The Rake's Handbook

by Sally Orr

  “Not in the middle of the assembly floor.”

  He stopped waltzing and started to unbutton his waistcoat. “Now there’s an idea.”

  “No!” She flung herself at him, grabbing his hand to stop him.

  “You really must contain yourself in public.”

  “You devil.”

  He leaned close enough his lips brushed her cheek. “Your devil, madam, and no one else’s. In fact, you cannot even begin to understand what subject matters your devil has in wait for you.” He lowered his eyelids. “We’ll become quite heated after reading the later chapters of my handbook.”

  Her heart thumped in her chest as she grinned at the man who meant everything to her now. She needed to hold him, kiss him senseless, but not here with the town’s matrons watching their every move.

  He took a deep breath and held her closer than propriety allowed. He tried to speak, looked upward, and then whispered, “I should have waited. Tomorrow, my love. I’ll show you tomorrow.”

  Twenty-four

  “What is the nature of your surprise?” Elinor asked.

  A brisk sunny day greeted them as Ross gathered her for a carriage ride to Blackwell. He ignored her question, handed her up into the carriage, and placed a plaid blanket around her knees before they set off. In unison, they clasped hands and intertwined their fingers. She felt the heat of his warm palm even through two layers of kid gloves. “Where are we going?”

  He chuckled before giving her hand a squeeze. “I knew you would ask me that.”

  “I—we—there are important subjects to discuss.”

  He leaned over, kissed her on the neck next to her bonnet’s blue silk ribbons, and then resumed stroking her arm.

  Males. Hopeless at conversation, just when you need to talk. She glanced at Ross abstractly staring at her fingers and realized he would remain silent. How could he be reticent when they needed to discuss Berdy, their living arrangements, the foundry, the wedding, and his mother? Males. She weakened at the sight of his dark hair against his white collar as he turned to peer out the window. Males. Wonderful, strong, loving men. Both similar in many ways, one gentleman kind and proper, the other kind and wicked. Why had she been gifted with the privilege to truly love a man a second time?

  Elinor snuggled up to his warm body, and rested her palm on his deep green velvet coat. After a prolonged sigh, she shut her eyes. When she opened them, they had arrived at Blackwell’s stables.

  Ross bounded out of the carriage and reached up to help her down. “Come, come, you must see this.”

  “See what?”

  “Naughty, naughty girl, this way.” He tucked her arm under his and started off toward back of the house. “What a beautiful day.”

  Once they reached the rear of Blackwell, she discovered many changes had taken place since the garden party. The sloping lawn had been graded into terraces, supported by short walls of new fieldstone. A wide gravel path separated the terraces into two large arcs of dark, freshly dug earth. Approaching the first terrace, she saw a half-dozen rosebushes taking benefit from the day’s glorious sun. This early in the year, most of the roses resembled bare canes with few leaves, but one must have come from a glasshouse, since the plant had several fragile blooms.

  “How lovely,” she said in a soft voice.

  “My gardener is quite put out at being able to find only one plant with flowers. But as you can see, we are ready for spring. I’ve also ordered fifty more canes to be delivered. By next summer, the rose garden will have taken its first step toward becoming the most glorious sight in the neighborhood.” He leaned close with a devilish smile upon his face. “Of course, this does mean the air around your home will become a nuisance. I’m afraid the wind will blow the scent of roses right into the house.” He winked.

  She grinned wryly. “You will have so many roses, you should start a new business. Use the old salt-evaporating pans down by the river to make rose water.” She giggled. “Thornbury’s rose water, for the lady who has everything”—she looked into his eyes—“like me.”

  He kissed her cheek and patted her hand. “Excellent idea, madam. Now stay there please. I shall be right back.”

  Striding to the table on the terrace, he returned with a full glass of water. “My first attempt at being the proper lover females desire, so be easy on me.” He took a deep breath. “Once upon a time there was a young student who applied for a vacancy in a famous academy of philosophers. In answer to his request, the head of the academy sent him a glass of water so full—the addition of a single drop would run over the side. The young man sadly realized this message was the philosopher’s way of telling him he was too late. There was no room at the academy—no room.” A wistful light shone in his eyes.

  She understood the metaphor. Her heart must be full of William’s love.

  Ross continued speaking. “Peering through the water in the glass, the young man noticed a rose at his feet. He plucked a petal”—Ross did the same from the plant before him—“then carefully floated the petal so not a single drop escaped.” He lowered the velvety white petal until it touched the water and let go. The petal floated gently across the water’s surface. “The young man handed the glass back to the head philosopher. He was then immediately accepted into the academy for his demonstration that room can be found where least expected. I know you will always love William, but I ask for room in your heart for me too, because I love you.” He tossed the water and the petal across the ground then set the glass down. He grabbed her hands. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  A soft, fulsome joy radiated through her. “Yes.” Her eyes started to water. “Yes, room.” She laughed. “Always room in my heart for you, my love.”

  Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a gold brooch.

  The sunlight bounced off the gold and diamonds of William’s mourning brooch. Somehow he had rescued it from the leech man. “How…”

  “You were right. It cost a small fortune to recover this, but I hope you approve of my alterations. Look carefully.”

  She gazed at him in wonderment. Upon examining the brooch, she noticed the tight plaits of William’s hair remained. Yet resting along the side lay one of Ross’s sable curls. The bottom of his curl was held together with seed pearls, making his hair resemble a dark stalk nestled amongst the wheat-colored plaits.

  “Oh.” Words failed her.

  “Someday I hope you will tell me about him.”

  She was able to nod. William’s memory was safe in her soul, and her gratitude for the honor of that love still warmed her. “And you tell me about John.”

  “Yes, I would like that.” He spoke softly. “So in my heart the phrase, ‘not lost, gone before’ has an additional meaning. With your love, I can be myself. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I am not. I truly am—not lost.”

  Now even an “oh” was beyond her capabilities. Warm tears obscured her vision as she began to laugh.

  Ross gathered her into his arms. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs and kissed her resoundingly. “Hell’s fire, we will have to wait three weeks for the banns to be read. Three weeks! I can no longer wait to—express my love.”

  Elinor wiped the last happy tear away with the back of her hand. “We can always go fishing or for a carriage ride or, where is that pinery?”

  “Madam, it is clear you and I shall suit.”

  She laughed. “I know we will, my love, I truly know.”

  He surveyed the area. “Just how far away is that pinery? Come, come. I’ll need plenty of time this morning.” He grabbed her hand, imprisoned it under his arm, and strode briskly toward the glasshouse.

  “Ross, someone will see us.”

  “No, Mr. Douglas and the others are at the foundry site today. We’ll have the pinery all to ourselves.” He stopped to kiss her deeply, then urgently pulled her toward the pinery.
“Besides, Mother would find us anywhere in the house.” A reckless grin emerged. “Exactly what is that thing around your neck?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your gown. Looks like I’ll have a devilish time removing it. What is that cloth muddle around your neckline?”

  Elinor peeked at her bright blue muslin gown, and found nothing more than lovely cording at the bust line. Above that, fine white muslin went all the way up and gathered in a ruffled edge around her neck. She reached her hand up and felt the delicate ruffles that framed her face.

  “Yes, what do you call those?” He jabbed his finger in the direction of her neck.

  “Ruffles?” she asked.

  He groaned. “What type of ruffles?”

  “Just ruffles, I suppose.”

  He smiled brightly. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to free you of those damnable ruffles.”

  They reached the pinery and hurried into the inner chamber with its musty steam and soft pile of dark earth. He flung his cravat and waistcoat up in the air and started to disrobe her. “Time to read you the final chapter in The Rake’s Handbook. In fact, we will read it often.”

  She giggled. “I expect we’ll write the next book together. I’ve mentioned this handbook before, remember? You said it needed a new title.”

  “Ah, yes, some handbook on marriage.”

  “I’ve come up with a new title, and I’m sure this handbook will become immensely popular too.”

  A dark brow lifted. “So what’s the new title?”

  “The Cornucopia of Connubial Bliss.”

  Watch for Sally Orr’s next Regency adventure

  When a Rake Falls

  Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Lord Boyce Parker felt a sudden urge to sing. The wooden platform grew smaller as the balloon gained altitude. Seconds later, the fields and hedgerows below resembled the irregular squares of a mottled green chessboard.

  “We must land and soon,” the girl said. “Once I get you safely on the ground, we have plans for some scientific experiments today.”

  “But I hired this balloon to go to France.”

  “No! Time is of the essence. The valve must be opened.” She squinted like she was studying the best way to reach the draw line controlling the valve. Leaning forward as if to attack, she widened her stance.

  Her actions caught him off guard, and he crouched in anticipation of repelling her charge. Who would move first? He returned her narrow-eyed stare.

  She jumped forward to her left. He leaped to his right.

  At the last second, she dove past him and attempted to grab the line. Picking her up by the waist, he carried her to the opposite end of the swaying basket and held her there. Squirming to free herself, she only managed to turn sideways. “You’re a madman.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Who but a madman would…sing all the way up?”

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank-you to all of the RWA contest judges for their comments on this story. Special recognition to Christie Ridgway, Nicola Cornick, and Caroline Linden for their generous advice. I’d also like to thank the wonderful Chris Sterner, Wendy Kitchen, and Susan Winer for their invaluable assistance.

  About the Author

  Sally Orr, PhD, worked for thirty years in medical research, specializing in gene discovery. One day a cyber-friend challenged her to write a novel. Since she is a hopeless Anglophile, it’s not surprising that her first book is a Regency romance. She lives with her husband in San Diego, surrounded by too many nonfiction books and not enough old English cars.