How to Ravish a Rake

by Vicky Dreiling

  “I wasn’t sure what to make of his attentions or I would have written to you about it. He started calling on my father regularly. Then one day he asked me to walk with him. It became a habit, and I didn’t comprehend the significance at first.”

  “What are your feelings for him?” Georgette asked.

  “Mr. Crawford is a good man. He has devoted himself to the church. Everyone in the neighborhood admires him.”

  “I asked about your feelings,” Georgette said.

  “I think he is a steady man with flaws like all of us.” He could provide her with a home, children, and security. But there were little things that troubled her. He often asked if he could make a suggestion. While he spoke in gentle tones, his suggestions were actually criticisms. When she’d showed him her sketchbook, he’d frowned and asked if her time might be better spent on charitable activities. Once when they were walking, he’d observed her new bonnet and asked her if it wasn’t too ostentatious for the country. He’d spoiled her pleasure in it, and she’d never worn it again in his presence.

  “Amy, you are troubled,” Georgette said.

  “He takes his position as a vicar very seriously. I believe he expects me to give up ostentatious bonnets and my drawing.”

  “What?” Georgette said in an outraged tone. “No, you will not give up your designs. You are talented, and he has no right to prevent it.”

  “He means well. I know he is mindful that some of the parishioners are poor, and he worries that frivolous expenditures would send the wrong message.” On the day he’d criticized her pretty bonnet she’d tried to gather the courage to tell him that he was impertinent and had no right to tell her what to do. Then he’d apologized for making her sad. He’d smiled a little and told her that he understood that young ladies liked to indulge in their pastimes. Mr. Crawford had expressed confidence that once she married, she would give up her girlish ways.

  “You have always devoted yourself to charitable activities at home,” Georgette said. “It has never interfered with your drawing.”

  Amy said nothing. His insinuation that he intended to propose had alarmed her. Panic had gripped her so hard that she’d barely been able to breathe. But she’d held all of her vexation inside, because she’d not known what to do.

  “I detect no tender feelings on your part,” Georgette said. “Am I mistaken?”

  “No. I tried to brush away my doubts. My parents have said nothing specific, but I know they are in favor of the match.”

  “Amy, are your parents trying to persuade you to marry him?”

  “They would never force me to wed anyone.” But the day she’d told her mother that Georgette had invited her to spend the Season with her in London, her mother had frowned. Then she’d asked Amy if she thought it wise to leave “just now.” Her mother’s question had left no doubt in Amy’s mind that her parents held hopes that Mr. Crawford would offer to marry her.

  “You look very glum,” Georgette said.

  “He believes we are both practical people and well suited.” She suspected he was primarily interested in her marriage portion. Her father was not an aristocrat, but he was a wealthy man. “Mr. Crawford said he would wait for me, but I refused to make a commitment, because I was confused.” He had regarded her with a patronizing smile and said he felt certain she would come to her senses after a week or two in London. Then he’d repeated his intention to wait for her, despite her objection. She’d felt awful.

  “You cannot marry him,” Georgette said. “You cannot.”

  Amy met Georgette’s gaze. “He may be my last chance to marry.”

  “No,” Georgette said, raising her voice. “You deserve better, Amy. I know you want to marry for love.”

  “I may not have a choice.” After uttering the words, she felt defeated.

  Georgette leaned forward. “You will not settle for a marriage to a man who does not cherish and love you. Amy, you will be miserable. I won’t let you give up so easily.”

  You are my dear friend, but you cannot possibly understand, because you are beautiful and vivacious. And you will never have to make the painful choice I have to make.

  “You made no commitment to him, so you are free to court others,” Georgette said.

  Foolishly, she’d hoped that would happen, but tonight, she’d faced the truth. No pretty ball gown would transform her into an English rose.

  “Something else is vexing you,” Georgette said. “I can sense it.”

  “I found out belatedly that Mr. Crawford asked my father’s permission to correspond with me. Now I am obliged to answer his letters.” Her parents had beamed, leaving no doubt in her mind that they were pleased.

  “Why did you not tell them that you had made no commitment?” Georgette said.

  “They looked so happy. I felt awful and guilty.”

  “You cannot marry him to please your parents,” Georgette said. “You must think of yourself first.”

  Amy set her feet on the bed and wrapped her arms round her shins. “Mr. Crawford is the first man to seriously express interest in me.”

  Georgette smoothed the covers. “Amy, you have so many doubts about him. I understand your concerns, but you do not give yourself enough credit.”

  She did have doubts, but it changed nothing

  “You have this season,” Georgette said. “I hope you fall madly in love with one of the gentlemen in London.”

  “No one will even dance with me.” Only once in five years had anyone asked, and Amy knew Julianne had arranged it.

  “I think you’re inadvertently signaling that you do not wish to dance,” Georgette said. “When the gentlemen approached us tonight, you lowered your eyes.”

  “It is an ingrained habit.” In truth, she’d known neither of them would ask, because no one ever did.

  “You think your shyness is impossible to overcome, but I don’t believe it,” Georgette said. “If you will only allow the world to see the real you, my wonderful friend, you will be so much happier.”

  “It doesn’t come naturally to me,” she said.

  “You only want practice.” Georgette hesitated. “Of course, you wish others to see you as friendly.”

  Amy stared at her friend. Her pulse sped up. “Do others think I am aloof?”

  Georgette focused on smoothing her nightgown. “No, absolutely not.”

  Amy knew then that it was true. She blinked back threatening tears. It had never occurred to her that others would misinterpret her shyness.

  Georgette touched her hand. “I know how clever and witty you are. Break free of your protective cocoon and let others see the Amy I know.”

  Her throat clogged. Fearing her voice would break, she merely nodded.

  “This year will be different. I promise,” Georgette said with such emphasis that it was as if she believed saying the words would make them true.

  Amy didn’t believe her, but she vowed to try harder. In truth, she had nothing left to lose. It was her last season, and she knew she would always regret it if she did not make an effort to come out of her shell.

  Chapter Two

  Sir, you are wanted in the gold salon.”

  Will opened his bleary eyes just as his valet drew back the drapes. Sunlight flooded the room. “Argh,” he yelped, shading his eyes.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Jenkins, the valet, said, his voice devoid of any sympathy.

  In all fairness, sympathy was not part of Jenkins’s job. Nevertheless, Will’s mood was not improved by the sudden onslaught of sunlight. His eyes felt as if they were full of sand, and his head pounded. The sour taste on his tongue made him suspect he’d drunk one too many bottles of claret, but his recollection of last night was hazy at best. He vaguely recalled stumbling out of a hackney and lurching to the front door. Obviously, he’d managed to drag himself upstairs and into bed.

  He squinted at the bedside clock. “It’s bloody ten o’clock. Jenkins, shut the drapes.”

  “Sir, his lordship instructed me to w
ake you,” Jenkins said. “You are expected for a family meeting.”

  Will groaned. Not another one. What now? Was his grandmamma suffering from faux heart palpitations again? Or was that her mysterious sinking spells? Or had Peter, his eldest nephew, pissed on Mama’s hothouse roses for the third time this week? Will loved his family, but they were driving him mad.

  Over the past four years, he’d traveled on the Continent and had almost forgotten what it was like to deal with his relatives. He’d actually thought he could escape them in this monstrosity of a house, but no, that was impossible, especially with his busybody sisters and their annoying husbands invading the drawing room three to four times a week. Without fail, there was some new crisis the entire family must discuss in endless detail.

  He briefly considered sending word to his brother that he was too ill to attend, but if he did, they would send for a sawbones. Then he would become the latest problem. Visions of his mother trying to feed him broth and toast were enough to prod him to sit up. He glanced down at himself, belatedly realizing that he’d slept in his shirt and trousers. After rummaging among the tangled sheets, he found his wrinkled cravat.

  Jenkins’s mouth puckered in obvious disgust. Then he took the mangled neck cloth from Will’s outstretched hand and held it as if it were a dead rodent.

  Will scrubbed his hand over his bristled jaw. He’d not spent much time at Ashdown House since returning to England. After his brother’s wedding last year, he’d attended one house party after another with his bachelor friends. He’d spent Christmas with his family, but after the holidays, he’d escaped once again and spent the winter carousing at his friend Bellingham’s hunting box.

  Upon returning home a fortnight ago, he’d found himself cooped up indoors far too often. His family expected him to attend balls, Venetian breakfasts, and dinner parties. They insisted he twiddle his thumbs in his mother’s drawing room on her “at home” days while his mother’s friends, all dragons, paraded inside. One day after a long night of revels, he’d nodded off next to Grandmamma on the sofa, a faux pas that had not amused his mother and sisters.

  Weariness from a night of carousing overcame him. He flopped onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head. He dreamed a woman with long red hair cascading over her breasts crooked her finger at him. He tried to kiss her, but she turned and fled into darkness, leaving him frustrated.

  Someone shook his shoulder. With a gasp, he jerked up to find his brother staring at him. “Deuce take you,” he muttered.

  Hawk waved his hand. “Egad, you smell like a brew house, and you slept in your clothes.”

  “I took my boots off.”

  Hawk regarded him with a wry expression. “I commend you.”

  “Ha-ha.” Will massaged his aching temples. “Seriously, why should I attend this family meeting? It’s bound to be something ridiculous again.”

  Hawk set his fist on his hip. “Actually, the meeting concerns you.”

  Will regarded his brother with suspicion. “What about me?”

  “We’ll discuss it in the drawing room. Everyone is already gathered. Make yourself presentable and report downstairs in twenty minutes, tops.”

  Will pulled a face. “I’m not in any condition to face them, you know.”

  “You’ll manage, I’m sure.” Then Hawk quit the room.

  When Will walked into the drawing room fifteen minutes later, Montague, his eldest sister’s husband, regarded him with disdain. “It took you long enough.”

  Will thought of several choice responses, none of them polite. In deference to the ladies present, he kept his reply between his teeth and sat on the green sofa next to his snoring grandmamma. She had agreed to stay for a short time in Richmond. Every day, she said she would return to Bath soon. He hoped she would remain, because he worried about her health, even though Aunt Hester thought she made up her various ailments for attention.

  “William, your eyes are red,” Mama cried. “Are you ill?”

  Aunt Hester adjusted the tall feathers on her ugly purple turban and snorted. “Louisa, that boy has been pulling the wool over your eyes for years. The only thing he suffers from is the bottle ache.”

  Montague snapped his newspaper shut. “Little wonder the papers call him the devil.”

  “I’d no idea you were fond of the scandal sheets,” Will drawled.

  Hawk held up his hand. “Let us leave off the quarreling. We are family and should not take that for granted,” he said, cutting his gaze meaningfully to Grandmamma.

  Will glanced at his grandmother’s slightly parted lips. During his absence from England, she had grown frail. She walked with a cane now and needed assistance on the stairs. She missed her friends in Bath, but he didn’t like to think of her living so far away, with only a companion to look after her.

  Hawk stood beside his wife, Julianne, and smiled at their infant daughter. Then he gazed at Will. “I’m glad that you had your adventures, but you were sorely missed. We’re all glad you are home for good.”

  Will frowned. Home for good? He drew in a breath to tell his brother that he had no intention of remaining home for much longer, but his mother’s voice forestalled him.

  “I am grateful that you are back in the bosom of our family,” Mama said. “I worried every single day that you would meet with harm. Did I not, Patience?” she said to her eldest daughter.

  “Yes, you did, Mama.” Patience patted the dowager countess’s hand. “As a mother, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to have your son away so often.”

  They were slathering the guilt on a bit thick, but then his female relatives specialized in exaggerating their feelings, with the exception of Aunt Hester, who spoke plainly and regularly shocked his mother and sisters. Thank God for her.

  “Will, we are glad to see you settled now,” Harmony, the middle sister, said.

  Hope, his youngest sister, regarded him with a sly expression. “Not entirely settled, but I will gladly assist you with that matter.”

  Will rubbed his aching temple. “What matter?”

  Lord Kenwick, Harmony’s husband, snorted. “They mean to see you leg-shackled.”

  Will reared back. Damn. His sisters thought matrimony the pinnacle of a man’s existence.

  Aunt Hester rummaged in her reticule, produced a vial, and nudged Harmony. “Pass the vinaigrette to your brother. He looks ready to swoon.”

  “Hope, we will not press him to marry,” Hawk said. “He’s only five and twenty.”

  “Six and twenty as of last week,” Will drawled.

  The dowager countess cried out, “I forgot his birthday. What kind of mother forgets her son?”

  “Mama, you must not blame yourself,” Patience said. “Will has been gone so much of the time that it was all too easy to forget.”

  Will rolled his eyes. So now it was his fault that they had forgotten his birthday.

  “You must not feel guilty, Mama,” Hope said. “None of us remembered, either.”

  Hawk winced. “Will, I’m sorry.”

  “It doesn’t signify.” As the youngest of the brood, he’d grown accustomed when he was a child to everyone forgetting about him and had learned to appreciate his freedom. Of course, they’d remembered him when they caught him getting into mischief, but he’d gotten away with far more than they knew.

  “How could I forget?” The dowager countess sniffed and dabbed a handkerchief at her teary eyes. “He is my babe.”

  Aunt Hester lifted her quizzing glass to inspect Will. “He’s a prodigious big one. It’s a wonder you birthed him.”

  Naturally that set off a hue and cry.

  His sisters apologized profusely and swore they would make it up to him.

  “I don’t care about my blasted birthday,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I celebrated with friends.”

  “We all know you’re accomplished at celebrating,” Montague muttered.

  Will’s head throbbed. “Could we possibly get to the point?” he s
aid a bit too sharply.

  They all gaped at him.

  “Since you insist, I will,” Patience said in her pompous elder sister voice. “Imagine our dear mother’s embarrassment upon learning that you have taken up with that disreputable Mrs. Fleur, if that is even her real name.”

  He was tempted to tell them they need no longer worry about Alicia, but he thought better of mentioning it. “My private life is none of your affair,” he said.

  “It is hardly private,” Hope said. “You are accounted the worst libertine in England.”

  He rolled his eyes. As soon as this foolish meeting ended, he intended to pack his trunks and leave.

  Grandmamma awoke with a start. She looked about her with a confused expression.

  Will patted her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Did I miss something?” she hollered. Due to her diminished hearing, Grandmamma had a tendency to shout.

  “Not a thing,” Will said, raising his voice so that she could hear him.

  “William,” the dowager countess said. “How can you say such a thing? You are not taking the family meeting seriously.”

  He lifted his palms. “You’re glad I’m home, but you don’t like my reputation. Now that we’ve established those facts, perhaps we can disperse.”

  Hawk gave him a warning look. “There is another matter.”

  Will groaned. How long would this blasted meeting last?

  “Now that you’re home for good, you need an occupation,” Hawk said.

  Will held his hand up. “Wait. I never said—”

  Grandmamma tugged on his arm. “What did he say?” she shouted.

  He raised his voice. “I need an occupation.”

  Grandmamma clasped her hands and bellowed, “The church would be perfect.”

  Hester scowled at her sister. “Maribelle, the parishioners would revolt. The papers have named him the devil.”

  “That isn’t very nice,” Grandmamma hollered. “You go first.”

  “Go where?” Hester called out.

  “To the devil,” Grandmamma shouted.

  Will held his fist to his mouth in an attempt to hide his laughter, but his shoulders shook. Meanwhile, baby Emma Rose chose that moment to squall.