How To Marry a Rake

by Deb Marlowe

  Stephen moved to go. He caught himself up quickly, though, before he could step through the shining strands of a spider’s web. The spider was busily at work, constructing her masterpiece. Good luck, that—to find a spider spinning in the morning. And so appropriate, as he and Mae began to spin out another scheme of their own.

  Stepping carefully around the web, Stephen headed back. Perhaps he and Mae would move on to new equality in their relationship. Truly, she did have a remarkable mind—and a definite talent for scheming. She deserved happiness. She was warm and giving, intelligent and loyal to a fault. And annoying. The memory of her detachment pricked him again.

  Definitely annoying.

  Chapter Seven

  Mae and her mother paused outside the parlour door. Lady Toswick’s butler stepped forwards to grant them admittance, but at the tug on her arm, Mae signalled him to wait.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll just take a tray in my room, after all.’

  Mae patted her mother’s hand. Lady Toswick had done a marvellous job of easing her anxiety, for which Mae could only be grateful. Her mother had appeared to be comfortable enough when the mature ladies of the house party gathered at their sewing or to write letters, but she still found the larger entertainments to be nerve-racking.

  ‘It’s only tea,’ Mae said with an encouraging smile. ‘And only the ladies are to be present, I heard.’

  ‘Oh?’ The news did seem to brighten her mother’s spirits. She nodded. ‘Perhaps just for a little while, then.’

  Mae was nervous herself, if for entirely different reasons. She’d informed Josette of their new mission. The maid hadn’t been happy, but she’d promised to find out what she could. She’d also interrogated her mistress ruthlessly. Mae had confessed everything, right down to her pride in her own acting abilities. She could easily have become the toast of Drury Lane, had there been a theatre director in that meadow this morning. At the very least she deserved a standing ovation for the way she’d disguised the intensity of her response to Stephen’s blandishments.

  He’d been testing her. She supposed she could not blame him, considering their past. Josette assured her she’d passed with flying colours. And weak knees, Mae had mentally added. And a leaping pulse and the nearly irresistible urge to throw herself into his arms.

  She clenched her fists and prayed she hadn’t made a mistake, agreeing to work with him. But the more she considered the matter, the more certain she grew that he was the right person to help her. True, she was a little worried about the intensity of her reaction to him; he’d but sat next to her on the bench and her insides had unfurled like petals in the sun. But surely she’d already made it over the biggest hurdle—she’d withstood the full force of his considerable charm. It would only get easier from here, and she had to believe that the benefits outweighed the risks.

  He certainly knew and understood her capabilities. Far from being threatened, he’d sought out her help! He would know exactly the sort of temperament she required in a husband. After everything, he still trusted her; she would trust him to steer her on the right course.

  She need only keep a cool head. And all of her petals tightly furled.

  The door swung open and Lady Toswick’s butler bowed them in. The parlour itself felt inviting. Warm with shades of green and cream and touched with gilt highlights, the room reflected the welcoming smiles of their hostess. ‘Here you are, Mrs Halford!’ the countess sang out, coming to greet them. ‘And Miss Halford!’ She gestured toward a sunny corner where ladies sat grouped about several tables. ‘We’ll be serving tea shortly. Won’t you join us?’

  Some of the tension left her mother’s arm. Mae cast a grateful smile upon Lady Toswick. ‘Mother, Lady Corbet is beckoning. Shall we join her?’

  The door opened again. ‘Ah, here are the tea carts.’ The countess grinned. ‘Now, we shall enjoy cook’s wonders, and then I shall share with you some exciting news!’ She radiated a sense of good-natured mischief that piqued Mae’s curiosity.

  Mae’s mother was pulled into an empty chair near their hostess, but Addy called Mae over to her. ‘Here you are at last!’ Reaching out, she pulled her into a swift embrace. ‘Watch the one in the ice-blue,’ she whispered. ‘She’s as spiteful as a cat.’

  Mae nodded her understanding. A round of introductions was made and then the servants began to unload the carts.

  The tea was of a fine quality and the accompanying savouries were delicious. The conversation, however, was general, light and innocuous. Fashion was the topic of interest at their small table—the hazard of sitting with so many of the younger members of the party.

  ‘You certainly look delicious today, Mae.’ Addy picked up her tea and looked her over with a critical eye. ‘Those browns are rich indeed—you look like my cup of morning chocolate.’ Her eyes twinkled over the rim of her cup. ‘I predict the gentlemen will fall over themselves for the chance to drink you up.’

  Mae flushed. Being singled out would not help her win any of these ladies over. What she needed was a way to introduce the subject of Pratchett and Lord Ryeton.

  Miss Metheny, the cat, took up the thread of conversation. ‘Your fabrics are indeed lovely,’ she agreed. ‘But your waistline is so low.’ Smooth and guileless her face remained, but spite shone clear in the hooded gleam of her eye. ‘It’s too bad.’ She sighed. ‘No one in London is wearing their waistlines low.’

  ‘It is unfortunate, isn’t it?’ Mae agreed, all good cheer. ‘London does always seem to be a step behind Paris. No doubt the English ladies will catch up by next Season.’

  She never had been one to back down when confronted by a bully, social or otherwise.

  ‘Ooh, Paris!’ Exclamations and questions arose from the circle of ladies.

  ‘How lucky you are.’ The cat’s younger sister, Miss Lucy Metheny, sighed. ‘We never get to go anywhere.’

  ‘I certainly had no wish to be dragged to Newmarket.’ Her sister’s unfortunately broad face had gone sour. ‘But Father will force us along, every year.’

  ‘There is a bright side this year,’ Addy told her. ‘The scandal of the Season happened right here and you were a first-hand witness.’

  ‘Pah. Horses,’ Miss Metheny scoffed. ‘Who cares for a scandal involving horses?’

  ‘Corbet says that all of London is already talking about it. People are already beginning to arrive, hoping to catch the rest as it unfolds.’

  Mae mentally blessed her friend. ‘Lord Ryeton certainly makes a tragic figure,’ she offered helpfully. And hopefully. Anything to ferret out gossip about the earl.

  ‘My mama says he makes himself ridiculous,’ one of the other girls piped up. ‘With all of those outrageous wagers.’

  ‘Wagers?’

  ‘He does bet on anything, and at the drop of a hat.’ Addy’s waving hand dismissed the importance of such a habit. ‘So childish! But he’s hardly alone. There are gentlemen aplenty at White’s who will bet on the next person to walk in the door. Or the colour of the hat worn by the next lady to pass by.’

  ‘How funny you should say so.’ Miss Lucy laughed. ‘Lord Ryeton made just such a wager with my papa. They bet a shocking sum on whether Papa’s favourite mare would foal a colt or a filly.’

  ‘Lucy!’ Her sister’s tone held a warning.

  ‘What?’ The girl continued, unheeding. ‘I was so happy Papa won, because I had been longing for ages for a particular tall bonnet, with the most cunningly curled ostrich feathers. Papa said it was beyond our budget, however. But with the winnings, he was able to buy it at last!’

  An uncomfortable silence ensued. Miss Metheny’s face flamed. Mae felt a stab of sympathy for her.

  They all turned eagerly when Lady Toswick cleared her throat and called for attention.

  ‘My dears. I would like to thank you all for coming today. I’m having a marvellous time and I do hope that you are too.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘Many of us are here frequently throughout the racing season and repeatedly through the years. Of course, w
e do try to add a little gentility to our time spent here. We schedule our teas and explore the shops and the local sights. But it is a shame that so many of our social engagements are separate from the gentlemen.’

  There were heartfelt sighs of agreement from several of the younger ladies.

  ‘It is a bit tiring, to be left out of the constant talk of weight and handicap at my breakfast table. In London it is one thing for my husband and son to spend their days drinking and smoking at their clubs. I am occupied there. But here? They are off to their stables, their prize fights and their Jockey Club rooms and I struggle to fill my days. I find myself becoming resentful as my interests are placed such a far-away second.’

  Murmurs of accord rippled around the tables.

  ‘I have corresponded at length with my dear friend Lady Ryeton about this dilemma. To date her solution has been to refuse to come to Newmarket at all. But we have hatched a more delicious answer. We fail to distract our men from their preoccupation with trial runs and touts, so we shall join them in it.’

  Excited talk erupted throughout the room. Miss Metheny groaned.

  Lady Toswick waved them down. ‘We shall do just as they do. En masse, we will observe the practice trials, tour the training stables, make our bets and watch the races. Together we will become educated and passionate about this sport of theirs and we will regain their attention as we do so. Lady Ryeton is travelling to Newmarket and she has promised that we shall have a tour of her husband’s stables, reputed to be the best in all of England!’

  She grinned. ‘It shall be great fun, giving them a taste of their own medicine as we become busy and preoccupied with our new interest, but it shall be great fun also to come together in the end.’ Her lips pursed in an expression of pure delight. Pausing, she allowed her gaze to drift about the room. ‘What say you? Are you with us?’

  A great babbling broke out. The ladies abandoned the tea tables to gather in groups. The room came alive with the ear-piercing prattle of women a-twitter, ready to seize the bit in their teeth. Mae smiled at the commotion. There might be benefits to this development. Her own scheming might not look so … odd, against the background of a townful of society ladies angling after the attention of their men.

  Addy gripped Mae’s arm and drew her towards a secluded corner. ‘Ryeton’s countess hasn’t been to Newmarket in years,’ she whispered in confiding tones. ‘Pratchett was just the beginning of the earl’s troubles. He must be the most wretched man in Suffolk, with his horse gone missing and his estranged wife on her way here. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Lady Ryeton cooked up this idea about getting us all involved in racing as an excuse to punish him.’

  Mae perked to attention. ‘They are estranged? Is her husband’s devotion to racing the reason for it?’ Perhaps

  Lady Ryeton had conspired even further back to punish her husband. Could she have arranged for Pratchett’s disappearance from afar?

  ‘Her husband’s devotion to his mistress, rather.’

  ‘His mistress?’ Miss Lucy, eyes bright with interest, interrupted their tête-à-tête. She sidled up beside Mae, glanced across the room and lowered her voice. ‘I heard something of her just this morning! Lord Ryeton’s ladybird—Charlotte Hague, the woman he’s kept so cosily here in Newmarket for the past two years—has cast him out!’

  ‘Lucy Metheny!’ Her sister was next to join their group, and distaste outweighed the shock in Miss Metheny’s tone. ‘That is hardly a fit subject for a young girl. Where on earth would you have heard such a thing?’

  ‘I heard the cook telling one of the kitchen maids,’ answered the girl as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘They were gossiping this morning when I went to fetch Mama’s posset. They said Miss Hague has ejected him from her house, boxed up all of his things and left them on the street!’

  ‘Is that what those boxes were?’ Another of their tablemates had joined them. ‘I passed the stack of them myself on the way here.’

  A chorus of whispers began all about them. Mae was delighted. An angry wife? A disenchanted mistress? Either one of them might have taken Pratchett—if only to make the earl miserable.

  ‘Lord Ryeton certainly is having a difficult time of it,’ she said. ‘Perhaps Miss Hague is interested in racing. That may be what has inspired his wife to come up with this particular plan.’

  ‘The kitchen maids said that she’s giving up the lease on her house. Perhaps she means to relocate to London. Likely she’s on the lookout for a new protector.’

  ‘Lucy, that is the outside of enough! If you keep on, I’m going to tell Mama.’

  Nobody paid the least bit of attention to Miss Metheny.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ the other girl said, keeping her voice low. ‘My sisters put their heads together when we passed those boxes and said that Miss Hague has been seen driving out of Newmarket every afternoon.’ She raised her brows. ‘Perhaps she has found Lord Ryeton’s replacement already.’

  ‘I insist that we leave this subject behind.’ Miss Metheny was becoming sincerely disturbed. Mae felt a twinge for the fate of their household’s kitchen maids. ‘Let’s talk of something else.’ Pointedly she turned to Mae. ‘Have you been long acquainted with Lady Toswick, Miss Halford?’

  Mae blinked. ‘No, indeed. I never met her before this house party.’

  ‘How kind of her to invite you and your family, then.’

  ‘Very kind. I credit Lord Toswick. He and my father are racing cronies.’

  ‘I credit the fact that the countess’s nephew is not yet married,’ Addy said with a smirk. ‘I rather think she wanted to get a look at you, Mae, before you made your début in London.’

  ‘Well, Delia won’t like that!’ Miss Lucy said, with a look of alarm. ‘My sister is the toast of the Season.’ She leaned close. ‘And she’s not fond of rivals.’

  ‘If you cannot open your mouth without making a quiz of yourself, then I wish you would keep it closed!’ Miss Metheny had gone off crimson again.

  Mae could not suppress another pang of sympathy for the difficult Miss Metheny. Miss Lucy had proven quite helpful today, but she possessed a definite gift for discomposing her sister.

  ‘Surely you jest, Miss Lucy. Your sister appears to have every social advantage over me. She has knowledge and experience of London society, while I have been gallivanting abroad.’ Mae cast a smile of camaraderie towards the beleaguered girl. ‘She can have no need to feel threatened by me.’

  But Miss Metheny was in no mood to form alliances. Or perhaps she had been pushed past her endurance. Raising her chin, she speared Mae with an unmistakable challenge. ‘The word is that you possess a dowry of fifty thousand pounds. That’s enough to make you a threat to every unmarried girl in London.’

  Mae flushed. Or perhaps Miss Metheny was just a shrewish vixen. Whatever the case, she would not allow the girl to vent her spleen all over her.

  ‘But I saw you speaking to Lord Stephen Manning last night.’ Miss Lucy broke in, her eyes alive with interest. ‘Perhaps your interests lie in that direction?’

  Mae struggled to control both her colour and her temper. ‘Lord Stephen and I are old friends. We practically grew up together. Are you well acquainted with him?’

  Miss Lucy’s face lit up. ‘No, but I should certainly like to be.’

  ‘I can easily arrange an introduction.’

  ‘To one of the Fitzmanning Miscellany?’ Miss Metheny broke in. ‘Don’t be absurd. That family has made its home in the scandal sheets for the last twenty years. It wouldn’t be seemly.’

  Every trace of empathy for the girl died a quick and fiery death. Mae straightened, her fists clenched.

  But Addy leaped to Stephen’s defence even before Mae could. ‘Lord Stephen Manning—’

  ‘Is a second son of a disreputable duke,’ the nasty bit of baggage interrupted. ‘And likely in need of an heiress. He would do very well for her.’ Not finished yet, she looked down her nose in Mae’s direction. ‘You might also consider Visco
unt Landry, Miss Halford. He’s been sniffing about the house party. He’s pockets to let and growing quite desperate. I shouldn’t think he’d object to a merchant’s daughter.’ She let loose a bitter laugh. ‘In fact, he has fifty thousand reasons not to object, does he not?’

  Her chest tight, Mae took a step closer to the odious Miss Metheny. ‘Has the viscount perhaps shown an interest in you?’

  Miss Metheny, her lips pressed tight, did not answer.

  Her sister did. ‘Indeed, no! But then Delia does not have—’

  ‘A pleasant manner? A gracious temperament?’ Straightening her spine, Mae stared at the girl who seemed so determined to be nasty. ‘Well then, the viscount will have at least fifty thousand and two reasons to prefer me over you.’

  She stepped back and looped her arm in Addy’s. ‘Come, Addy. I understand there is to be a card party tonight. Let’s go and prepare ourselves, shall we?’

  ‘Let’s,’ Addy said firmly. They stepped away. ‘I never did care for toast.’

  Stephen had been right about one thing. Every man-jack in Newmarket was still talking about Pratchett’s disappearance—and they all had a theory on what had happened to the horse, and why.

  The grooms he spoke to all suspected a rival owner had done the deed—and they were all fearful for their own four-legged charges. The black legs he encountered shared the grooms’ suspicions and went about muttering about pots and kettles and shades of black. Just to make things interesting, the owners and enthusiasts he talked with were all convinced the job was the work of a crooked leg or, even worse, a consortium of them.

  ‘It makes sense.’ Lord Toswick was morose, mourning Pratchett’s loss as a stud. Stephen had encountered the earl and his cronies along Moulton Road, mounted and heading to a cockfight at the edge of town in an effort to restore his spirits. ‘Ryeton has been very vocal about putting a stop to the cheating legs and their skullduggery. He wanted them to answer to the Jockey Club.’

  ‘If it was them, then perhaps they meant it as a warning.’ Matthew Grange, driving a smart cabriolet, accompanied the earl’s group.