How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption)

by Bronwyn Scott

  She’d been unstinting with funds, too. As soon as she could she had turned over a large sum of money to him for the welfare of Bedevere. He’d paid the outstanding debts and bought farming supplies for his tenants. He had commissioned more work on the gardens and set about buying horses for his newly staffed stables.

  After the string of bad luck that had plagued Bedevere over the years, this was a heady time for the struggling estate and for him. He’d been without regular funds for years, living on his reputation. It had been something of a struggle to keep his rooms on Jermyn Street and to keep up appearances with his wardrobe.

  Now, money was no object, thanks to Genevra, whose generosity he saw everywhere he turned at Bedevere, but whose actual presence was much absent.

  Without a wedding trip to intervene between the wedding and taking up the reins of the household, they’d settled into a schedule almost immediately. He saw his wife in the mornings over breakfast and the newspapers. They would adjourn to the estate office to discuss business, which Genevra would cover in a brisk manner, running through her itemised lists of things she was doing and things that needed doing in the near future: the attic needed cleaning out, several pieces of furniture needed bringing down, there were new window treatments and furniture to order, a decorator was coming from London with a store of silk wallhangings for the public rooms.

  Three days a week, she was off to Seaton Hall to oversee the last of the interior renovations and some of the energy that radiated throughout Bedevere was gone.

  The other two days, she spent in the village helping Vicar Browne with those in need. She’d become the perfect lord’s wife: busy and efficient, running his home, supporting her charities, and acting as his liaison in the village so that he could carry out his other responsibilities.

  There were plenty of those. She wasn’t the only one with a filled schedule. He spent time with the farmers learning how best to maximise Bedevere’s crops. He’d thought he’d hear about how bad the harvests had been the last few years.

  Poor harvests seemed to suggest themselves as a reason for Bedevere’s failing fortunes. But harvests had been adequate. Many he talked to blamed the lack of proper equipment and poor maintenance of the land itself; a fence that had crumbled and not been repaired had let livestock in to trample cornfields; a dike had collapsed, leaving flooded crops in its wake. Someone had quietly sabotaged Bedevere in subtle ways. Ashe’s first thought was Henry, but he could not prove it. Not yet.

  But for all he’d learned, he wasn’t making any progress in solving the financial mystery that haunted Bedevere. Crops had been set up to fail, the coffers had been emptied. By whom and why? If it was Henry, why? How had he done it?

  Ashe was sure the answer was in the ledgers somewhere, but he didn’t know where to start or what to look for. Ashe came home each evening, tired and frustrated, wanting his wife and the few hours of peace she brought. He had her in the nights. But in the mornings, she was gone again.

  He knew many men who wouldn’t complain of such an arrangement. Three months ago, he would have been one of them. Three months ago, he’d been a different man.

  That man had spent his nights carousing in all manner of establishments, perhaps going weeks without bedding the same woman two nights in a row, his fortunes dependent on the turn of a card, the roll of a billiard ball, or the right invitation. This man, the new Ashe, was more concerned about spring planting, about restoring the gardens outside his home, and about his absent wife. His old crowd in London would not know this new man. He wasn’t even sure he did.

  Genevra looked up from her book and saw him. She was lovely today in a sky-blue gown trimmed in white lace, a straw hat to match. She waved and motioned for him to join them. Ashe started down the shallow stairs towards the patio. The only complaint he had about his wife was that he was slowly but surely falling in love with her. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t allow it to get that far. He could respect her, he could admire her, he could find her lovely, that was all. But he was failing at it. By now his initial passion for her should have bottled its edge as it had done with so many other women before her. Instead, he found himself counting the hours until nightfall when she’d be his, not the village’s Lady Bountiful, not the aunts’ companion or Alex’s. Just his. Perhaps he could persuade her to take a walk and he could steal a march on evening.

  *

  He had eyes only for her and the knowledge of it sent a thrill down Genevra’s spine as Ashe approached. He bent to kiss her on the cheek, so very chaste and husbandly compared to the passionate lover she encountered in the night.

  ‘Do you like the patio, Aunts?’ Ashe settled himself next to her on one of the benches, his thigh brushing her leg. ‘The roses will bloom before long and it will smell wonderful out here in the summer.’

  After a decent interval of small talk, Ashe reached for her hand. ‘Aunts will you excuse us? I want to take Genevra for a walk in our glorious afternoon. Perhaps we’ll walk down by the stream.’

  The aunts smiled at one another and Genevra knew they didn’t believe him.

  She blushed. The old dears were romantics at heart and she guessed the directions of their thoughts.

  ‘Your aunts think you’re stealing me away for an afternoon tryst,’ Genevra said once they were out of earshot.

  ‘They’re good guessers.’ Ashe laughed, not the least bit ashamed of his transparency. She liked that about him. He made no apologies for what he did or what he wanted. For the time being, that was her.

  He wanted her. How long that would last was anyone’s guess. It was almost too good to be true. When she wasn’t careful, it was too easy to forget it was her money rejuvenating the estate. Of course he wanted her—she held his welfare in her hands. Without her, he would be nothing. No, not quite nothing. Ashe Bedevere would never be nothing and, for a little while, he was hers.

  She had to protect herself against the time that would come when he’d need her money a little less, or when he grew tired of her and sought someone else. A rake like Ashe wasn’t used to monogamy. It had only taken Philip two months before he’d acquired a mistress. Out here in the countryside, Ashe might take longer, but it was still just a matter of time. She kept herself busy so that when that time came she might notice it a bit less.

  ‘What is it, Neva? You look like a cloud passed over your sun,’ Ashe scolded, helping her over some stones in the path.

  Genevra shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ She’d been caught thinking. She needed deflection. ‘How are things going with the ledgers? Have you made any progress?’

  She knew the estate’s finances were an agony to him. He wanted to know what had happened, but that was one area in which she had no knowledge to offer him. When she’d first made the aunts’ acquaintance last summer, much of the damage had already been done and of course no one ever showed people their ledgers.

  Ashe pushed a hand through his dark hair. ‘I don’t want to think about it on such a nice day. It’s a very dark topic. If I discover what happened and who did it, I am obligated to bring them to justice.’

  Genevra shot him a querying look. ‘Do you think the culprit is other than Henry?’

  ‘There’s always the possibility that it was Alex. Certainly, no one expects me to prosecute my brother in his condition.’

  ‘Have you asked Alex? Surely he’d tell you? He knows you wouldn’t harm him.’

  Ashe shook his head. ‘I haven’t. I’m a coward, Neva. I haven’t wanted to trigger a fit. I’ve enjoyed having my brother, having him here with me healthy. I can almost pretend he’s going to be all right.’

  Genevra smiled softly. This was the first time they’d talked of something personal since the wedding. Perhaps they were making progress of a different sort. ‘Maybe I can help. I would be glad to look over the books with you if Alex can’t. Who knows, there might be something I remember.’

  ‘You have so many other activities right now. I don’t want to bother you.’ He was slipping away from h
er again. Genevra could feel it. The vulnerability of a moment earlier was vanishing.

  ‘I’m your wife. You can let me help. I want to help,’ she protested.

  ‘I’ll manage it, Genevra,’ Ashe snapped, making clear the conversation was finished.

  She walked in silence beside him, fuming over his behaviour. How dare he shut her out? ‘Has there been any news of Henry?’ Genevra ventured once she had her temper under control. Perhaps some of the walk could be salvaged.

  Ashe shook his head. ‘He’s most likely at his farm.’

  ‘Will he stay there?’ Genevra queried.

  ‘If you’re asking are our worries over, the answer is maybe. You don’t have to worry. You’re safe now. If he wants anyone, it’s me.’

  That was the last straw. Really, the man’s arrogance knew no bounds. ‘That makes you happy, doesn’t it? It’s all on your shoulders. The rest of us can’t interfere,’ Genevra ground out. The man was infuriating.

  ‘No one else need be placed at risk,’ Ashe said simply. ‘Ah, we’re here. The stream. Alex and I spent countless summers sneaking away down here.’

  He was about to launch into a story of boyhood adventure, but Genevra wasn’t satisfied. ‘We’re not done with the previous conversation. I don’t want you to shoulder all the troubles alone. I want to be more than your banker, Ashe.’

  Ashe stiffened as if slapped, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the far bank of the stream. ‘I’ve never treated you as just my banker.’

  ‘You just did.’ Genevra turned to go. Tears threatened. She would not let him see her cry, not over this. He’d never professed to love her. Whatever hurt she’d incurred was her own fault. She’d let herself believe so many things when she’d known better.

  Ashe’s hand seized her arm. ‘Genevra, be fair. I never once—’

  Genevra wrenched her arm away. ‘No, not once, always, Ashe. You have consistently shut me out. You’re bothered by the ledgers, but you won’t let me help. You won’t tell me what’s on your mind half the time. I don’t know why you fought with your father, I don’t know why you stayed away for so many years. I don’t know anything. You make love to me at night and I write you banker’s drafts during the day and you expect that to be enough. It’s not.’

  Ashe sat down on a large rock, looking weary, all the teasing from minutes ago gone. She’d said too much. ‘I’m sorry,’ she began, but Ashe waved her away.

  ‘Sorry for what? Sorry for the truth? It is the truth, you know, Neva. But I can’t give you any more. Not right now.’

  Maybe not ever, Genevra thought. She should have contented herself with her fantasies and make-believe. He didn’t love her and she’d pushed him to say as much which only served to make things awkward, not better. Whoever thought honesty was the best policy had never been in love with a man who didn’t quite love you back.

  Genevra sat down beside him, trying to forget the ugly conversation. ‘So, you and Alex used to come here as boys?’ She looked overhead at the wide tree limb.

  ‘Too bad there isn’t a swing. This would be a perfect place for one.’

  Ashe shot her a wry look. ‘It is the perfect place and there used to be one. If you look closely, you can still see the remnants of the rope up there.’

  Genevra squinted and followed Ashe’s finger up into the leafy boughs. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Henry. He was always pulling pranks on Alex and me. Pranks was his word, not ours. At first, they were just malicious jokes, but as we got older the pranks got more serious. I think this one was the worst. The rope was sliced so that whoever was on the swing would fall when they swung out over the water. In the summer, you had to swing out to the middle of the stream before you dropped. The water was too shallow closer to the bank. If you dropped too soon, you could hit rocks, which was what Henry wanted.’

  Genevra peered down into the water, trying to make out the rocks. ‘You can’t see them in the winter or spring when the stream is full,’ Ashe explained.

  Genevra stiffened visibly in shock over the revelation. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘A distant cousin. He broke his leg and has not walked properly since. The accident kept him out of the military, out of a livelihood. The cousin was a second son with hopes of a commission in the cavalry.’

  ‘That’s a terrible story. What happened to Henry? Was he punished?’

  Ashe leaned closed, his voice quiet and intimate. ‘We couldn’t prove it. Ropes fray, especially ropes outdoors in the weather. Henry’s very good at not getting caught, Neva.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll never discover what happened in those ledgers. Maybe it would be best to just move forwards.’

  ‘And maybe if I do that, history will repeat itself. I can’t take that risk, Neva. I have to know. If it’s Henry, he has to be caught this time or he won’t stop until he has it all. Don’t you see, Genevra? The less you know, the safer you are. If it is Henry, and if he suspected you knew something that could ruin whatever scheme he’s planning...’

  He had shut her out to protect her, she could see that now, misguided though his plan was. Such a plan would have to be rectified. It wasn’t love, but it was a start.

  Genevra didn’t let him finish. She placed a finger on his lips. ‘If you brought me out here to seduce me, you’d better get on with it or risk disappointing your aunts.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It rained the next day, just to prove it wasn’t quite spring yet. The weather kept everyone inside, which suited Ashe perfectly. It was high time to tackle the ledgers, with help. Genevra’s sharp words at the stream yesterday had given him pause for thought. On his own, he was no closer to resolving the mystery of where the money had gone than he was when he’d first arrived. It was also becoming clear that this was the last and perhaps most critical piece to resolve before his homecoming could truly be complete.

  Ashe announced his intentions for the day at breakfast, earning an approving nod from Genevra, and the three of them sequestered themselves in the estate office, prepared for a long day. Ashe took up residence behind the big desk while Alex and Genevra stationed themselves near the fireplace with a low table between them, perfect for sorting papers.

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to this, Alex?’ Ashe asked one more time before they started.

  ‘I will be fine. It will be good to know if I am to blame or if someone else took advantage of the situation and used me as a scapegoat,’ Alex said staunchly. Ashe admired his brother’s courage in that moment. Alex had never been one to shirk his responsibilities and he wasn’t avoiding them now.

  Ashe spread his hands on the desk’s surface. ‘All we know is that it is likely someone behaved irresponsibly with the estate’s finances. According to the ledgers, items were sold for far less than their actual worth. We want to look through the receipts for those bills of sale. The receipts will tell us who the items were sold to and perhaps even the actual sale amount.’ Although, if it was Henry, and if Henry was smart, he’d keep the two prices consistent, perhaps issuing a receipt to the man he charged and making a separate receipt for the Bedevere records. Still, a receipt would have a name and they could always contact the new owner.

  Sorting through the receipts was a daunting task. There were boxes of them and progress was slow. It was something of a needle-in-a-haystack-style search.

  Amid the receipts for daily living expenses and regular estate bills, they were looking for the odd sale.

  Halfway through the pile, Ashe was beginning to despair. Maybe there was no receipt. Perhaps his assumption had been erroneous from the start. Then his hand stilled on a bill of sale. He read it twice to be sure. They’d had a few false alarms already. It was the receipt for the horses. His gaze dropped to the bottom of the page, searching for a signature. But the name he found wasn’t either of the names he’d been expecting. The signature scrawled at the bottom was his father’s.

  ‘Alex, look at this.’ Ashe handed the paper to his brother.

  ‘In November.
’ Alex checked the date. ‘It’s likely I was gone by then. Father took a turn for the worse in November and Henry was eager to have me out of the way. It was a very difficult time.’ Alex paused. ‘I wasn’t well in November, not that I remember any of it.’ Ashe could see how difficult the confession was for Alex to make. He turned to Genevra, hoping to spare Alex.

  Genevra picked up the receipt and shook her head after a moment’s study.

  ‘Your father could not have signed it. He was very ill and wouldn’t have been interested in doing any business in the first place. But even if he’d wanted to sell the horses, he couldn’t have physically signed a bill of sale. By that point, he’d lost the ability to use his right hand. He could not have written his name with that amount of precision.’

  She checked the date again. ‘You were not here, Alex. At least on account of the horses, you can rest assured they were not your doing.’ There would be record of that, Ashe thought. The place where Alex had been kept would have a note of his arrival. That only left Henry. But it raised another question.

  ‘How did Henry pay Dr Lawrence?’ Ashe asked. ‘There’s no mention of payments in the ledgers and I haven’t seen any receipts to that extent, yet Dr Lawrence gave quite the affirmative response when I asked if Mr Bennington paid his bills.’ He hoped Genevra would know. Henry had been living here full time by then.

  ‘It was never discussed.’

  Ashe drummed his fingers on the desk top, thinking out loud. ‘Henry doesn’t have that kind of money. His income is comfortable, but he’s not that charitable. I can’t see him depriving himself of his worldly pleasures to pay Dr Lawrence.’ In fact, too much of this didn’t fit Henry at all. It was all too carefully planned. The receipt for the horses matched, confirming either that separate receipts had been made or the items in question had been sold for far less than their worth. The only chink was that his father could not possibly have signed the receipt.