The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

  "I must say I hardly recognized you out of uniform, " she remarked as the five of them rode side by side.

  "I feel positively indecent. But you know what sand is like. It gets all over, in every nook and cranny."

  She blushed and thought she saw Will looking at her, but he simply remarked, "Not to mention the damage the salt water could do to your regimentals."

  She flushed again. Was this a reference to the other day?

  "Thank you for the loan, old man. I can't recall the last time I owned any regular clothes."

  "What's mine is yours." He looked at his friend again more closely. "You'll have to borrow something for the ball as well. All your usual gold braid might be a bit of a giveaway."

  "True. Thank you for reminding me to ransack your wardrobe when we get back to Joyce Hall."

  "Honestly, you two, anyone would think you were some society belles. Balls and clothes indeed," Vevina teased. "Come. Let's gallop."

  They had a race which Will won easily, moving so at one with his horse he might have been a centaur, Elizabeth thought with a long, appraising look.

  "Would you like to walk for a time, Lady Elizabeth?" he asked when he saw her staring pointedly at him.

  "Yes, that would be pleasant," she said with a smile.

  He helped her down out of the saddle, but if she had hoped for a long, lingering pressing against his manly chest, she was disappointed. He got her down in a workmanlike fashion and took the reins of both horses, while Parks took her other arm.

  She looked over again at Will, wondering why he was always so formal and reticent. Perhaps he was already spoken for? An understanding with another lady?

  Elizabeth wondered why the notion bothered her so. She decided she was being silly. Did she not have enough men fighting to impress her, without her wanting to make a conquest of the sombre Will Joyce? She recalled how flighty Jonathan's wife Pamela had been prior to her marriage, and how it had almost cost her his friendship and love.

  No, Sir Wilfred Joyce was a thoroughly solid and respectable man of sound opinions and most upright and decent character. To try to flirt with him for the sake of getting some sort of emotional response from him other than cordiality would be just too bad of her.

  All the same, though, his hands and eyes upon her did the most peculiar things to her heartbeat….

  She managed to get through the ride and luncheon on the beach without disgracing herself too shamefully. But her sensation of being flustered only seemed to increase during the day as the rest of the party joined them and began to loosen up under the influence of good food, company, and some chilled white wine.

  Monroe, Mitchell and the Baineses served everyone, and then organised games for the whole party, including the children.

  No, it couldn't be Sir Wilfred, Mr. Joyce, she corrected herself, recalling his request from the previous day. It had to be Parks, she told herself as they tossed one of the children's balls to each other.

  They both went for one Will had thrown. They ended up almost in each other's arms rolling around in the sand.

  "Lord, Parks, you're going to break the poor girl's neck," Stewart remonstrated.

  The children giggled delightedly and all piled onto the struggling couple.

  Parks sat up from the wriggling mass of bodies. "Hah! Got it, Monroe."

  He threw it to his friend and moved to help Will disentangle Elizabeth from the writhing toddlers, as well as Bob, who was tickling them all until they screamed with laughter, even Elizabeth.

  Will helped her up, pressing her close to his chest. He began brushing down the back of her gown without thinking. "Sand everywhere," he whispered.

  She raised her lips to his almost instinctively, touching his shoulder as she did so. He winced and she almost fell again as his bad arm gave way completely with the searing pain. He caught her to him tightly with his right hand to stop her tumbling into the sand once more. He almost thrust her at Vevina and Stewart as they came up to see if she was all right.

  He was white-faced with pain, clutching his left arm hard. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I must have overdone things today. I hope I wasn't too rough with you."

  "Never mind you, love. What about the children being too rough? Are you all right, Lady Elizabeth?" Vevina asked.

  "Fine. But if the vicar is coming to tea, I'd better run home and change," she said, flooded with confusion.

  "Yes, it's about time we were all heading back home," Stewart agreed.

  Vevina helped brush off the worst of the sand from Elizabeth's dark habit. Monroe helped her into her saddle silently. The whole party was now a great deal more subdued than it had been a few moments before.

  "Mr. Joyce's arm. Can he get into the saddle?" she asked sotto voce.

  Monroe flashed her a broad grin. "Can he ever. Watch."

  She turned to see Will take a small running jump at the back of the horse and vault squarely into his saddle. He was already moving the horse with his knees alone as he took up the reins and put his feet in the stirrups at last.

  Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. She stared at him open-mouthed.

  To her chagrin he did not meet her eyes; rather, it seemed he took pains to avoid her gaze. What on earth had happened between them? To his arm?

  She longed to ask him, but there was no chance to draw near enough.

  Yet he seemed fine and was perfectly cordial as he took his leave of her. He reached over the pommel of his saddle to shake hands. "Goodbye."

  "Thank you for a lovely day."

  "Enjoy your tea."

  "You're coming for supper, surely?" she blurted out almost desperately.

  "Oh, no, I have-"

  "Nothing that cannot wait," Parks intervened. "We will all be there for the wine tasting. Plus the last minute arrangements for the ball, of course."

  Will said nothing, merely nodded.

  "Thank you. I shall see you then. And I'm sorry if you hurt yourself because of me," she said with a timid glance up into his face.

  "Not at all. Your servant, Ma'am."

  Elizabeth waved and went in to change, playing over the whole day in her mind. She noted that she had had a marvelous day, and not once had she even thought of Marcus Fitzsimmons.

  She wondered at how flustered she had been around Parks. He had never once said anything even remotely indicating admiration, or any hint of what had happened in the cave. She had been ruffled by what had happened on the sand, but it had actually been when Mr. Joyce had tried to help her, not when she had been in Parks' arms.

  She stripped off her now sandy riding habit, refreshed herself with a quick sponge bath, and put on her spotted muslin with the blue trim.

  She had worn it the night of the incident in the cave, and allowed its soft folds to whisper over her flesh like a lover's caress. With a shake of her head over her romantic notions, she went down to greet her guests.

  The vicar Mr. Locke and his bookish young verger were somewhat less than enthusiastic over her idea for adult literacy classes.

  But Mr. Nolan's sister Penelope, a most pert and outspoken young bluestocking in her early twenties with flaming red hair, said, "Of course we shall help. Nothing worse than ignorance, except people who are willfully so. We can call upon everyone of importance in the district and get them to commit to an hour a week."

  "Oh, but—"

  She snorted with derision. "No sense in trying to be polite, dear. If you wait for them to volunteer, you'll be waiting until the last trump sounds."

  "Very well. We're having a masked ball tomorrow night. If you would all care to come, you can get them to give you an undertaking. You can put me down for three hours each week."

  "Goodo. Leave it to me, my girl. Only don't expect me to wear a costume. I shall just bully them and leave," the pretty Penelope said in a firm tone.

  Elizabeth smiled, and nodded. "As you please. But you're more than welcome to join us."

  As soon as tea was over, she joined Charlotte and Vanessa, who she saw
had been hard at the ball preparations all day.

  "I'm sorry I've not been much help."

  "Nonsense, dear," Charlotte said, giving her sister-in-law a warm hug. "Vanessa and I have been having a marvelous time. We had a lovely day with the children. Clifford is just now finishing gathering wines from the cellar if you'd like to see what he's up to. Only don't ruin your frock."

  "Is Thomas back yet?"

  "No. You know what these horse fairs are like. A lot of whiskey, blarney and hand spitting."

  "True. He will have to scrub himself from head to toe when he gets back."

  "So long as he doesn't bring Fitzsimmons, I shall be happy to see him no matter what his state."

  Elizabeth looked at Charlotte. "You don't like him, then?"

  "I am sure he is all very well in his way, but certainly nothing like the Rakehells. Or his cousin Stewart, and Colonel Joyce and Major Parks and their set."

  Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. "I shall go find Clifford, tell him to come up and wash and dress for dinner."

  Vanessa smiled at her. "Thank you."

  She threw her dark day coat over her gown and went to the door at the back of the house under the servants' stairs.

  Clifford was happily standing there amid the racks with a lantern, poring over the treasures.

  "Fascinating. You father must have done a very brisk trade with the French. There are some vintages and types of wine here that even I've never seen, and my father fancied himself a real connoisseur."

  "Well, we're very close to France here. Historically speaking there's always been a great deal of trade between the two countries, up until the Revolution at any rate. And there was that short cessation of hostilities after Trafalgar, and the Convention of Cintra."

  "Don't mention that ignoble incident to me, or I shall forget myself and swear in the presence of a lady."

  "Well, the Government thought it was were doing the right thing, trying to save lives," she said in an attempt to placate him.

  "Wellington didn't. They forced him to agree to the Treaty, but as soon as he got to London there was the inquiry, and he was exonerated."

  "Thank goodness," she said with a shudder. "I hate to think where we would all be now without him."

  "Don't I know it."

  "But sometimes one has to compromise, doesn't one?" she asked pensively.

  Clifford shook his head. "Not if you believe in your cause strongly enough. If you know it is the right thing to do. We never could have placated Napoleon except by allowing ourselves to be devoured."

  Elizabeth considered his words for a moment as she admired the dusty old bottles and the cellar. It was not used very much, but was not nearly as filthy as she might have expected. She certainly had some very dedicated servants.

  "So your solution is to stand and fight, no matter what?"

  "If it is presented to you, yes. Never start a fight, but always finish one."

  "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

  Clifford gathered up the last of the bottles from the table.

  "Here, let me give you a hand," she offered.

  She took a couple from him and he was able to lift the lantern to guide their way up the stairs.

  "I hope you're going to be happy here. If you ever get homesick, though, you know we'll always be thrilled to see you at Stone Court."

  "Do you think I'm making a mistake by staying, Clifford? Please, give me your honest opinion."

  He shrugged, and went into the small parlor they had set aside for the wine tasting. "It's not for me to say."

  "But I'm asking your advice. As an old friend."

  He sighed. "As I said, we shall miss you. But you need to strike out on your own, not live with the shadow of what happened to Jane forever. Promise me you'll be careful, won't you, Elizabeth. Men can be most plausible rogues."

  "I know. I promise."

  Clifford gave her a warm hug and a soothing rub on the back.

  They heard the tread of a booted foot on the wooden floor outside.

  "Sorry to interrupt, I was told to come look for Elizabeth," Will said gruffly, feeling a cold fury spread through him.

  He gaped as he saw the face of the tall blond man she had been hugging. Relief flooded through him. For a moment he had thought it was Fitzsimmons.

  "Mr. Stone?"

  Clifford pumped his hand warmly. "Good to see you, lad. We've just finished in the cellars. Perhaps you can help Elizabeth open them to breathe whilst I get cleaned up."

  "Er, certainly."

  But Clifford had already vanished, leaving them completely alone for the first time.

  "Please allow me to take off your dusty coat first, Lady Elizabeth."

  "Thank you."

  He removed it from her gently and draped it over a chair, then took off his evening gloves and began to open and uncork with deft movements.

  "We can get Edgars to do this if you prefer."

  "Don't be silly. I'm not averse to doing things myself. I had to in the war, after all."

  "How is your shoulder now? I noticed it pained you today," she said quietly, daring to risk a direct look at his handsome face as she removed her gloves to stop them from getting any more dusty than they already had.

  "It twinges me every so often. I'm sorry if you were hurt or startled."

  "Neither, but I was concerned for you."

  "It's nothing."

  "How did it happen, or is that too personal a question?"

  He shrugged. "The French were trying to kill me. They fired a cannon, the shell exploded, I was hit. The shrapnel was too deep to get it out. End of story."

  "I'm sure it's a great deal more painful than you are letting on," she said softly, placing one hand upon his sleeve. "Emotion doesn't have to be weakness, you know."

  He jumped away from her before she could touch him again. "I don't know what you mean, Lady Elizabeth. Pray excuse me while I see where my sister has got to. We should not be alone in here together like this."

  He fled. Beat an ignominious retreat. Turned tail and ran.

  Whatever terms he couched it in, he could have turned his head and kissed her, but didn't.

  He would have words with his so-called friends about setting him up again. It was simply not fair to either of them. The last thing he wanted was for her to get herself a reputation thanks to him.

  If the Fitzsimmons family had been in the house and found them alone together with their gloves off having a personal conversation, they would never have heard the end of it.

  But then, he had to concede, if Marcus had been in the house he would never have got the chance to get anywhere near her alone.

  What had she meant by her statement about emotion? He sighed. He would never know now.

  He gathered the troops to get them to help set up the wine bottles, and headed back to the little room. The servants began to lay out food. Clifford came in a short time later with Thomas, both looking freshly washed and dressed, and eager to be the teachers for the evening. To everyone's relief, Fitzsimmons was not with Thomas.

  They had a most pleasant evening, for Will and Parks were knowledgable about wines as well.

  "You should see Will's cellars at Joyce Hall. Most fine."

  Will stared fixedly at his friend and remained silent.

  "You can pop round tomorrow to come have a look if you like, all of you," Parks invited.

  "Oh, er, but they will have so much to do tomorrow to prepare for the ball, and the house is in such poor repair—"

  "Nonsense. What's a bit of dust? Do say you'll come have a look, Clifford. I would value your opinion. I might buy a few bottles from you and Lady Elizabeth as well, if you don't mind, to start laying down my own cellar. After three years drinking the most appalling swill in Portugal and Spain I could do with some good tipple."

  "Surely the wines were not that bad there? Port and sherry and so on," Elizabeth said with a smile at Parks.

  "True, true. And I would not want you to think that we were topers. B
ut the water often wasn't fit to drink, and the cheaper wines were like vinegar. The Frenchies got most of the good stuff, curse them." His tone was so mild that everyone laughed.

  "You make me feel very ashamed of my privileged and easy life, while you all sacrificed so much."

  "We sacrificed for our wives, sisters, children, parents," Will said firmly. "It was a privilege to serve."