Rake Ruiner: The Marriage Maker and the Widows Book One

by Summer Hanford

  Her feet setting out almost of their own volition, she wandered deeper into the room, unable to resist studying his work. Her initial guess was low. A quick tally made it twenty-nine paintings in all. She moved along the first row of them, aware he watched her, then on to the second. The one place she did not look was at the large bed in the center of his semicircle of impressively recorded debauchery.

  “Does anyone ever refuse a portrait?” Charlotte asked. She paused before a lovely blonde, then moved on.

  “If you think so, you underestimate my charm, and skill.”

  Charlotte indulged in an eye roll he couldn’t see. She moved to the final portrait, and stilled. Wide gray eyes looked out at her. The girl, for she was a girl, knelt on the bed, sheet clutched to her chin to reveal only smooth shoulders and arms, draped in flowing auburn locks. Unlike the others, her eyes were unsated. In them shown a pure, painful-to-look-upon love.

  Charlotte frowned.

  Mister MaClagan appeared beside her. He bent to grasp a cloth from the floor, where it had pooled about the bottom of the easel. Standing, he swept his arm out to drape the painting and hide those love-filled, oddly familiar eyes. “Silk,” he muttered. “It’s always slipping free.”

  “Who is she?” Charlotte asked. She turned to scrutinize him.

  “A mistake.” He shrugged, smile in place, but strained. “A foolish indulgence on my part.”

  Charlotte nodded. A young girl would be a mistake. A man didn’t bed an innocent and move on. He married her, and Mister MaClagan did not seem the marrying type. “What happened to her?”

  He frowned. “How would I know? She is in the past and less than nothing to me.” He made a flicking gesture, as one would use to remove a fleck of dust from a jacket sleeve. “I certainly don’t go all puppy-eyed and follow a woman about once I’ve bedded her.”

  “That is good to know.” She offered a smile with the words, to restore his frame of mind. Men were always more easily handled when cheerful. “For I am not a woman who cares to be followed about.”

  He blinked. The grimness cleared from his expression, replaced by his wide smile. “Then we shall get on splendidly, Missus Fairhaven.”

  Charlotte shrugged, no longer seeing the charm in his display of even white teeth. “Perhaps.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt of it.” He captured her gloved hand and brought it to his lips.

  Charlotte tugged her hand free. “We shall have to discover if you’re correct another day, sir, for I’ve an appointment I don’t wish to be late for.”

  Disappointment flickered across his face. Normally, Mister MaClagan was precisely the sort of man Charlotte was seeking, but those gray eyes from the painting haunted her. He’d no business seducing an innocent like that and remaining unwed.

  His eyes narrowed. He cast an annoyed look at the now-covered portrait. “An appointment?”

  Smile sunny, she nodded. “Aye. With Lord Edward, about staffing my residence.” Did Mister MaClagan flinch at the name? “So, you see, it is quite urgent. I haven’t even a proper maid at hand, and I have the decided impression that, should I miss my appointment, Lord Edward will become most unaccommodating.”

  Mister MaClagan snorted. “Lord Edward is always unaccommodating.”

  “Yes, he rather seems that way, which is why I mustn’t stand him up.” She made an airy gesture. “Though I daresay it would be more entertaining to remain with you, here in your lair.”

  As hoped, Mister MaClagan preened under her praise. “Of that, Missus Fairhaven, I can assure you.”

  “Well, sad as it is, I must return to Talla Gaoithe.” Charlotte offered a sweet smile and turned away. Mister MaClagan’s booted steps dogged her as she wended her way through the canvases toward the door. “I believe I know the way back.”

  “I couldn’t permit you to walk,” he said, just behind her.

  “I don’t mind. My purpose was to invigorate my disposition through a long walk on a fine day.” She stepped free of his lair, into the light of the sun.

  Mister MaClagan came around her and bowed, gesturing to his curricle. “Truly, permit me to drive you. I insist.”

  She decidedly didn’t care for his tendency to insist. Still, there was no harm in letting him drive her. She felt quite sure an accommodating, hopeful Mister MaClagan would prove easier to manage than a resentful one. “Thank you,” she said, and extended a hand so he might help her up.

  They set out in a somewhat strained silence, which she broke with talk of the weather. By the time they reached the spot where he’d found her, Mister MaClagan was his normal amiable self again. He didn’t halt but continued on toward her residence. The sun showing her it was later than she’d realized, Charlotte made no protest. In an effort to banish the girl in the painting from her mind, she did her best to listen as he launched into a ribald story about a gambling hell.

  “It seems as if your appointment is about to begin,” Mister MaClagan said when they reached the crossroads. He nodded in the direction opposite her residence and brought his team to a halt.

  Charlotte leaned forward to look around him. A phaeton came up the lane, a rider alongside. She could only assume Mister MaClagan recognized the conveyance, or scene, because it took several moments for the two to draw near enough to resolve themselves into Lady Hetty and Lord Edward. Mister MaClagan moved his team to one side of the roadway and waited, making no attempt to converse further.

  “Missus Fairhaven. Mister MaClagan,” Lord Edward greeted when he brought his roan to a halt beside them. The eyes he leveled on Charlotte were hard with ill-concealed disgust. Beyond him, Hetty drew her team to a halt.

  “Lord Edward.” Mister MaClagan accompanied his greeting with a gesture that was more than a tip of his hat, but less than a bow.

  “How pleasant to see you, Lord Edward,” Charlotte said, dipping her head. “And you, Lady Hetty. Are you on your way to Talla Gaoithe?” That was their direction, but Hetty’s presence belied Charlotte’s impression that Lord Edward would prefer his daughter never to set eyes on her.

  “We are.” Lord Edward’s words were clipped.

  “Papa has been teaching me to drive,” Hetty put in. She sat very straight on the phaeton’s seat, reins held tight in both hands.

  “You appear to be doing a splendid job,” Charlotte said. She smiled, trying to lighten the gloom Lord Edward had brought with him.

  Beside her, Mister MaClagan cleared his throat. “Well, it seems there’s little reason for me to continue my attempt to see Missus Fairhaven home in time for her appointment with you, my lord.”

  Charlotte turned to him with raised eyebrows, surprised that a man who’d been so eager for her company was now in such haste to rid himself of her. Not that she minded. “This is true. I could instead sample Lady Hetty’s wonderful driving and free you to be on your way. I daresay I derailed your morning completely, Mister MaClagan.”

  “Derailed, yes, but you were a very pleasant diversion, madam.”

  He smiled at her, but Charlotte didn’t miss the smug look he cast Lord Edward’s way, nor the tension in the baron. Should he clench the muscles in his neck and shoulders any tighter, she rather thought Lord Edward would split the seams of his well-tailored navy coat.

  “I’m not sure Hetty is ready to take on passengers,” Lord Edward said.

  “But Papa, you can’t ask Missus Fairhaven to walk home,” Hetty said.

  “If Lady Hetty is uncertain with the reins, I am happy to continue on to Talla Gaoithe.” Mister MaClagan smirked at Lord Edward. “Perhaps I can offer her entertainment while you and Missus Fairhaven discuss business, my lord.”

  The look Lord Edward cast MaClagan bespoke of murder.

  “I can drive Missus Fairhaven,” Hetty said. “I’ve been doing very well.”

  “You’ll be riding nearby, my lord,” Charlotte pointed out, voice a bit tart. What did he believe she would do during the short drive, tell Hetty to never marry? Whisper to her of the secrets known to a man and woman?


  Lord Edward looked between the three of them, a scowl marring what could be a handsome face.

  “I shall simply have to walk, then,” Charlotte exclaimed. Ignoring Mister MaClagan’s protest, she alighted from his curricle. “Mister MaClagan, thank you for a lovely drive.” She turned to the baron. “Lord Edward, I’m sure I don’t need to suggest you make yourself at home while you await my arrival.”

  “Papa,” Hetty cried, those two syllables filled with surprise and hurt. “My driving is not so terrible as that. Missus Fairhaven can come up.”

  Again, Lord Edward glared at them. Charlotte waited, her hands finding their way to her hips. Really, the man was impossible. It was a short ride in an open phaeton, with him riding alongside them. Twenty minutes in Charlotte’s presence would not ruin Hetty.

  “Ride with Hetty, Missus Fairhaven,” Lord Edward snapped. He wheeled his horse away, heading toward Talla Gaoithe.

  Charlotte took in his unyielding posture as he trotted up the roadway. She shook her head and turned to smile at Hetty.

  “My driving is truly quite acceptable, Missus Fairhaven,” Hetty said, expression still hurt. “I don’t know what Papa thinks I’ll do to you.”

  “I daresay it’s me who is not acceptable, Lady Hetty, not you,” Charlotte assured her.

  “Oh,” the girl said, eyes going wide.

  “Do you require assistance up, Missus Fairhaven?” Mister MaClagan asked.

  Charlotte glanced back at him, catching the way his eyes lingered on Hetty. “No, thank you. You’ve been inconvenienced enough today, Mister MaClagan.”

  “A beautiful woman is never an inconvenience, Missus Fairhaven.” Mister MaClagan tipped his hat.

  Charlotte answered with a smile that was growing strained from false employment, and climbed up beside Hetty, who scooted over to make room. “Thank you, Mister MaClagan.”

  “Good-bye, Mister MaClagan,” Hetty added, but her concentration was on the reins she was unwinding from her hands.

  “Ladies.” With that final word, Mister MaClagan snapped his reins. It took him only moments to maneuver his team about the crossroads. He headed back the way he’d come.

  Hetty continued to unwind the reins from her gloved hands. She glanced up and caught Charlotte’s attention on her, then scrunched her nose in a grimace. “I know, I ought not wind the reins up so. I can’t seem to help it. When I’m stopped, and especially if I’m worried, I twist them all about. Papa says I could be hurt that way.”

  “He’s correct, to be sure.” Charlotte’s tone was gentle. “He’s only looking after you.”

  Hetty let out an expressive sigh. “I know.” She started the team moving up the lane at a slow walk.

  Ahead, Charlotte could see Lord Edward waiting for them, for he hadn’t gone far. Simply away. From her.

  “He’s been so… so looming since Marian went away,” Hetty whispered, wide eyes on her father. “I miss her.”

  “Your sister wed?” It was a shame she hadn’t married someone nearby.

  Hetty shook her head. “She decided she wished to learn Welsh, and must do so at a finishing school in Wales. Papa was very grim about it all, so I know he didn’t want her to go, but Marian always does as she likes. Missus Neville blames it on Mama. I miss her, though. Marian, that is.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, for what else could one say? Sorrow stirred for this girl, on the cusp of being a woman, whose mother was dead and whose older sister was, apparently, too self-involved to realize she was needed. “When will she return?”

  Hetty shrugged. “Papa said she would be gone nearly a year. It’s been three months.” Another sigh. “She isn’t happy there. I can tell from her letters. I said as much to Papa.”

  “Will he bring her home?” Charlotte asked.

  Hetty shook her head. “He says Marian made her choice and now she must live with it.” Hetty looked down at the reins she held. “Marian was going to teach me to drive this spring. She’s an excellent driver. She used to race with the boys. She could beat everyone, even Mister MaClagan.” Hetty shot Charlotte a quick look. “Don’t tell Papa.”

  Charlotte lips tipped down at the corners. A headstrong young woman, daughter to a baron, with no mother to supervise her and a father who couldn’t manage his funds. Lord Edward had likely sunk so much money into sending Lady Marian to Wales, he wouldn’t permit her to return early. Or, he felt he was showing parental strength, when truly it was Hetty who suffered from her father’s and sister’s behavior. “She must be quite the young lady, your sister.”

  “She is, and so pretty. Even prettier than Mama. Everyone says so.”

  Under Hetty’s somewhat shaky direction, they rolled up the sunlit lane, heath covered crags about them. Ahead, hair brightened by the sun to an auburn nearer Hetty’s red locks, Lord Edward waited. Stern, but undeniably handsome in his dark coat and buff breeches, tall boots gleaming. Even from down the lane, Charlotte could read his frown.

  She knew it wasn’t her place to ask, but taking in the baron’s commanding, harsh features, the words whispered from her lips. “How long has your mother been gone?”

  Hetty looked off into the distance. “I haven’t seen her since I was five.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Everyone says it’s for the best.”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. That begged more questions than it answered, to be certain, but they were coming too near the baron to continue the conversation. When she wrote to Vivian later, she would have to ask her friend’s opinion on these strange Highlanders among whom Charlotte was to spend the next six months. Vivian, her mind more cunning than Charlotte’s, might have some better insight into them.

  Stifling her curiosity, Charlotte cast about for a safe topic for Lord Edward to find them conversing on. “You’re driving quite well.”

  “Thank you.” Hetty’s face was a caricature of concentration as they drew alongside her father. “Do you drive, Missus Fairhaven?”

  “I do. I was simply walking today for the recreation of it.”

  “Is that what you were engaging in, Missus Fairhaven?” the baron asked as he turned his mount to walk alongside them. “A morning of recreation?”

  Charlotte forced a light tone. “Indeed, my lord, I was.” She hoped the unconcern she molded her features into hid her anger.

  Lord Edward scowled and urged his horse out in front of them.

  Hetty let out another sigh.

  How dare Lord Edward assume she’d been in Mister MaClagan’s arms, and judge her for the act? The man was insufferably supercilious. Charlotte glanced at Hetty and tamped down her annoyance for the girl’s benefit. Hetty obviously didn’t require any additional disagreeableness in her life. Were Charlotte in the phaeton alone, though, she would aim a glare at the broad back riding up the lane in front of her, and spend the drive hoping his roan spooked and spilled him into the lane.

  Chapter Six

  Charlotte sat in the garden with a book, warmed by the spring sun. All about her, heath and heather bloomed. The Highlands, craggy slopes rising to the pinewood and beyond, were awash in the purples, whites, greens and golds of spring. The low hum of insects filled the air, and small white and yellow butterflies flittered from blossom to blossom.

  Her eyes caught on the flutter of their delicate wings. She closed the book with a sigh. Her attention was no more constant than the butterflies. Reading seemed well-nigh impossible.

  She was bored, was the trouble. There’d been no more gatherings, at least not to which she’d been privy, since the Nevilles’. She’d written Vivian with such frequency, and so little content, her friend was likely tossing any new envelopes on the fire unread. There was simply nothing to do in the remote corner of Caithness in which Charlotte found herself.

  At least Rivington had not appeared. Stirling had been correct in that. Caithness was so far removed from Edinburgh society, not even rumor of where she’d gone would reach him. Even her letters were posted unde
r code, not using Charlotte’s real name, sent to a man of business who delivered them to Vivian.

  Which was silly. That over-precaution, her boredom, and the near-constant, underlying sense of aggravation she’d experienced since meeting Lord Edward, were all her fault. Knowing as much only added to her general state of aggrievement. Instead of fleeing, as Stirling suggested, she should have put her foot down and broken Rivington’s heart, firmly and swiftly. She was only causing them both to suffer.

  Charlotte hated broken hearts, though. Especially those sundered with brutal swiftness. Her absence would ease Rivington into sorrow. No one should have love stolen from them with the swiftness of a pistol report.

  Firmly, she turned her wandering thoughts from the poor, sorrowful Englishman she’d left behind, only to have them flitter to Mister MaClagan’s lair. She’d never seen anything like his collection. She was horrified and intrigued in equal measure. Certainly, he represented the chance for carefree entertainment. If that beautiful gray-eyed girl couldn’t bring him up to scratch, Charlotte wasn’t at risk of ruining yet another rake.

  Knowing what came next in her circling thoughts, she reopened the book. Mutinous, she forced her eyes to take in the opening words of Taming of the Shrew, but her scattered attention wouldn’t be denied. An image of Lord Edward rose in her mind.

  Vexing. That’s what he was. All through their talk on servants, he’d remained cold and judgmental. He’d glowered at her every request, as if a few maids and footmen were an extravagance of sin.

  She knew the true source of his ire, of course. What he thought she’d been doing with MaClagan. How dare he assume she’d spent the morning in a licentious tête-à-tête?

  What was truly insufferable was that she regretted his ill-opinion. She, who’d worked for years to establish a devil-may-care attitude, had to bite her tongue to hold back words of explanation and defense. For a man who did not care for her and had already judged her. A man whose poor regard she returned in equal measure.