Redeeming the Roguish Rake

by Liz Tyner

  ‘Because you didn’t really want to go to an event.’

  ‘Everyone else will know everyone. And they’ll be wondering why you proposed to me.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  ‘No.’ He walked to her and took her chin, and pulled her face up to his. ‘You truly have no need to worry. Sweet, I’ve pulled off many false proposals and many flirtations when I’ve only wished to be out the door.’

  ‘I’ve not.’ She wished he could have said it some other way. His being versed in false affection didn’t make her feel better.

  ‘You only have to follow my lead. And dance with me and look at my eyebrow or ear as if it’s terribly fascinating. That’s all you’ll need and I’ll do the rest.’

  ‘So you’ll stay home this time?’

  He paused. ‘I need to go. I’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well.’

  She didn’t speak until she turned away from him. ‘I hope you have a good time.’

  ‘It would be better if you were with me. That is the one way to convince people we are married.’

  ‘I can’t tonight. I have no other dresses that are even close to suitable and it’s impossible to alter the one in time.’

  ‘You planned this.’

  He turned and left, and she knew he went to the soirée.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After brief greetings, Fox and Mr Smothers kept to opposite sides of the room during the event, and Fox watched the faces of the men, certain he would have known if it was someone from society who had ambushed him. But he was also certain someone at the event would know who might fit the description of the men.

  The violins started and the couples formed for the dance, and Fox couldn’t help watch his cousins with their wives.

  Andrew chose another partner besides Beatrice and Bea danced with another man, but as the dancers moved, Fox caught the glances between the two. The Duke of Edgeworth danced with the duchess. Foxworthy was fairly certain the duchess hated to dance. Before she married, when the music started, she would attach herself to a frail woman and engage in conversation, and if Fox half looked her way, she darted to the other side of the room. Lily had even slapped him once when he’d not deserved it. Well, perhaps he had.

  When the music stopped, Edgeworth and Lily walked to Fox.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Fox said to Lily. ‘You are looking especially lovely this evening.’ He bowed.

  ‘Yes. She is quite lovely,’ Edge said. ‘I would advise against proposing to her.’

  Fox locked eyes with Edgeworth. ‘I was married a few weeks ago. Sorry you didn’t get the news.’

  ‘I thought we might see your wife tonight,’ Lily said, putting a hand on Edge’s sleeve.

  Fox increased his smile. ‘She didn’t wish to be out.’

  Edge’s brows rose and his eyelashes flicked a bit of censure Fox’s way.

  Fox lowered his voice. ‘I did ask her. She has no wish to attend any events yet. Claims she doesn’t have anything suitable to wear.’

  ‘Has she not had a chance to buy any new gowns?’ Lily asked. ‘Bea said she refused her offer of help.’

  ‘She went out with Mother and says she is waiting for the new clothing. The new gown she has wasn’t right.’

  ‘Perhaps Beatrice and I might take her about. Bea has some new paintings on display. We could look at them.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Fox said, giving a bow to the duchess. ‘Just please don’t let her be around Edge too much. She frowns at me enough as it is. I’d hate her to learn that glare he has.’

  Then Fox smiled and darted his eyes to Edgeworth. ‘Yes. That one. Thank you for demonstrating, your Grace.’

  Lily’s fingers tightened on Edge’s sleeve.

  Fox stepped closer, moving to Edge’s other side. ‘I think I’m making your wife nervous.’

  ‘No. She just doesn’t like you.’ Edge’s eyes stayed straight ahead and his tone was non-committal.

  ‘That’s not true,’ Lily burst out, moving her head to look around her husband at Fox. ‘I have no dislike of you.’

  Edge softly cleared his throat.

  She looked at her husband’s face. ‘Foxworthy is a dear cousin.’

  Edge shrugged. ‘Yes. But if he ever proposes to you, he will be a dear, departed cousin.’

  Fox laughed and moved closer so he could bump Edge’s shoulder. ‘Please do not get the rumour started that I’ve proposed to your wife. I doubt Rebecca would find those jests humorous.’

  ‘So your days of proposing are over?’

  Fox didn’t answer. From the corner of his eye he’d seen a particularly drooping turban in a colour that simply could not match anything and he excused himself to ask Lady Havisham to dance. She paid a lot of attention to others and she would be the perfect person to ask about the man he wanted to find.

  Their eyes met. Vultures had nothing on her. He walked to her and bowed.

  ‘I guess you tired of waiting for dear old Havisham to die so we could wed,’ she said as he whisked her into a contra dance.

  ‘I would not want marriage to ruin our friendship,’ he said as they met again.

  ‘So you and your wife are not friends?’

  The dance parted them.

  ‘It seems I hardly know her,’ he spoke when they met again. ‘She should attend the next event with me. She is having new gowns made—eventually.’

  ‘I heard she’s a pious thing.’

  ‘Very gentle of spirit,’ he said. ‘A lady after my own heart.’

  ‘You have a heart?’

  ‘Of course, Lady Havisham. I love you dearly.’ The words fell easily from his lips, but didn’t rest so well at his ears.

  Lady Havisham smiled. ‘I love you every bit as much as you love me.’

  Her eyes sparkled.

  He swirled her back into the cluster of dancers. He’d told so many women he loved them. Not that it concerned him. Or that they concerned him.

  He loved no one. He never had, after Mrs Lake.

  Losing her had been even worse than losing his sister and he felt guilt for that. His sister, the stunning fair-haired girl who’d twirled him around in the air and called him Fenton Face, and told him that little boys were made mischievous because goblins sprinkled magic dust on the porridge, so he ate his porridge to get every last bit of the dust.

  And then she married and told him she was going on a magnificent journey and he hardly ever saw her again. Then one day his grandfather sat him down and the old earl started talking and started crying. Not little tears. Heaving sobs. He’d not known men could do that.

  Later, his grandfather had told him the only reason he’d been able to live was because of Fox. Fox knew it was true. His grandfather would laugh at Fox’s jest when no one else could get him to do anything.

  ‘What is love?’ he asked Lady Havisham.

  ‘It’s a quick word to get people to do what you want.’

  ‘You romantic,’ he said.

  ‘I am. For an evil old witch.’

  ‘Perceptive, too?’ His brows rose.

  ‘Would you like to hear the secret of my attraction to men and your attraction to women?’ she asked.

  ‘You do not have to tell me your secret. It is your vast beauty and quick wit.’

  She laughed and it ended with a snort. ‘It is because I, like you, appear to be having the grandest adventure of all—life.’

  ‘And are we not?’

  ‘Of course we are. Appearing. Acting.’ The dance ended, but she did not release his hand. ‘You are newly wed and I am long wed and we both have spouses who are quite content to see the last of us or we are content to see the last of them.’

  ‘And is your life not better for the joy you bring into Havisham’s world?’

  ‘Certainly. He is always glad to see the hem of my skirt as it slips from the door.’

  ‘And I am glad to see you as you march into the doorway. You have taught me more ways of sw
earing than any man I know.’

  ‘And you, dear Foxworthy, have taught me nothing.’ She reached up, her gloved hand patting his cheek. ‘You are quite following in my footsteps. Like the son I never had.’

  ‘You have four sons.’

  ‘But it’s not as if they are mine. I only gave birth to them. I parcelled them out to Havisham and their governess right away. They often visit the house. I see their carriages while they are talking with their father.’

  She stared at his nose. ‘You should thank the person who did that to you. Maybe…’ Then she shook her head. ‘No. Not possible. No one could knock sense into you. You’ll always be a dolt. I do love you, but then, I’ve never claimed to be smart.’

  ‘Do you happen to know a man who doesn’t normally grace the social world with his presence, but has a coat with gold buttons?’

  The dance ended and she nodded. ‘Of course. That would be Peabody’s son. He’s living at his father’s house now that he’s been gambling heavily.’

  She left him with the touch of her gloved pat on his face, but it burned with the sting of a slap.

  The old witch. And he did like her. He could not really fathom why.

  Fox left the dance. He knew the road to Peabody’s house. But it was dark and he needed light to see the face of the man.

  *

  His cousin Andrew’s home was across from the Peabody town house. Andrew’s butler let him in without question, and agreed to have someone wake Fox if anyone entered or left the house opposite.

  *

  That morning, Fox sent a note to Rebecca, letting her know he was at his cousin’s house and would be home when his business was finished. But while he waited, he thought about how drawn Rebecca’s face had looked the last time he saw her and how he could have put a smile on her face if he had tried hard enough. And why something inside him had resisted when it would have taken so little time and effort to do one good thing.

  *

  Rebecca sat at the breakfast table in the formal dining room, looking at the plate. She smothered a cough.

  She swirled her spoon around in the porridge. It didn’t taste the same. She’d asked Cook not to put as much butter in it, but she should have asked her to put no butter. The woman had nodded and nodded after stammering a good morning, but the food hadn’t changed enough. Rebecca pulled up the spoon, watching the porridge drip back into the bowl.

  She didn’t think plates could make a meal taste differently, but now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps it was the stove. But everything seemed a little off. Or a lot off. The tea was the only thing that agreed with her and the warmth soothed her stomach.

  A maid entered the room, her curtsy perfect. ‘His lordship’s mother is here.’

  Rebecca stood, putting the napkin aside. ‘Please ask her to join me and if she would like something to eat, give the message to Cook.’

  The servant whisked away.

  Rebecca sighed and slipped the sleeve of her dress in place, tugging fabric closer to her neck. The bit of lace on the hem of her sleeve tickled her wrist. She didn’t want the countess to notice that the day dress didn’t fit properly. Nothing—in the new life—fit properly.

  The countess swept into the room on an intake of breath, moving with the same steps of just finishing a grand dance. One person could hardly be worthy of such an entrance.

  ‘My dear.’ She nodded to Rebecca. ‘So pleased to see you. So pleased.’ Her bonnet stayed firmly in place, but small beads sticking straight from one side of the headgear bobbed with each movement.

  ‘Thank you for visiting.’

  ‘Where is Fenton?’ she asked. ‘I hoped I might see him. I must talk with him.’

  ‘He is at his cousin Andrew’s.’

  The countess’s movements froze. Her eyes locked on the porridge, squeezed at the sides and then studied Rebecca’s face.

  ‘Porridge?’ The countess spoke, eyes wide, touching a glove to her lower lip. ‘You’re eating porridge?’

  Rebecca glanced down to the food. ‘I—My stomach was a bit unsettled.’

  Her mother-in-law’s eyes and smile took up all the space on her face. She took a few steps back, one hand at her heart. ‘A child. An heir. And it will—’

  ‘No.’ Rebecca held out both hands, palms flat. ‘No.’

  Her mother-in-law’s face resumed its normal proportions after the eyes and mouth shrank smaller than Rebecca had ever seen them. ‘No?’

  ‘I can’t—I don’t know. It’s possible. But it’s—’ Then she looked at the bowl. ‘It’s porridge. Breakfast. My stomach has been unsettled since—’ Since she found out she wasn’t in love with a vicar.

  ‘Well, it’s not the end of the world. There’s still time.’ She waved her hand, casting it spell-like in front of Rebecca’s face. ‘And if you never have a child I will be happy not to be a grandmother.’ Her face lightened. ‘It’s much harder to lie about your age when the grandchildren start arriving. Unfortunately. And if you never have a child, that would certainly be a laugh on my husband.’

  The countess’s head wobbled in a superior fashion. ‘He was not happy when it took so many years before Fenton was born.’

  The countess sat across the table from her and leaned forward. ‘I do know it’s nearly impossible to live in close quarters with a husband, but I will speak to my son about staying home more, at least for the first few years. It is absurd he would not be here with you. His absence is only good for the talebearers.’

  She straightened. ‘Which is why I wanted to talk with him.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He danced with Lady Havisham last night and she is old enough to be my mother—more or less.’

  ‘Lady Havisham?’ Rebecca repeated.

  The countess’s lips tightened, forming lines at the sides. ‘She does not know how to dress. Always dresses much too young for her age.’

  ‘And the Vic—and Foxworthy?’ Rebecca gripped the back of the chair in front of her.

  ‘Last night, one of my friends insisted he must not care for you much, as he was dancing with Lady Havisham and speaking in hushed voices with her, and you were nowhere to be seen. I know my son doesn’t listen to me much, but he will this time. He must go about with you.’

  Air moved from Rebecca’s lips. ‘I had nothing to wear.’

  ‘Nonsense. I helped you select the dresses myself.’

  ‘I don’t like the one I received as well as I thought.’ She sniffed, trying to wish away the cough that wanted to erupt.

  Her mother-in-law’s head moved even closer. ‘That porridge is not agreeing with you. I’ll speak with your cook. I cannot believe my son is letting her get away with serving you such a peasant’s meal. No wonder you look as if a good breeze could blow you away.’

  The countess stared off into the distance. ‘I know it might appear as if my son did not want to marry. I suppose that is my fault because I did not set an example and move to the estate with my husband, but I simply could not.’

  Her head followed the upwards glance of her eyes. ‘Fenton hardly has any of his father in him, except for his looks. I’m afraid on the inside he’s a lot like I am.’ She shook her head. ‘Trust me. That’s not always a good thing.’

  ‘You seem quite nice—’

  ‘Oh, I am. Everyone likes me.’ Then her nose wrinkled. ‘Well, except a chosen few like Lady Havisham and my husband.’ She touched her chest. ‘But Foxworthy does need to give the marriage a chance. He really must. Or he must at least appear to. That counts a lot in society.’

  ‘Society will soon learn I’m not very used to attending large events.’

  ‘You’ll get into the habit easily enough.’

  Rebecca nodded, but she couldn’t see that happening.

  ‘I’m sure Fenton went to his father’s with the thought in the back of his mind that it was time to marry. He saw you and knew that you would fit into the family quite well. The Earl of Arrogance already knew you and liked you. The odds of Fox finding someone we could all three like were very
difficult. But he did. And with a vicar’s daughter he would know his heirs were not created without his help—so to speak. So he did the wise thing and married you.’

  She let out a breath. ‘I told him when he was a child that he must always be smarter than he lets on. People like you for wit and charm. They don’t like you for…’ She tapped her forehead. ‘They all want to be smarter than you anyway. Makes it easier for them.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘Now I told you that in strictest confidence as my daughter. It is a mother’s wisdom and only to be passed from mother to child.’

  She stood. ‘I will speak to my son the next time I see him and explain that he should take you about regularly for a time.’

  Pulling up her glove, she stretched her neck high. ‘Remember, your mother-in-law is a countess and your cousin is the Duke of Edgeworth. You could spit on the floor in Almack’s and you’d still be welcomed in the ton.’ She stepped to the doorway. ‘But, if the floor is to have such uncleanliness on it, let it be the drool of someone noticing how wonderfully we are attired.’

  Then she swept out the door.

  Rebecca stared at the porridge bowl and left it sitting. She supposed she could ask Cook what people like the countess preferred to eat in the morning.

  *

  Foxworthy waited in the shadows of tree across from Peabody’s house, slapping his gloves against his palm and leaning against the trunk, tapping his heel against one of the roots that rain had washed free. He kept thinking of Rebecca and how she hadn’t quite looked herself since she’d promised to wed him. And she was a new bride in a town where she hardly knew anyone and it wasn’t as if she could walk into a club and build a house of cards.

  Occasionally he would run his hand along the turn of his nose to remind himself why he waited.

  Finally, he saw someone step out of the house, and his memory of the attack resurfaced. The turn of the head. The tilt of the hat. The one who’d stood by the horse with his face hidden and a cane in his hand. Now he wore a better hat, but it was the same person.

  The feeling of being knocked from his horse fuelled his anger and the sound of his jaw cracking returned to his head.

  Fox stepped forward, blocking the man’s path. He saw the moment of recognition in the eyes.