Max had left without even seeing his mother.
‘The earl still hasn’t come round?’ Alastair’s soft-voiced question brought him back to the present. After a glance at Max’s face, he sighed. ‘Almost as stubborn and rule-bound as Horse Guards, is my dear uncle. Are you positive you won’t allow me to speak to him on your behalf?’
‘You know arguing with Papa only hardens his views—and might induce him to extend his banishment to you, which would grieve both our mothers. No, it wouldn’t serve...though I appreciate your loyalty more than I can say—’ Max broke off and swallowed hard.
‘No need to say anything,’ Alastair replied, briskly refilling their glasses. ‘“Ransleigh Rogues together, for ever,”’ he quoted, holding his glass aloft.
‘“Ransleigh Rogues,”’ Max returned the salute, his heart lightening as he tried to recall exactly when Alastair had coined that motto. Probably over an illicit glass of smuggled brandy some time in their second Eton term after a disapproving master, having caned all four cousins for some now-forgotten infraction, first denounced them as the ‘Ransleigh Rogues.’
The name, quickly whispered around the college, had stuck to them, and they to each other, Max thought, smiling faintly. Through the fagging at Eton, the hazing at Oxford, then into the army to watch over Alastair when, after the girl he loved terminated their engagement in the most public and humiliating fashion imaginable, he’d joined the first cavalry unit that would take him, vowing to die gloriously in battle.
They’d stood by Max, too, after the failed assassination attempt at the Congress of Vienna. When he returned to London in disgrace, he’d found that, of all the government set that since his youth had encouraged and flattered the handsome, charming younger son of an earl, only his fellow Rogues still welcomed his company.
His life had turned literally overnight from the hectic busyness of an embassy post to a purposeless void, with only a succession of idle amusements to occupy his days. With the glorious diplomatic career he’d planned in ruins and his future uncertain, he didn’t want to think what rash acts he might have committed, had he not had the support of Alastair, Dom and Will.
‘I’m sure Aunt Grace would never say so, but having us turn up now must be rather awkward. Since we’re not in the market to buy the wares on display, why not go elsewhere? Your hunting box, perhaps?’
After taking another deep sip, Alastair shook his head. ‘Too early for that; ground’s not frozen yet. And I’d bet
Mama’s more worried about the morals of her darlings than embarrassed by our presence. Turned out of your government post or not, you’re still an earl’s son—’
‘—currently exiled by his family—’
‘—who possesses enough charm to lure any one of Jane’s innocents out of her virtue, should you choose to.’
‘Why would I? I’d thought Lady Mary would make me a fine diplomat’s wife, but without a career, she no longer has any interest in me and I no longer have any interest in marriage.’ Max tried for a light tone, not wanting Alastair to guess how much the august Lady Mary’s defection, coming on the heels of his father’s dismissal, had wounded him.
‘I wish I could think of another place to go, at least until this damned house party concludes.’ With a frustrated jab, Alastair stoppered the brandy. ‘But I need to take care of some estate business and I don’t want to nip back to London just now, with the autumn theatre season in full swing. I wouldn’t put it past Desirée to track me down and create another scene, which would be entirely too much of a bore.’
‘Not satisfied with the emeralds you brought when you gave her her congé?’
Alastair sighed. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t wise to recommend that she save her histrionics for the stage. In any event, the longer I knew her, the more obvious her true, grasping nature became. She was good enough in the bedchamber and possessed of a mildly amusing wit, but, ultimately, she grew as tiresome as all the others.’
Alastair paused, his eyes losing focus as a hard expression settled over his face. Max knew that look; he’d seen it on Alastair’s countenance whenever women were mentioned ever since the end of his ill-fated engagement. Silently damning once again the woman who’d caused his cousin such pain, Max knew better than to try to take him to task for his contemptuous dismissal of women.
He felt a wave of bitterness himself, recalling how easily he’d been lured in by a sad story convincingly recited by a pretty face.
If only he’d been content to save his heroics for the battlefield, instead of attempting to play knight errant! Max reflected with a wry grimace. Indeed, given what had transpired in Vienna, he was more than half-inclined to agree with his cousin that no woman, other than one who offered her talents for temporary purchase, was worth the trouble she inevitably caused.
‘I’ve no desire to return to London either,’ he said. ‘I’d have to avoid Papa and the government set, which means most of my former friends. Having spent a good deal of time and tact disentangling myself from the beauteous Mrs Harris, I’d prefer not to return to town until she’s entangled with someone else.’
‘Why don’t we hop over to Belgium and see how Dom’s progressing? Last I heard, Will was still there, looking after him.’ Alastair laughed. ‘Leave it to Will to find a way to stay on the Continent after the rest of us were shipped home! Though he claimed he only loitered in Brussels for the fat pickings to be made among all the diplomats and army men with more money than gaming sense.’
‘I don’t know that Dom would appreciate a visit. He was still pretty groggy with laudanum and pain from the amputation when I saw him last. After he came round enough to abuse me for fussing over him like a hen with one chick, he ordered me home to placate my father and the army board.’
‘Yes, he tried to send me away too, though I wasn’t about to budge until I was sure he wasn’t going to stick his spoon in the wall.’ Setting his jaw, Alastair looked away. ‘I was the one who dragged the rest of you into the army. I don’t think I could have borne it if you hadn’t all made it through.’
‘You hardly “dragged” us,’ Max objected. ‘Just about all our friends from Oxford ended up in the war, in one capacity or another.’
‘Still, I won’t feel completely at ease until Dom makes it home and...adjusts to life again.’ With one arm missing and half his face ruined by a sabre slash, both knew the cousin who’d always been known as ‘Dandy Dominick’, the handsomest man in the regiment, would face a daunting recovery. ‘We could go and cheer him up.’
‘To be frank, I think it would be best to leave him alone for a while. When life as you’ve always known it shatters before your eyes, it requires some contemplation to figure out how to rearrange the shards.’ Max gave a short laugh. ‘Though I’ve had months and am still at loose ends. You have your land to manage, but for me—’ Max waved his hand in a gesture of frustration. ‘The delightful Mrs Harris was charming enough, but I wish I might find some new career that didn’t depend on my father’s good will. Unfortunately, all I ever aspired to was the diplomatic corps, a field now closed to me. I rather doubt, with my sullied reputation, they’d have me in the church, even if I claimed to have received a sudden calling.’
‘Father Max, the darling of every actress from Drury Lane to the Theatre Royal?’ Alastair grinned and shook his head. ‘No, I can’t see that!’
‘Perhaps I’ll join John Company and set out for India to make my fortune. Become a clerk. Get eaten by tigers.’
‘I’d feel sorry for any tiger who attempted it,’ Alastair retorted. ‘If the Far East don’t appeal, why not stay with the army—and thumb your nose at your father?’
‘A satisfying notion, that,’ Max replied drily, ‘though the plan has a few flaws. Such as the fact that, despite my service at Waterloo, Lord Wellington hasn’t forgotten he was waiting for me when he was almost shot in Vienna.’ The continuing coldness of the man he’d once served and still revered cut even deeper than his father’s disapproval.
‘Well, you’re a natural leader and the smartest of the Rogues; something will come to you,’ Alastair said. ‘In the interim, while we remain at Barton Abbey, best watch your step. Mrs Harris was one thing, but you don’t want to get entangled with any of Jane’s eligible virgins.’
‘Certainly not! The one benefit of the débâcle in Vienna is that, with my brother to carry on the family name, I’m not compelled to marry. Heaven forbid I should get cornered by some devious matchmaker.’ And trapped into a marriage as cold as his parents’ arranged union, he thought with an inward shudder.
Picking up the decanter, Alastair poured them each another glass. ‘Here’s to confounding Uncle and living independently!’
‘As long as living independently doesn’t involve wedlock, I can drink to that,’ Max said and raised his glass.
Chapter Two
‘No, no, you foolish creature, shake out the folds before you hang it!’
Caroline Denby looked up from her comfortable seat on the sofa in one of Barton Abbey’s elegant guest bedchambers to see her stepmother snatch a spangled evening gown from the hapless maid and give it a practised shake.
‘Like this,’ Lady Denby said, handing the garment back before turning to her stepdaughter. ‘Caroline, dear, won’t you put that book away and supervise Dulcie with that trunk while I make sure this girl doesn’t get our evening dresses hopelessly wrinkled?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Caroline replied, setting down her book with regret. Already she was counting the hours until the end of this dreary house party so she might return to Denby Lodge and her horses. She hated to lose almost ten days’ training with the winter sales approaching. The Denby line her father had bred had earned a peerless reputation among the racing and army set, and she wasn’t about to let her stepmama’s single-
minded efforts to marry her off get in the way of maintaining her father’s high standards.
Besides, while working in the fields and stables in a daily regimen as comfortable and familiar as her father’s old riding boots, she could still feel the late Sir Martin’s kindly presence, watching over her and the horses that had been his life. How she still missed him!
Sighing, she closed her book and dutifully cast her gaze over at Dulcie, who was currently lifting a layer of chemises, stays and stockings out of a silken rustle of tissue paper. She should be thankful she’d been delegated to supervise the undergarments and leave the gowns to her stepmother. At least she wouldn’t have to cast her eyes on them again until she was forced to wear one.
Better to appear in some hideously over-trimmed confection of unflattering colour, she reminded herself, than to end up engaged.
‘I’ll help with the unpacking, but afterwards, I intend to ride Sultan before the light fades.’ As her stepmother opened her lips, probably to argue, Caroline added, ‘Remember, you agreed that if I consented to come to Mrs Ransleigh’s cattle auction, I’d be allowed to ride every day.’
‘Caroline, please!’ Lady Denby protested, her face flushing. Leaning closer and lowering her voice, she said, ‘You mustn’t refer to the gathering in such terms! Especially...’ She angled her head toward the maids.
Caroline shrugged. ‘But that’s what it is. A few gentlemen in search of rich wives gathering to look over the candidates, evaluate their appearance and pedigree, and try to strike a bargain. Just as they do at cattle fairs, or when they come to buy Papa’s horses, though I suppose the females here will be spared an inspection of their teeth and limbs.’
‘Really, Caroline,’ her stepmother said reprovingly, ‘I must deplore your using such a vulgar analogy. Just as the ladies wish to ascertain the character of prospective suitors, gentlemen want to assure themselves that any lady to whom they offer matrimony possesses suitable background and breeding.’
‘And dowry,’ Caroline added.
Ignoring that comment, Lady Denby said, ‘Couldn’t you, for once, allow yourself to enjoy the attentions of some handsome young men? I know you don’t want to spend another Season in London!’
‘You also know I’m not interested in getting married,’ Caroline said with the weariness of long repetition. ‘Why don’t you forget about trying to lure me into wedlock and concentrate on making a match for Eugenia? My stepsister is beautiful and wealthy enough to snare any suitor she fancies, and she’s eager enough for both of us. Only think how much blunt you’d save, if you didn’t have to take her to town in the spring!’
‘Unlike you, Eugenia is eagerly anticipating her London Season. Besides which, though I don’t wish to be indelicate, you are...getting on in years. If you don’t marry soon, you will be considered quite on the shelf.’
‘Which would be quite all right with me,’ Caroline retorted. ‘Harry won’t care a fig for that, when he comes back.’
‘But, Caroline, India is such an unhealthy, heathenish place! Marauding maharajas and fevers and all manner of dangers. Difficult as it is to consider, you must acknowledge the possibility that Lieutenant Tremaine might not return.’ Lady Denby’s eyes widened, as if the notion had only just occurred to her. ‘Surely he wasn’t so heedless of propriety as to ask you to wait for him!’
‘No,’ Caroline admitted. ‘We have no formal understanding.’
‘I should think not! It would have been most improper, with him leaving for Calcutta while everything was still in such an uproar after your papa’s...demise. Now, I understand you’ve known Harry Tremaine for ever and are comfortable with him, but if you would but give the notion a chance, I’m sure you could find some other gentleman equally...accommodating.’
Of her odd preferences for horses and hounds rather than gowns and needlework, Caroline silently filled in the unstated words. With Harry she’d had no need to conceal her unconventional and mannish interests, nor did she have to pretend a maidenly deference to his masculine opinions and decisions.
For her dearest childhood friend she might consider marrying and braving the Curse—though just thinking about the prospect sent an involuntary shudder through her. But she certainly wasn’t willing to risk her life for some lisping dandy who had his eyes on her dowry...or the Denby stud.
Unfortunately, she was wealthy enough that, despite her unconventional ways, there’d been no lack of aspirants to her hand during her aborted Season, before news of her father’s sudden illness had called them home. Caroline remained sceptical of how ‘accommodating’ any prospective husband might be, however, once he gained legal control over her person, property—and beloved horses. With the example of her now much-wiser and much-poorer widowed cousin Elizabeth to caution her, she had no intention of letting herself become dazzled by some rogue with designs on her wealth and property.
If she must marry, she’d wait to wed Harry, who knew her down to the ground and for whom she felt the same sort of deep, companionable love she’d felt for her father. Another pang of loss reverberated through her.
Gritting her teeth against it, she said, ‘In the five years since Harry joined the army, I’ve not found anyone I like as well.’
‘Well, you certainly can’t claim to have seriously looked! Not when you managed to talk your dear father, God rest his soul, out of taking you to London, or even attending the local assemblies, until I managed to convince him of the necessity last year. It’s just not...natural for a young lady to have no interest in marriage!’ Lady Denby burst out, not for the first time.
Before Caro could argue that point, her stepmother’s expression turned cajoling. ‘Come now, my dear, why not allow Mrs Ransleigh’s guests to become acquainted with you? It’s always possible you might meet a gentleman you could like well enough to marry. You know I have only your best interests at heart!’
The devil of it was Caroline knew the tender-hearted Lady Denby did want only the best for her, though what her stepmother considered ‘best’ bore little resemblance to what Caroline wanted for herself.
Her resolve weakening in the face of that lady’s genuine concern, Caroline gave her a hug. ‘I know you want
me to be happy. But can you truly see me mistress of some ton gentleman’s town house or nursery? Striding about in breeches and boots rather than gowns and dancing slippers, stable straw in my braids and barn muck on my shoes? Nor do I possess your sweetness of character, which allows you to listen with every appearance of interest even to the most idiotic of gentlemen. I’m more likely to pronounce him a lackwit to his face, right in the middle of the drawing room.’
‘Fiddle,’ her stepmother replied, returning the hug. ‘You’re often a trifle...impatient with those who don’t possess your quickness of wit, but you’ve a kind heart for all that and would never be so rag-mannered. Besides, it was your papa’s dying wish that I see you married.’
When Caroline raised her eyebrows sceptically, Lady Denby said, ‘Truly, it was! Though I suppose it’s only natural of you to doubt it, since he made so little effort to push you towards matrimony while he was still with us. But I promise you, as he breathed his last, he urged me to help you find a good man who’d make you happy.’
Caroline smiled at her stepmother. ‘You brightened what turned out to be his last two years. Knowing how much you did, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that, at the end, he urged you to cajole me into wedlock.’
Lady Denby sighed. ‘We were very happy. I’ve always appreciated, by the way, how unselfish you were in not resenting me for marrying him, after it had been just the two of you for so long.’
Caroline laughed. ‘Oh, I resented you fiercely! I wished to be sullen and distant and spiteful, but your sweet nature and obvious concern for us both quite overwhelmed my ill humour.’
‘You’re not still concerned about that silly notion you call ‘the Curse’?’ Lady Denby enquired. ‘I grant you, childbirth poses a danger to every woman. But when one holds one’s first child in one’s arms, one knows the risk was well worth it! I want you to experience that joy, Caroline.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Caro said, refraining from pointing out again just how many of her female relations, including her own mama, had died trying to taste that bliss. Her stepmother, ever optimistic, chose to see their deaths as unfortunate chance. Caro did not believe it to be mere coincidence, but there was no point continuing to argue the matter with Lady Denby.
The Rake to Ruin Her Page 2