by Sara Bennett
When Averil returned home she dashed off a note to Rufus immediately, informing him that she was interested in the house on his estate, and that Gareth had agreed to inspect it with a view to using it for the Distressed Women. She asked if he would meet her to discuss these important matters.
Once that was done she changed her clothing and brushed her hair, and tried not to be impatient. He was probably out on other business. But an hour later a reply came to her by a Southbrook servant, and it set her heart bumping just that little bit faster.
Rufus, Lord Southbrook, would be pleased to ask his land agent to travel down to London, to discuss the house with Dr. Simmons and Lady Averil. There was another matter he wished to discuss with her, too. Something closer to her heart. Might he attend upon Lady Averil this afternoon at four o’clock and take her for a drive in his coach? If that was convenient would she send back a reply as soon as possible?
It was convenient and as the servant was waiting, Averil sent off a reply at once.
The clock struck three o’clock and Averil tried not to be restless. Beth was out somewhere and she felt the emptiness of the house pressing down upon her. It was all she could do not to peer from the windows at the street, hoping to see the coach with the Southbrook insignia upon the door.
Her reflection stared back at her, a little flushed, eyes bright, and she knew she must be careful. Rufus was the sort of man who could ensnare a woman’s heart and then break it, all in a matter of moments. The memory of the earl’s lips on her skin was with her still. Averil was an inexperienced young woman, although working at the Home had certainly opened her eyes. She considered she knew a lot about the seamier side of life.
No, this was business, she told herself sternly. Rufus wished to talk about the house, and about her sister. Perhaps he had found her! Was that what he meant, when he said he wished to discuss something closer to her heart?
Averil paced impatiently about the room, waiting for the earl to come.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
“As much as I enjoy being alone with you like this,” Rufus said, when she was settled in his coach, “it is likely to be harmful to your reputation.”
As he’d been anticipating, that glorious spark lit up her gray eyes.
“We are discussing business,” she said, staring at him and daring him to disagree. “If anyone wishes to take it up with me then let them.”
“Perhaps. But I would hate to be the cause of a future husband changing his mind about you, Averil.”
She shot him another look and lifted her chin. “I think marriage an overrated business anyway, Rufus.”
That made him snort with laughter. “You are so knowledgeable about it, of course.”
“I’ve seen people make terrible mistakes,” she said, quieter now, casting him a searching glance. “Look at my parents. Clearly they were most unsuited. My father told me once he deeply regretted marrying Anastasia, and I’m sure my mother felt the same.”
“Perhaps. But a marriage can be a very happy prospect, if you’re manacled to the right person.”
Good God, where was he going with this? No wonder she was looking at him oddly.
“Are you speaking from personal experience, Lord Southbrook?” she asked him, rather breathlessly.
He shook his head. “No. Unfortunately. My marriage was a mistake and we were both very unhappy. Almost at once, I might add. I don’t regret it because where would I be without Eustace?”
She smiled. “Yes, the world would be a grayer place without Eustace.”
“I don’t know why we are talking about my failings,” he said, hearing the mockery in his voice, and knowing it would annoy her. “I have some news for you. I hope you will be pleased.”
She leaned forward, almost falling into his lap as they went around a corner. “You’ve found my sister!”
He reached out to steady her, clasping her gloved hands in his. “No. I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me, Averil. Not your sister, not yet. I’ve found out who Rose’s father is . . . that is, was.”
“Oh,” she whispered. She looked away but he saw the tears in her eyes, and he gripped her hands tighter.
“I’m sorry. He’s long dead. Do you still want to know the sordid details?”
She hesitated. “How did you find out?” she said, as if to gain herself some time.
“Through Gregson. My manservant.”
He sat back, releasing her hands, and watched her smooth her sleeves, tuck a strand of escaping hair beneath her bonnet, and generally fiddle about while she sorted out her feelings. When she looked at him again she was calm once more.
“How did Gregson know?”
“Gregson’s brother was a servant in the household of Rose’s father. Servants’ gossip. It’s amazing what one can learn from it.”
“Everyone gossips,” Averil replied, and then, remembering how their conversation had begun, added, “Not that I care about that.”
He smiled. “Of course you don’t.”
“So, who was he? My mother’s lover? He must have been special, to send her running off with him and leaving my father and me behind.”
Rufus hesitated but her chin was set firmly, her emotions in check.
“I don’t think he was special. Not to the world anyway. He was the middle son of a baronet, not very rich, not particularly important. Gregson tells me he was a bit bookish. A bit of a romantic. They met and fell in love and ran off together.”
“He sounds very different from my father.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps that was why she fell in love with him. I didn’t know my father very well, he died while I was still a child, but he always seemed so-so distant. He had a collection of Egyptian artifacts. They were all sold, of course, with the house, after he died, but I wonder sometimes if my mother became just another acquisition. Something to look at and admire from a distance rather than to hold. She would have hated that.”
Rufus’s mouth quirked up. “Very perceptive of you, Averil.”
“What happened to . . .? You haven’t told me his name?”
“Percival Arnutt. He died. Shortly after your mother bolted. She was stranded, without a husband or a lover.”
Averil turned to the window and stared out, but he didn’t think she was seeing the passing scenery. “I wonder if she asked my father to take her back? He wouldn’t have. Once she left he removed all trace of her. He’d made a mistake and he didn’t want any reminders.”
“Yes. Percival’s family washed their hands of him, too. There was no one to take pity on her.”
“Or Rose.” Averil’s lip wobbled and she bit it. “So sad,” she said, turning back to him, and now the tears were obvious. One rolled down her cheek and she stopped it with her gloved finger, then another one slipped past. “I’m sorry. Whenever we’re together I seem to be crying.”
“Averil,” he muttered and reached to pull her into his arms. She resisted, her palms against his chest, holding him off, so he kissed her instead. Her lips opened in surprise and he took advantage of that, too. She tasted salty from her tears and that gave the moment an added poignancy. He didn’t think he’d ever kissed a weeping woman before.
She made a little sound and he kissed her again, caressing her lips with his, wondering if he should stop and not wanting to. If he married her—if she would have him, he reminded himself wryly—he could kiss her anytime. He found that the idea held great appeal to him.
She broke away and sat back, fussing with her clothing again, but her face was pink and her mouth pinker. Rufus wondered if he should apologize, but then he thought he’d be damned if he would say sorry for something they had both enjoyed so much.
The silence went on and, when Rufus felt he had let it go for long enough, he told her he had written to his land agent, to ask him to come to London and discuss the dower house property with herself and Dr. Simmons.
“It may turn out not to be suitable,” he added, “but it seems a shame to leave
it empty when it could be used for your good works.”
Averil gave him one of her clear looks. “Do you really mean that? Is that how you feel, truthfully? I ask because so many people find the whole issue of the women discomforting, and often blame the women themselves for their situation. I know they’re not perfect, and many of them are perfectly happy to go on as they are, but so many of them are desperate.”
Rufus frowned. “I don’t feel like that at all. I’ve seen plenty of degrading and dreadful sights in the East End. I think what you’re doing is a brave thing, Averil, because you know you won’t get much credit for it. You’re right, there are people who find the whole thing repugnant and are quick to change the subject.”
“Or make conditions when they offer to donate to the Home.”
He gave a brief laugh. “Like me, you mean? Wanting you there to show me about?”
“No, I . . . I didn’t mean that. I was glad to show you about.”
“You see, Averil, that’s what I like about you. You’re not afraid to say exactly what you think. Whatever the consequences.”
She frowned. “You make me sound very uncomfortable. I try not to be. I try to hold my tongue. But sometimes it just won’t be held.”
“Such honesty is rare. Don’t lose it.”
Rufus had a strong urge to reach out and kiss her again, and it took rather a lot of self-control to stop himself from doing it.
“Would you like to walk for a while?” he asked quickly, and before she could answer, called to his driver. Of course when he helped her out he remembered her injured knee.
“Perhaps we could sit instead,” he suggested, with a wry smile, holding out his arm for her to take.
Averil smiled. “I am quite recovered, thank you, my lord, and I would enjoy a walk.” She slipped her hand into his arm, her gloved fingertips resting on the sleeve of his jacket, and held him so lightly he hardly felt her. They walked a moment, and her head barely came up to the top of his shoulder, her fair hair beneath her bonnet threatening even now to tumble down from its pins.
He’d like to help it. He’d like to rake his fingers through it and then hold it as he kissed her mouth, tasting her with his tongue, his body pressed hard to hers so that he could feel every soft curve of her.
“I think I mentioned in my note that I wished to talk to you on another matter,” Averil said in her serious voice, clearly not sharing in Rufus’s erotic fantasies.
He pulled himself together.
“You did. What was this other matter?”
She took her time, finding the right words, and by the time she spoke he was intrigued to hear what she had to say. “There is something not right at the Home. The women are frightened. Violet is frightened. And I’m certain Jackson is at the heart of it. I found Violet listening outside the common room door this morning and, when Jackson came out, she ran away. I’ve tried to ask her what’s wrong but she won’t tell me.”
“I warned you about Jackson,” he said quietly.
“I know you did”—with a quick smile up at him—“but Gareth trusts him. He seems to be reliant on him and because of that he won’t hear a word against him. Did you know another woman has gone missing overnight? And three more have walked out of their own accord. I’m worried and I don’t know where to turn.”
There were things he could say, offers he could make, and promises, too, but he didn’t know if he should. He’d already inveigled himself into her life to a point where she was smiling at him as if he were her tame tomcat. Rufus was no one’s pet.
“What about Doctor Simmons?” he said gruffly. “Can’t you turn to him?”
Averil gave an involuntary laugh and shook her head. “Gareth has too many problems of his own at the moment.” And then once again she looked up at him and he felt that tug on his heart. “Rufus, I need your help.”
“Of course you do.” They’d reached a bench and he waited until she sat down before he joined her. The air was cooler today and there were not so many people about, but there were still quite a few who stared at them curiously. Censoriously.
Two women turned their heads and then began to whisper together. He could imagine the conversation: Is that the wicked earl? What is he doing with the Heiress? You don’t think . . . No!
“I’ll do what I can,” he said, narrowing his eyes after the women. “I know Jackson, and his cronies. Leave it to me.”
If she looked at him with that expression for any longer, Rufus thought, he was going to grab her and ravish her, right here. That would give the tabbies something to gossip about.
“Thank you.” Her relief was obvious. “I-I hoped you’d say that.”
A lock of her hair tumbled down her cheek. Rufus’s hand twitched; he clenched it, hard.
“We need to get back,” he said and rose abruptly to his feet. Startled, a little bemused, Averil stood up, too. In a moment he had her back in the coach and they’d set off at a cracking pace. He could tell by her glances that she thought she’d done something wrong, but he didn’t enlighten her. Better for her to think that, to grow a little more wary of him, than to trust him too much.
His thoughts were a little odd, for a man who was trying to get his hands on Averil’s fortune, but Rufus didn’t consider that. His wants and needs were a mass of confusion and contradictions at the moment.
One thing was clear, though. He had a task ahead of him—to see what Jackson was up to and to dive headfirst into the murkiness of the East End. It was work he did well. He’d find out what was going on for Averil’s sake and perhaps then she would marry him in gratitude.
“Where have you been?” Beth was waiting inside the door and she looked frantic. “Was that the earl’s carriage? Averil, you must not become involved with that man.”
Averil stiffened. Her smile faded. “Involved?” she said coldly. “I was discussing the problems at the Home with him, Beth. We went for a drive in his coach. What is wrong with that?”
Beth knew she was handling this entirely the wrong way but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Her usual calm had been shattered by the doubts planted in her mind by her conversation with James.
“James says—”
“James?” Averil caught her up, eyes narrowing. “When did you start calling Mr. Blainey James?”
“Mr. Blainey says that Rufus’s wife died suddenly and there was a scandal and . . . Well, I don’t know the full story yet, but Averil! The man cannot be trusted. Certainly not with the reputation of a young heiress.”
Averil’s eyes were full of anger, and although Beth had encountered her charge’s temper before, still she took a step back.
“You have no right to speak to me as if I am still a child, Beth. I am a grown woman, and one who knows her own mind. I am not a fool. I can look after myself, thank you. And if you and James discuss me behind my back again, I-I will be forced to send you away.”
And with that she marched off upstairs and slammed her door.
For a time the house was very quiet. Beth sat downstairs in the parlor, mopping at her eyes, telling herself that Averil did not mean it. When she was angry she often said things she did not mean, and retracted them later on. But she had never spoken quite like that before and it hurt.
Beth took a shaky breath. Perhaps she should leave anyway? Pack her bags and go off and that would show Averil. But after a pleasant few moments imagining that scenario, Beth decided she was just being silly. If she wanted to keep Averil safe from the wicked earl, then she had to stick it out and stay put.
Besides, where would she go?
She was still pondering this question when Averil finally came back downstairs, her own eyes reddened, and flung herself into Beth’s arms.
“I am so sorry,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what came over me. I know you mean well, Beth, it was just . . .”
“I was interfering,” Beth admitted, stroking her charge’s tangled hair. “I should have put it more gently, but I was worried. And I am just as bad as you, my dear, going
about with James Blainey. He’s a rogue. I think we make a fine pair, don’t we?”
Averil managed a chuckle. “Is there something about the Southbrooks or is it us?”
“Oh them, definitely them.”
After a time Beth rang for tea and cake, and they sat comfortably together before the fire. Averil told her about Percival Arnutt, and Beth could see the news had upset her.
“I didn’t tell you what else has been worrying me.” Averil looked at her with a woeful smile. “Gareth says the baroness wants him to marry her.”
Beth’s mouth dropped open.
“He feels he has to agree, because of all she’s done for him, even though he really doesn’t want to.”
“Good heavens,” Beth said faintly. “No wonder you flew off at me.”
“Gareth was in such a state.”
Beth reached for another slice of cake. The poppy seed was always very good and it was James’s favorite. “He’s a fool,” she said flatly. “He should have known what would happen if he let that woman get away with an inch, he should have known she’d take a mile. He must stand up to her and pack his things and walk out.”
“And go where? You know he has no money and I can’t help him.” Her eyes brightened. “He could come here!”
Beth hid her shudders. “Let’s wait and see, shall we, Averil? He might sort it all out by himself. You never know.”
“Or the baroness might find someone more to her taste,” Averil murmured, and then giggled. “Goodness, imagine that?” The next moment they were both laughing, and everything was back to normal.
“I didn’t have a chance to tell you.” Beth jumped up and fetched a letter from the side table. “This arrived for you this morning.”
Averil took the letter and saw it was from her old nanny, Mrs. Fredericks. Nanny Fredericks had written, in a spidery hand, that she had found something of Averil’s mother’s that she wished to give her but it was impossible for the elderly lady to make the trip to London.
“I wonder what it is,” Averil said, trying to decide how she could make the journey to the small village.