three sons being so perfect.’ She shrugged. ‘My nephews are boast-worthy, I admit. But I expect Fenton to outdo them and my nephews did marry suitable—well, mostly suitable women. That Beatrice is a bit unhinged in my opinion.’

  ‘She’s quite nice.’

  ‘If you say so. Took a parasol or a cane or some sort of object to her first husband’s carriage and nearly demolished it, I heard. She’s a bit impetuous, like my Fenton—’ Her eyes widened. ‘Not that he owns a parasol or cane. But he does have some frightful-looking gloves.’ Her brows furrowed. ‘Have you seen them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Burn them if you do see them. I told him no one has ever died from wearing a pair of black or white gloves.’

  Rebecca swallowed. She’d never seen any other colour of gloves on a man.

  ‘You seem perfect for Fenton. Much better than that—that one tart who chased him round the room at his first soirée. She was fast on her feet and faster on her back.’ Her mouth made a perfect bow and the whites of her eyes enlarged, then she lowered her face and her voice, but only to give emphasis. ‘If not for the misfortune of the old duchess dying suddenly and leaving behind a very stirred-up widower, that scheming harlot would have lured my boy straight into marriage. I tried to tell him.’

  Then she moved her head sideways almost to her own shoulder and wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s not as though I didn’t do almost the exact same thing to his own father—though he wasn’t my first choice—but I was much younger and prettier, and the earl was old enough to know better.’ She sighed. ‘Men.’

  When her mother-in-law blinked, Rebecca knew she was to say something, but she wasn’t sure quite what.

&n
bsp; She grasped at the first words that she could find. ‘I was hoping you might be able to give me advice on how I might do charitable works to help others.’

  ‘Charity?’ The countess paused and put the dog onto the sofa. He jumped to the floor. ‘Charity? That’s for less fortunate people.’ Then she straightened her back and smiled. ‘You really don’t have to help others. It’s not a requirement to be a countess.’ Her nose pointed straight at Rebecca. ‘The babies are necessary, though. Don’t forget that. Very important. One must either produce them or accept responsibility for it.’

  ‘Charity?’ Rebecca repeated.

  The countess paused. ‘I do know a seamstress who would be grateful for extra work.’ She tapped her chin.

  ‘Perhaps…someone in need?’ Rebecca asked.

  Foxworthy’s mother reached to a bowl on the side table and took out a biscuit and held it out. The dog jumped back to the sofa, sniffed, then crunched down the food.

  ‘Well, my dear. I don’t know of the seamstress’s fortunes, but she is looking stooped.’ She beamed. ‘We cannot just let our funds sit around and grow dusty. Where is the charity in that?’ The countess raised her head. ‘I always told Fenton that whomever he married would not be good enough for him. But that was because I expected him to marry one of those…’ She leaned forward and whispered a word Rebecca had never heard before. She straightened her back. ‘I never expected him to marry an innocent. Not unless he was somehow trapped.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Tell me truthfully, did my husband somehow orchestrate this? It would be just like something he’d do.’

  ‘The earl did rather wish for the marriage.’

  ‘My husband does like to meddle. Goodness knows he’s tried to interfere in my life enough times.’ She picked up the dog and brushed her nose close to his.

  ‘Charity?’ She sniffed and waggled her head. ‘I suppose you were raised by quite a strict mother.’ She stood straight. She paused. ‘Charity.’ She shivered in happiness. ‘The word does make one sound rather benevolent and would look good in the newspaper if one was not too incautious and did not help people of too-low quality.’

  Rebecca nodded. ‘I would be happy if you’d help me shop for a few things. I’m used to having neighbours and here I know no one.’

  His mother looked at the dog, loosening her hold. ‘If you’re sure… Oh, I simply could not. I simply could not intrude so. Unless you really wished it.’ Her eyes brightened in hope.

  ‘I’m sure Foxworthy will be pleased.’

  ‘Don’t you call him Fenton?’

  ‘I don’t think he likes the name.’

  She frowned. ‘Well, I can understand that. When he misbehaved, he was called Fenton. His tutor called him Fenton. But that was only when he was young. Surely it can’t matter now. And I’m sure he expects you to call him such in private.’

  ‘No. He doesn’t want me to.’

  ‘Well, you know better than I on that. Most of what I know about him I’ve found out from the papers.’ She indicated a portfolio on the table.

  Foxworthy’s mother paused, looking down at her dog. ‘Forgive me. I must take Squiggles outside. I don’t think he can wait until the maid arrives.’ She called over her shoulder, ‘Please make yourself at home. And feel free to look at the book.’ She nodded her head to the portfolio.

  An oblong book took up most of the space on the wood. The book creaked when Rebecca pulled open the cover. Newspaper pages had been affixed to the paper.

  The stories started with a yellowed page mentioning the earl’s marriage. A few soirées were mentioned. The death of the earl and countess’s daughter earned only a sentence. Rebecca’s father had told her that the earl’s daughter had died only days after birthing a babe that had been much too small to survive.

  She turned the pages, seeing story after story of Fox’s exploits.

  A later clipping told of his cousin Andrew’s father and of a child born outside the marriage.

  More and more was written about Foxworthy proposing to married women. Stories of him racing horses, but riding backwards. Of a man having to be restrained from pummelling him after Fox proposed to the wife.

  Then the stories turned to mentions of Beatrice and her painting of his cousin Andrew, including an engraving likeness of him with only a leaf for covering. A mention of Andrew and Beatrice’s wedding—only they called her the Beast. A caricature of her at the marriage, beautifully dressed, but with a handprint on her bottom. Andrew had tufts on his ears in that one. Stories of Beatrice selling her art to help people in need.

  Yet another proposal by Foxworthy to a married woman.

  The duke, Fox’s cousin, marrying a woman he’d loved since his youth.

  Another story about Fox proposing to a married woman.

  Footsteps sounded and she looked up, and up, straight into the eyes of her husband.

  She shut the portfolio, feeling as if she’d been caught stealing from the poor box.

  His lips turned up. Her inner guilt turned instantly into the feeling of being misdirected. She wondered if it was really fair to count a smile as a lie.

  ‘I see you found your way to my mother’s house. How remiss of me not to bring you. Please accept my request for forgiveness.’ He said the right things and perhaps he meant them, somehow. And his eyes did remain on her, but he wasn’t looking at her the same way her parents had looked at each other.

  ‘Of course. No need to even mention it.’ She heard her voice, but it didn’t even sound right to her.

  ‘I’m pleased you understand.’

  ‘I’ve been reading about…you.’ She hoped her eyes weren’t the same as his, but that would be expecting a lot from two little brown dots above a nose.

  That caused a flicker of something—she didn’t quite know what.

  ‘I’ve managed to keep my name in the papers.’

  ‘When you proposed to me…was it habit?’

  The charmer in him disappeared. ‘Habits are not usually considered good things.’ His face blocked further questions.

  She opened the book again, turning a page. She didn’t like the stories. She closed the book and stood. She might as well leave if they were going to stay in a room stuffed with silence.

  Then his mother rushed in the doorway. She held out her arms, thin bangles glittering along her wrists. The dog scampered behind her, then stopped and barked at Foxworthy.

  ‘Son. You’re home. At last.’ His mother rushed forward, taking his shoulders in her hands, holding him for a brief second. He stepped back, but his lips tilted up. The dog moved quickly into the space in front of the countess and padded at her skirt. She stepped back and lifted the ball of fluff into her arms.

  ‘When you wrote to tell me that you’d been scarred, I was devastated. And now I see how truly bad it is. We will get through this, son.’

  Rebecca took a swift step sideways, accidentally jostling Fox’s side. He put a hand out, capturing her waist, steadying her with a quick pat. And just like that, he’d frozen her in place with a warmth she couldn’t leave. And she wasn’t even sure she liked him.

  His mother gazed at Fox, then she swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry that your face was damaged. You look so rough, but you are still so precious in my heart.’ She clasped the dog closer and the little animal raised his chin at Fox and yipped before snuggling deeper into her arms.

  Rebecca stole a glance at him and studied his face. He had silken lashes, a mouth so perfect she could not imagine better and she could have gazed at him all day. No wonder he did as he pleased.

  ‘Yes,’ his mother commiserated. ‘Isn’t it sad?’ His mother sighed, looked at the dog and shook her head.

  ‘But without it, I would never have met Rebecca,’ Fox said. He moved closer to his mother.

  ‘She has a generous heart and I can understand your father pressing her to marry you.’ She raised her head. ‘For once he knew what he was doing.’

  Something cracked. His face. Just a bit of the smile faded away.

 
; Rebecca took that as a bad sign.

  *

  Rebecca watched him sweet-talk his mother into laughter, then he held out his arm for Rebecca to take and suggested they leave together.

  His mother’s eyes were so hopeful, and his with just a touch of command in them, that she couldn’t say no.

  He didn’t speak again until after they reached the former Ghastly Green, a place which Rebecca could not even imagine ever deserving of the name. The oak glistened and the pale curtains hung like royal robes on the windows.

  His footsteps were behind her when they walked into the main sitting room.

  ‘So how did my father coerce you into this marriage?’ he asked.

  ‘He didn’t.’ She spun around. ‘I overheard when he threatened to force my father out of our home and I already knew, if I didn’t marry the new vicar, we would have to leave. We’d accepted it.’

  He took off his black gloves and dropped them onto the sofa. ‘He would never do such a thing.’

  ‘I’ve not known him to lie.’

  ‘Sweet…’ he looked at her ‘…you bet on the wrong horse.’

  ‘You could not throw me out without providing for me. Society would condemn you.’

  ‘And my father would put you on a pedestal as proof that I had no worth whatsoever, except the funds my grandfather passed on to me.’

  He took off his coat as he talked, then threw his coat over the gloves. ‘Grandfather did that. He circumvented Father with all that he could and passed his wealth on to me. Father only received the entailment, but enough came with it that he can live well. And he cannot circumvent me, short of killing me. As much as we disagree at times, he wouldn’t do such a thing. Though I can’t say that for everyone.’

  He touched his jaw. ‘I still feel it, but not so badly.’

  ‘Our own injuries always take longer to heal than others’.’

  ‘And did you learn that on your jaunts to do good works?’

  ‘My mother told me. She tried to tell me all she’d learned and all my grandmother had learned from tending others.’