Lady Jane Newcombe claimed a seat on the sofa beside Raven and proceeded to act as if they were the very best of friends, despite the fact that they had never previously been introduced. "I was persuaded that the country air would be good for my health," she whispered. "I do hope I have not disturbed... your plans."
"Not at all," Raven assured her. "I have no plans, and I'm certain you have as much right to be here as I do."
The lady blinked and smiled in a strained fashion. "Oh, do you think so? Just as much?"
Not sure what to make of that, Raven said nothing. As she had told her mother, she would not compete with another woman for a man's attention. She had always been of the belief that if a man was distracted by the presence of another woman then he was not the right soul for her in any case.
"Your drab little companion in that tired, old frock is a curious creature," Lady Jane whispered again. "Rather plain and terribly quiet, but she has a sly look in her eye that leaves me uneasy."
Since Mary was only a few feet away, it was evident she may overhear, despite the lady's attempt to whisper.
"Miss Ashford is a very special friend of mine," Raven said.
"And I suppose she is grateful to be taken out into society, poor thing."
"Why would you think that?"
"Clearly she has had little exposure to good company, or she would know how to dress for dinner at an estate like Greyledge. I do not mean to slight your friend, of course. I feel sorry for her."
Mary was, in actual fact, wearing one of her best gowns, although the style was several years out of date and it had been let out in a few places, with little decoration added to disguise the fact. But the young woman had no interest in fashion and was perfectly content in her older gowns. Whenever Raven attempted to make her more fashionable, Mary only laughed and insisted that the very moment she donned something "bang up to date" it would become unfashionable.
"My friend looks very pretty, as she always does," Raven exclaimed in a low, terse voice. "She does not require much decoration."
"But such a pity the fashions of the past decade have completely passed her by."
Raven glanced at Lady Jane's headdress which was, once again, a strange unwieldy array of feathers and beads that nodded in the draft and seemed to be dying a slow, painful death. "In my opinion, fashion does not always suit a person and there are some who follow it blindly with no taste of their own."
Fortunately, Hale crossed the room at that moment to where Mary stood and he engaged her in conversation about a book he must have seen her reading recently. Mary looked up with gratitude for the rescue, and Raven felt her temper cool with relief.
How wonderful he was, she thought with a deep, inner sigh. A man who cared about tiny, sick piglets. And sang to them.
Oh! Had that chuckle escaped her own lips?
Apparently so, for everybody was looking at her.
"May we go in to dinner now?" one of his aunt's exclaimed angrily. "I am quite starved, and Evelyn needs to take her tonic. This wait has been excessive, Sebastian."
Hale apologized to the ladies, explaining that he had taken time changing out of his riding clothes and wanted to look his best. Then he took both aunts by the arm and led the way in to dinner.
Chapter Twenty
The subject of Matthew Bourne's broken engagement soon arose at the table.
"It is all over town," Aunt Serena announced, looking directly at Raven. "The Marquess has threatened to disown the boy, and rightfully so. Such a disappointment he has had in both his sons. The elder boy going abroad and never returning; now the younger, causing scandal, by all accounts running about with unsuitable gells, and now turning his back on a respectable, worthy choice."
When Raven glanced at Hale, he saw surprise and anxiety in her eyes. She had not known until then; he was sure of it.
"These young people have no respect for tradition and family honor," his aunt continued, turning her sharp eyes to him. "No thought for the continuation of a line. These associations cannot be made willy nilly, in a selfish fashion. It is intolerable. In my day we understood these things."
"That poor Winstanley gell," Aunt Evelyn murmured. "She is distraught and has taken to her sick bed over the matter. It is a terrible thing. Such a shame."
Lady Charlotte, having finished a third glass of wine, now felt obliged to give her opinion. "Engagements are often broken off. It is nothing these days. She had better pull herself together, for it is unlikely to be the worst thing that ever happens to her."
There followed a short, uncomfortable silence and then Lady Jane Newcombe turned to Raven. "Were you not very close to Lord Bourne, Miss Deverell? I believe I heard something about it." Her tone was innocent, her motive clearly not.
"I have known him some years. We are friends." Raven kept her eyes on her plate and did not look at Hale.
"He was nothing to my daughter," Lady Charlotte exclaimed. "A mere fleeting fancy of youth."
"A friend," Raven repeated steadily.
"Perhaps you would know where he has gone," said Lady Newcombe, "for he has disappeared completely it seems, Miss Deverell."
"I'm afraid I cannot help. I have not spoken to Matthew Bourne for some weeks, since his engagement was announced."
"Do you have a great many male friends?" the lady asked, daintily patting the corner of her lips with a napkin.
Hale felt his anger mounting, but Raven remained calm. After a moment of contemplation, she replied, "I suppose I do. A consequence of growing up surrounded by men, Lady Newcombe. My first friends were my brothers and their acquaintances." Glancing at Mary, she smiled. "Until dear Miss Ashford befriended me, it was the company of men I knew best. It was their conversation I was accustomed to, their manners and attitudes I absorbed."
"It has made her too outspoken," her mother added, waving bejeweled fingers through the air. "And much too bold."
His aunts looked smug. Across the table, Lady Newcombe's eyes took on a hardened, calculating edge as she looked from Hale to Raven.
So he said, "I thought so myself when we first met. I thought her too bold." His gaze sought Raven's above the candlelight. "But I have since found Miss Deverell very charming, lively and amusing company." He paused, letting that sink in.
Reaching for his wine, he realized that Lady Charlotte, seated on his right, must have drunk it, thinking it was her own glass. No wonder she was rather glassy-eyed.
He caught the attention of a footman. "Please take the Bordeaux around again, William. My guests seem to be dry."
* * * *
After dinner, the ladies went to the drawing room for coffee, while Hale was obliged to entertain Reynaux — as his only male guest—over brandy and cigars in the library. Although he knew Raven could handle herself against his aunts, he was irritated by these barriers thrown up between them yet again. Eager to keep her in his sights, he determined to cut the separation short. He drank no brandy, but waited impatiently for a chance to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room.
The Frenchman, however, was content to take his time nursing a snifter of brandy and pushing his host to drink a toast with him.
"Thank you, but no," Hale muttered. "I prefer to keep my wits about me." And he planned later to entertain Miss Deverell, which meant remaining sober. Not that he could say that, of course.
At first their conversation was trivial, merely wasting time as his cigar burned down, but then Reynaux began to ask his opinion on an investment opportunity that he'd been offered in the building of a new railway line.
"I do not have the best history with investments," Reynaux explained. "So I seek your thoughts on the matter. A man so honorable will not steer me wrong, eh?"
"I think you would be better consulting a man of the law or an accountant."
"You do not invest in such things yourself, your lordship?"
Hale stubbed out his cigar firmly. "The railway has been the cause of several wild speculations these past few years, Monsieur Reynaux. I can only
advise you to look into it very thoroughly before you invest. To that purpose I suggest seeking out experts in the field. I can point you to my own solicitor in London, if you have papers for him to look at. But personally I would never try to advise you on an investment of that nature."
The Frenchman bowed his white head solemnly. "You are most wise, of course. If only I had this advice years ago."
He waited, sensing there was more to come.
And there was.
"I once was persuaded to purchase shares in a manufacturing company, your lordship. The scheme was offered to me as a bargain so great it could not be ignored. And so I took it." The man gave an odd laugh, but his eyes remained hard, watchful. "What could be the error in it, thought I, when the names of such grand and noble gentlemen are behind it." He blew out a smoke ring. "But this company was disbanded before it produced a single item. This company in which I invested, vanished in the air that is thin."
"I see. Then I wonder why you would entertain the notion again, Monsieur Reynaux."
"Ah, yes, perhaps I am a fool always to 'ope. Once bitten, I should know better, eh?"
"I would say so."
"But always I am tempted. 'Tis the curse of the gambler. You do not fall foul to this 'abit, I think."
"Occasionally I wager. But I do not take great risks."
The Frenchman grinned through the smoke. "Non, bien sur. No, you are careful with your fortune. You are wise. You are informed, before you act. Dessus de tout reproche. A man above the reproach, as they say."
Hale was wary. He did not like this man and wanted rid of him, but he must handle his unwanted guests with patience. For tonight at least.
Feeling a sudden chill that could only be comforted by the sight of Miss Deverell, Hale suggested they return to the ladies in the drawing room, and the man made no protest.
* * * *
Raven had never been so relieved to see a man in her life than when Hale re-entered the drawing room to join the ladies.
Her mother was gleefully regaling the other guests with her story about running over a former lover's foot with a phaeton, to which his aunts listened in ladylike horror and Lady Jane Newcombe gloated in complacent silence. With a great deal of wine in her veins, Lady Charlotte was at her most vivacious, accompanying her story with hand gestures and long stretches of solo laughter. Mary's kind attempt to drown it all out by playing at the pianoforte had so far not worked, and only obliged the storyteller to raise her voice. But when Hale returned, all attention went to him at once and Lady Charlotte's tale was forgotten. Even the lady herself abandoned her story.
While the others swarmed around Hale, Raven lingered by the pianoforte to give Mary's playing the appreciation it deserved, and merely glad to see him there, amused to watch how he struggled with the gushing attention. His aunts may be two meddling old ladies but she could forgive them for caring about their nephew. It was natural that they worry about him and really rather sweet.
Perhaps Mary was right and she ought to be more understanding of her mother's concerns.
When she thought of what she and Hale had done together, but a few hours ago, she felt heat in her face and a very pleasing skip to her heart beat. She could hardly believe it. Yet it had happened. Her riding habit was now minus several buttons as proof.
Raven had placed herself in his hands, trusted him as she had never trusted any man, given him more of herself than she'd ever given. Offered more too. Although no stranger to risk, she had never taken one quite like this. What made it different?
Her heart.
She knew it in that moment, watching him across the drawing room at Greyledge— this charming, delightful place to which he'd brought her.
Raven Deverell's infamous heart of ice was thawing.
* * * *
His aunts closed in on either side and manipulated his progress until he was forced into a seat beside Lady Newcombe.
"I hope the surprise of our arrival today was not an unpleasant one," she said coyly, her head tilted. "I did suggest to your aunts that they might send a note to apprise you of their plans, but they thought it better to surprise you."
Watching Raven across the room, he paid little heed to the woman beside him.
"I am so enchanted with Greyledge," she went on. "I hear you have some very fine horses in the stables here. I cannot wait to see them."
"Hmm."
She followed his gaze. "Miss Deverell is an excellent horsewoman, I understand."
"Yes."
"And a gambler of some...repute."
"Is she?"
"A skill inherited from her father, no doubt." Snide laughter.
"Perhaps."
She sighed. "I do think it most benevolent of you to bring her here and try to raise her up. Her prospects were surely very dire before your generosity."
"One does what one can." He smirked. "For those less fortunate."
"Oh, quite. I do hope she is able to find her place in the world. It must be very difficult— her parents' divorce and all the scandals, a brother accused of murder, and so many bad choices of her own— the poor thing is in need of guidance, a benefactor. We should make her our little project."
Hale looked at the woman beside him. "I beg your pardon?"
"I can see that you are anxious to help her, and I am willing to assist in any way I can. She clearly requires a better example to follow than the one her mama continues to set." The lady fluttered her lashes, leaning closer. "We must help Miss Deverell find her way."
He did not know whether to be amused or annoyed. "Her way back to London? Is that what you mean to say?"
Lady Newcombe placed her hand on his knee and lowered her voice slightly. "I am well aware that a gentleman must have his peccadilloes. It is a necessity of life, and I am quite capable of turning a blind eye. But if you must have a mistress, at least let her be discrete and polished. Let her be a lady of refinement. I can help you educate her."
Slowly he nodded. This had been an interesting evening— with some folk supposedly seeking his advice and others giving it to him, unsolicited. "I see."
"I can be most accommodating," the lady added in a sultry whisper, "and see no cause to make a fuss as some women might about her husband's affairs."
"That is useful to know, Lady Newcombe."
"Do bear it in mind. I stand ready to offer my guidance and direction to Miss Deverell. As you say, we must do what we can to help those less fortunate."
He thought of his aunt being so impressed that Lady Newcombe gave up the larger slice of cake and the sugared flower. She was, evidently, a sly creature, who knew how to play a part and look obliging, to sacrifice something as long as she ultimately got what she wanted.
"A generous offer, madam. Now, if you would excuse me," he stood, "I have some business to tend. Good evening."
He walked directly to where Raven stood by the pianoforte. When she saw him coming for her, those dark eyes sparkled and he felt embraced by her smile. She even took a step forward to meet him.
Fortunately, Mary Ashford had begun to play a loud and jolly tune which would keep anyone else in the room from hearing his conversation with Raven.
"You did not know about Bourne, did you?" he said. "About the broken engagement."
"No. I am surprised. I never imagined he would go against his father."
He nodded. "If he ever puts you in danger again, or comes near you, I will make him exceedingly sorry."
"Don't be silly," came the reply. "I can look after myself where Matthew is concerned."
Silly? He felt his chest tighten with anxiety. "Your safety is of the utmost importance, madam."
"What do you think he can do to me?" She laughed. "He's a boy, for heaven's sake."
But that boy had encouraged her once before— at least once before— to ride in a horse race where she could have been injured.
"I don't need a man to protect me," she added in a more serious tone, "and I don't need another officious brother or a parent. I hav
e quite enough of those already."
"What do you need, Raven?"
"A business partner, as I told you."
"And?" He gazed at her lips, watching the tip of her tongue sweep slowly from left to right. "What else?"
"A wolf," she whispered.
Hale placed his palm flat upon the pianoforte and spread his fingers, keeping them out of trouble. "I'll have to see if I can find one for you. I like to keep my guests satisfied."
On the other side of the room her mother had just got up, leaning heavily on Reynaux and complaining of a sore head, but, upon finding her skirt partially tucked under a cushion, she stumbled forward and almost fell.
"I had better get my mama to bed," Raven muttered. "I'm afraid I have more practice at it than your maids."
He stopped her with one hand on her arm. "By the by, Lady Newcombe assures me that she wants to make you our project and she would not object to me keeping you as my mistress when she and I are married. As she says, a man must have his peccadilloes. What is your opinion of that, Miss Deverell?"
She pursed her lips, one eyebrow remained quirked. "A man may have all the peccadilloes he chooses. But unlike Lady Newcombe, I am not the type that shares, as I told you already. And if a man so inclined puts his peccadilloes anywhere near me, he should know they might be bitten entirely off." She smiled sweetly.
His laughter caused poor Miss Ashford to lose her place and skip a few keys.
Chapter Twenty-One
It took considerable time to get Lady Charlotte to her room and then to assure Alphonse Reynaux that he could do nothing to help.
"When my mother is like this, I know how to manage," Raven told him briskly, urging the concerned fellow toward the door. "Good night, Monsieur." Finally she closed the door on him and set about undressing her mother who was in no fit state for the maids to see her.
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