A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  Why was he not married? He had to be thirty and though he seemed a little abrupt, he wasn’t rude. What was a little abruptness when faced with a handsome, rich man? He certainly appealed more than any of the decrepit old suitors Mother had lined up for her. Most of them made Jamieson look as sprightly as a newborn lamb and ten times more appealing.

  “Your experience is limited,” he mused.

  Her heart sank. “It is. But I am a hard worker and I’m well-educated.”

  Mr Avery pressed a finger to his lips and met her gaze. “I consider myself a good judge of character,” he said, casting the letters aside. “I hope you will not repay my trust with dishonesty.”

  “I can have the job then?”

  He nodded sharply. “Yes.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Relief washed through her. She would have a nice, safe place to live. Warmth, food, employment. It was more than she’d had in a year. She beamed at him. “Thank you so much, sir. I promise you will not regret your decision.”

  Chapter Two

  He might regret it, August thought, as he recalled the jubilation in those dark, expressive eyes. Yes, he might very well regret taking on the exotic young creature as a nursemaid. He paused his pacing to peer out of the drawing room window and pursed his lips. Needs must. He couldn’t go on for much longer trying to look after the child himself and Mrs Cartwright was on the verge of rebellion. As housekeeper and cook, she considered herself far above the station of nursemaid and he had to admit, she hardly had time to nurse a baby.

  Hell, he certainly didn’t. With the way things were progressing with the new railway tunnel, he needed to be on site, not juggling a child in one arm whilst pouring over the designs for the tunnel in his study. This Miss Davis had come at just the right time. Now he would not have to get around to putting out an advertisement and interviewing potential candidates.

  She had been quite attractive, he supposed. She had near glowed with excitement. With deep, dark eyes and an exotic complexion, he might have marked her as Italian or Spanish, except her accent was refined with no hint of a lilt.

  Still, attractive or not, he needed a nursemaid, and for some reason this beautiful young woman needed a job.

  “Can you start tomorrow?” he had asked her.

  “Oh yes,” she’d replied breathily.

  For some reason, that response kept playing over in his mind again and again. Oh yes...Oh yes. “Oh yes,” he said experimentally to himself, then smirked. It did not sound nearly as appealing when he said it.

  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and patted the inner pocket of his jacket, only to remember his cigarettes weren’t there. “Bugger it.” He had stopped smoking almost a year ago.

  August grimaced at the coarse words. He was going to have to watch his tongue around Miss Davis. There was a refined air to her. He wasn’t sure where she had come from or why she had a reference from an innkeeper, but he knew breeding when he saw it. His own beginnings were not so shabby, but time spent with the navvies had roughened his edges.

  August began to pace again. He hoped this was not a sign of things to come. She was half an hour late. Thank God Elsie had decided to behave and go down for a nap. She had kept him awake much of the night and Mrs Cartwright looked ready to poison his food. No doubt the child had kept her awake—and likely the whole neighbourhood too.

  He scraped a hand through his hair and stopped when a flash of pink caught his attention. Hand on her hat, Miss Davis weaved through the pedestrians on the other side of the road. She moved with careless grace, as though she might spill to the floor at any moment, yet somehow her feet always found the right spot. This nursemaid... governess... whatever she was, was a disaster waiting to happen.

  And yet he’d given her a job.

  Letting his hand slide down to the back of his neck and gripping it, he sighed. Perhaps all the late nights had addled his wits. But, as he had told her, he was a good judge of character and she was honest. Hopefully she would live up to her promise and be hard-working too. He could not abide laziness.

  She crossed the road, and he winced as she barely avoided an oncoming cabriolet. The horses rattled past, and it looked as though the driver shouted something none-too-gentlemanlike at her. He saw her sheepish expression quickly vanish to give way to a smile. If the driver had seen the smile, he might have bitterly regretted his words. It was quite the smile.

  He waited until she made her way up the stairs, a large brown trunk in hand. She took an inordinate amount of effort to lift the luggage up to the front door, and he burned to tear open the door and help her, but she was his staff, he reminded himself. Here to serve him. No, not serve... Damn it, she was here for Elsie. What was wrong with him today?

  Clearly he was not cut out for fatherhood. The rattle of the door knocker vibrated through the house. She had a habit of doing some God-awful rat-a-tat-tat rhythm. Like a little tune. Miss Davis had done it the previous day too and to say he’d been irritated by it was putting it mildly. At least he’d never mistake that knock for anyone else.

  Instead of waiting for Jamieson to answer the door—knowing he would be waiting forever—August strode out of the drawing room to pull it open.

  “Come in,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as weary as he felt.

  Her youthful vibrancy had that effect on him. Hell, he was only thirty but over a decade of working hard in the world of men had certainly aged him. But for the most part, he was proud of his achievements—being one of the youngest men to become an authority on railway engineering was no mean feat.

  “Thank you.” That wide smile remained, revealing a flash of white teeth against her sun-kissed skin. She dragged in her trunk and placed it on the floor.

  And his foot. He cursed and hopped away.

  “Oh, I’m so—” She rose and her pink, feather trimmed hat caught him under his chin, knocking it from her head and sending a cascade of curls over her face.

  August straightened, grimacing as his toes throbbed, while she fumbled to retrieve her monstrosity of a hat.

  Hands to her hair, she attempted to stuff all the curls back into place and then shrugged, giving him a rueful smile. “I am sorry.”

  “What do you have in that thing? Rocks?” He regretted the words when he noted her astonished expression until she burst out laughing.

  “Books mostly.”

  Mollified, he nodded curtly. “Leave it there. I’ll have...” No, Jamieson would keel over with the weight of it. “I’ll take it up in just a moment,” he corrected himself. “Let me show you to your room.”

  “Where is the baby?”

  “Sleeping. She is in the adjoining room to yours. There’s a door between the rooms, but I expect you to keep it open at night. She does not sleep well and still requires a night time feed.”

  He put his hand to the banister of the stairs, only for her to speak again, causing him to pause and face her.

  “And you’ve been doing this yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “Let me show you to your room, then you can interrogate me all you wish, Miss Davis.”

  “Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to...”

  He stomped up the stairs before she could continue. He’d already endured many questions when it came to the care of Elsie. What was a bachelor doing looking after a baby? Had he got some poor woman in the family way? Why did he not just send her to an orphanage? Then there had been suggestions that he ought to find a wife sharpish. Bugger that. August had little intention of snatching up the nearest woman and wedding her.

  The rustle of the skirts of the nearest woman to him right now drew his attention back to the task in hand. He led her down the hallway to the room next to Elsie’s. The door to the infant’s room was open so he peered around quickly to check she was still sleeping. The child slept on, both arms splayed about her head. At times like this, he could not doubt his decision to keep her. The child was one of his few blood relatives alive. Why would he s
end such a helpless thing to an orphanage?

  Aware of Miss Davis directly behind him and the vague scent of flowers—violets he guessed—emanating from her, he pushed open the door to her room and stood back to allow her to slip past. Her bright pink skirts clashed horribly with the deep burgundy wall paper and bedding, but against the dark wood of the canopied bed, she did make quite the intriguing sight.

  Miss Davis lay down her hat on the dressing table and did a circle of the room, sweeping a graceful finger over the furnishings. The notion she was far too elegant to be a mere governess struck him again.

  “I hope everything is to your liking.”

  She bestowed him with a wide, grateful smile. It dived deep down inside him and yanked at his gut. He quickly crushed the sensation.

  “Yes, it’s lovely, thank you.”

  “I’ll bring up your trunk and once you have unpacked, if you could join me in the drawing room, we shall discuss your duties.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  August skimmed his gaze over her frightful pink dress, back up to where her black curls having fallen loose and spilled over her shoulders and finally landed back on those widely stretched lips.

  Perfect.

  He grimaced and turned away before he could think on things any further. He wasn’t the first man to have a pretty governess, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  ***

  A cry broke the usual sounds of the creaky house with its occasional dripping taps and the pop of the fire in his bedroom. August bolted upright, swiped a hand across his face and put his feet to the floor.

  And paused.

  His heart leapt when he heard footsteps. Of course, he wasn’t needed. Elsie was Miss Davis’s concern now. He listened for a few moments, waiting for the cry to subside. It did, and along with it came the sound of feminine reassurances.

  He slipped back into bed and sank against his pillow. August couldn’t help but strain to listen to her words. Would she manage her duties? She seemed confident enough after they had spoken of them. He had explained fully how Elsie had come to him and his decision to keep her. The admiration filling her gaze had been mildly disturbing.

  When he was trying to shush the child to sleep or was fighting to stay awake during the day and manage her and his work, he could not help but wonder if she wouldn’t have been better off in an orphanage, under the care of women.

  But he knew of those places—knew people who had come from such homes—and he would not subject an innocent baby to such a start in life. It was bad enough both her parents were dead—her father to fever when she was only a month old, her mother not long after.

  August remained against the pillow until he heard the quiet pad of footsteps. His heart skipped when a knock rattled through the house. He bolted upright and listened. There it was again. Not an intruder surely?

  Slipping out of bed, he snatched his robe from the stand and opened the bedroom door. He stilled when he found Miss Davis silhouetted in her doorway. No candles were lit but the light from the window at the end of the hall highlighted her enough. Too much really. He averted his gaze and nodded towards the bedroom.

  “Go into Elsie’s room and shut the door,” he whispered.

  She nodded and backed away, leaving him feeling as though he’d just jumped into a fire. Sweat made his nightshirt cling to his back. He eased downstairs and paused to listen. The knock at the door had him whirling towards it.

  “Bloody buggering hell,” he muttered to himself. Who in the devil was knocking at this time of night?

  He eased open the door a fraction and didn’t know whether to slam it shut again or breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a murderer intent on slaying them all in their beds.

  “Mrs Pepperwhite,” he greeted through clenched teeth. “Whatever are you doing out here?”

  “Forgive me, Mr Avery,” his neighbour said in a sickly manner that made him reconsider slamming the door shut. “I was just getting a drink and I saw someone snooping around at the back of the houses.”

  “So you decided to go outside?”

  “Well, if it was someone trying to get in, I couldn’t very well ignore them.”

  He glanced over the woman with her nightcap and evening coat that covered a prim-looking nightgown. A far cry from the rather pleasant sight that Ivy had presented. Mrs Pepperwhite was around his age and recently widowed. Since then, she had become a regular visitor to his doorstep.

  Knowing he wouldn’t get any rest until he had appeased her, he jerked his head towards the hallway. “Why do you not wait in here, and I shall have a look around.”

  She issued a relieved smile and stepped past him, brushing non-too-subtly against him. He cringed inwardly. Slipping on his shoes, he pulled his robe around him.

  “Be careful.”

  He nodded. He doubted he had anything to worry about. Likely the woman was paranoid or looking for an excuse to see him. August slipped out of the door and drew it carefully shut. He didn’t have a weapon or anything with which to defend himself, but he considered the woman inside more of a threat than anything that could be out here.

  No, make that both women. He really shouldn’t be remembering what Miss Davis looked like in her nightgown at all.

  He did a quick patrol of the front of their adjoined houses then slipped through the alleyway farther up that led to the back.

  Nothing save from the hoot of an owl and the rustle of a creature—either a hedgehog or a fox or perhaps even a harmless tomcat.

  Cool air swirled around his legs and he cursed his neighbour under his breath.

  By the time he’d returned to the house, he was chilled and a tad annoyed. Mrs Pepperwhite opened the door cautiously and her eyes lit up as they skimmed his person. He let his jaw tighten.

  “All is well, Mrs Pepperwhite. I suggest you return to your bed now.”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr Avery.” She cinched her coat about her waist. “Is all well? The child isn’t bothering you?”

  “Not at all.”

  Mrs Pepperwhite’s assertions that he needed a woman to help look after the child never failed to rankle him and it looked as though she was about to repeat those beliefs. He feared she hoped he might suddenly decide she was the woman he needed to help him look after her. Not likely. He might be sleep-deprived but he wasn’t mad yet.

  He ushered her out before she could talk any longer or delay his first good night’s sleep in months. When he returned upstairs, he popped his head into Elsie’s room and assured Miss Davis all was well.

  “Oh good.” Her radiant smile beamed through the night like a lighthouse directing ships away from rocks.

  Except he felt very much like he was being drawn to danger instead of being warned away.

  “Good night then.”

  “Good night,” she said softly.

  As he eased back into bed, her enticing voice whirled around his head. The need for a good stiff drink burned through his veins. He’d been considering a trip to the local gentleman’s club after Miss Davis had settled in but he might even go tomorrow. Anything to relieve the stress of the past few months. He had barely seen a soul since Elsie had come to him, and it was no doubt addling his wits. A little indulgence and he’d be back to feeling himself.

  And he wouldn’t be thinking about his ridiculously attractive governess in any more inappropriate ways.

  He hoped.

  Chapter Three

  Ivy jerked awake and held her breath for several moments. What had awoken her? A thud sounded from the hallway. Her heart echoed that sound, seeming incredibly heavy and sickening. She might have only been in Mr Avery’s house for two nights but she had become accustomed to waking regularly already and found herself awake at the slightest sound from the baby. But that was not the baby.

  Their visitor from yesterday perhaps? He’d said it was one of the neighbours.

  There was another knock and then... was Mr Avery singing? She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to her door to p
ress her ear to it. Sure enough a low male voice greeted her.

  “Doo-be-doo-be-doo. Home! Sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home. Dum-de-dum.”

  Ivy pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. He was foxed, surely? He had informed her he would be gone for the evening, but she hadn’t expected him to be drinking. A business meeting of some kind perhaps. She sighed. She still knew so little about her employer. He was hardly the sort for small talk but curiosity burned brightly inside her. If she was to live with the man, she needed to know more.

  Then came a series of thumps, like several staggering footsteps and a crash. Something had shattered.

  “Oh bugger,” came Mr Avery’s voice, muffled by the door.

  She drew back and contemplated the door handle. He had broken something, had he not? If it was the large vase on the console table—as she suspected it was—it had probably scattered all over the floor. He might hurt himself.

  Drawing the door open quickly before she could change her mind, she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light of the hallway. The curtains hanging from the window at the end of the long corridor had not been drawn and cast enough light for her to stop Mr Avery on his knees, his back to her, trying to pick up all the shards of the blue and white vase.

  He cursed—a sharp, rough curse that Ivy had never heard from a man so impeccably dressed. Her eyes widened at the coarse word. He lifted his hand in front of his face. She spied the dark well of blood on his finger and moved closer to tap his shoulder.

  “What in the—” Mr Avery bolted to his feet and stumbled towards her.

  She cried out and held out her palms to protect herself and prevent him from falling. His weight made her stagger back several paces before he righted himself and turned to view her. Even in the dim light, she saw his quizzical expression, the deep dip between his brows as he viewed her.

  “Miss... Davis...” he slurred. “Whatever are doing out here? You do know...” He lowered his voice as though he was confiding some great secret, “that you are wearing only your nightclothes.”