The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  It was a small lie, for her appointment was not until the morrow, but she and her family were certainly needy, and ever since her poor Papa had passed away, she had felt the very Devil at her back.

  Or was it just her vile former fiance....

  Hopkins the butler stared for a brief moment, then shifted slightly to allow her in. He had been surprised enough by his master's announcement that he was expecting a lady this evening, and that he should show her into the smallest of the drawing rooms when she arrived.

  He was even more surprised when she turned out to be a woman of such remarkably ethereal beauty, reminiscent of a faerie or water sprite. He was sure that even a notorious rake like his employer did not come across exquisite loveliness such as this every day, modestly dressed though the young woman was in a dark cloak and gown which were both rather spattered and slightly muddy at the hem.

  Even appearing at less than her best, he could see that the young woman was more lovely than many of the Earl's amours, bedecked in the most expensive evening attire and jewels.

  He was also surprised because he seldom allowed any of the women across the threshold. The last thing Mr. Avenel wanted was to allow such women to force their way into his intimate family circle.

  Yet he sensed no threat to Mr. Avenel-the Earl of Hazelmere, he caught himself again with an inward shake of the head. Who would ever have imagined....

  "I'm so sorry to put you to this trouble-"

  He stared again. "No trouble at all, Miss," he reassured her stiffly, giving her an assessing glance once more. Now he found himself feeling more protective of her than his master.

  His second and third glances as she stepped in and straightened her shoulders reassured him that though she was young, with a peaches and cream complexion, the lass had backbone, as his wise old grandmother used to say. There was something about the way the girl held herself that proclaimed her proud, aristocratic, and interestingly, quite possibly more than a handful even for the experienced man of the world Randall Avenel.

  "Please come this way, Miss, er-"

  "Miss Drake," she supplied. "I'm here to see him about-"

  "Yes, I know. His lordship has told me all about his schedule, thank you."

  He knew only too well why, and thought with a pang that this tender-looking young girl would be yet another quick quiddle before the new Earl began to seek greener pastures...

  Though they certainly did not seem much greener than this, Hopkins reflected, looking at her simple attire. Oh, she was most certainly of age, but he would stake his wig on the fact that she was a virgin.

  Rake though he was, Hopkins knew that Randall had sworn he had never, and would never, debauch an innocent... But then he had also sworn to his mother he would never pollute their family home with any trollops, and yet he had invited this girl here.

  It just went to show that nothing ever stayed the same, he thought with a sigh. Especially for poor young Randall. The Earl of Hazelmere, he corrected himself. His only remaining brother's death, followed scarcely a month later by the Earl's, and then his mother's rapid decline, rendering her bed-ridden and incoherent, had been the most devastating series of blows for the sensitive if wild young man.

  Randall had been dragged back from the fleshpots of Paris into the living hell of seeing his brother and father die, and the vibrant mother he had adored turned into a shadow of her former self. Who could blame him for trying to seek a little comfort from the nightmare his life had become....

  Randall had done his duty, and tended to his mother most solicitously. All his rakish friends would never have recognised the devoted son who had bathed his mother's temples and even changed her soiled garments and sheets with his own two hands.

  Today he had gone out to his club for the first time in weeks, and had no doubt been spurred back into his usual bouts of debauchery by some of the so-called gentlemen who also attended there.

  Hopkins could only guess that this lovely young girl was the sorry result of that excursion, and her coming to the house a sign that he was either having one last fling before buckling down to his duties as Earl, or giving up all hope of his mother ever getting well again.

  Surely it had to be the former, he decided, as he gestured for her to step to the left and precede him into the room. For the Earl had told him he was going to interview on the morrow for some proper help for his mother, hadn't he?

  The butler hesitated, opening his mouth to warn her that she was far too good for a meaningless futter for a handful of coins, but training and discretion warred in his breast, rendering him silent.

  The young woman stared up at the tongue-tied servant in surprise.

  "The Earl is at home, is he not?" Isolde asked, worry evident in her tone. Oh Lord, let her not be too late.... She needed this post so badly.

  "Yes, Miss, he is, but--"

  "Please," she said in a softer manner, "I really do need to see him most urgently. I know he's expecting me and that he'll want to see me for the few moments it will take--"

  "Er, yes, Miss," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I understand."

  "I promise you, I shall not overstay my welcome if the Earl is not pleased to see me," she reassured him when he turned his head to look away from her as though he had seen something shocking. "A few moments of his time are all I am asking."

  "Very well, Miss," he said in clipped tones, and indicated for her to step into the snug parlor.

  Now it was she who hesitated. The room was so, well, masculine, she decided, looking around the small blue parlor. She self-consciously smoothed down her skirts once more, now painfully aware that her walk from the coaching depot had rendered her most muddied, too dirty to dare try to sit upon such fine furniture.

  "Er, perhaps another room might be less, er, untidied by my presence?" she asked shyly.

  Once again the butler stared at her in what looked like completely appalled dismay, until he saw her holding her soiled skirts away from an ottoman just inside the door.

  "It's fine, Miss. There is a wooden chair here the former master used to favor when he had a bad back, you see?" He stepped over to place it closer to the fire for her, and then moved a small low table close to it.

  "Thank you. You're most kind," she said with a shy smile which lit up the depths of her rare eyes, the color of violets, if he was not mistaken.

  She began to step over toward the chair, rather than scurrying out the door and hurrying from the mansion. She had to go ahead with her plan, no matter what anyone thought of her, even the Earl himself.

  If Fortune favoured the brave, she would show ANY amount of fortitude necessary to help her family. Any amount EXCEPT that required by Chauncey Howell, who had had the audacity to say that though she was no longer wealthy enough to be his bride, she could most certainly be his mistress.

  She would rather die than give in to him, or to have to earn a living on her back. Not to mention perish rather than let her remaining family suffer, not if she could do anything honest to help her siblings and Mama.

  She bit her lip as she reached the chair and rested her hand on the back of it, grateful for the warmth of the fire soaking into her, easing her nervous and damply chilled trembling.

  It was only now that she had brief moment to think about the events of the past few days that it struck her as strange that she should be here of all places, and seemingly with Chauncey's blessing.

  She had thought him livid at her scathing refusal of his indecent suggestion. Freed from familial duty by the death of her father and him declaring they had never really been engaged, she had revealed her true feelings for him at last in no uncertain terms.

  Despite her harsh words as to his character and him only ever having been a fair-weather friend, he had been rather good-spirited about it on the whole, suggesting that the Earl of Hazelmere might have need of her nursing services now that one of the women in his family was so ill.

  Chauncey had come back to her house not long after their unpleasant lit
tle scene with the advertisement he had seen in the paper, circled in red ink. It had reminded her of the colour of blood, and she had shivered.

  Yet, since she was at such a loss as to what else to do to support her family, she had promptly put forward her application, and secured an interview, meant to take place the following day at four.

  But Chauncey, and then her cousin Dr. Antony Herriot and her younger sisters had encouraged her to head to Town the night before, the better to get settled, and be rested and refreshed enough to appear at her best for the interview.

  Then she had thought over a couple of things Chauncey had said, and decided to make her approach as soon as she arrived, to try to pip the other candidates at the post.

  No man could fail to respect a woman with such ambition and eagerness to be of use, she had reasoned, before she talked herself out of her bold plan and bolted like a scared rabbit back to Surrey. She was intelligent, well-spoken, and sincerely interested in helping the sick. It was a daring gambit, but if she could make her case long before the Earl ever saw the other applicants, he might be predisposed in her favour, and hire her on the spot.

  She might even get to meet the woman in question. If the invalid liked Isolde, then she felt sure that the position as paid companion and nurse would most assuredly be hers.

  Hopkins watched the young woman's shoulders sag in sheer relief at the comfort of the fire. Despite his aged cynicism, his heart went out to the delicate auburn-haired girl with the most remarkably clear sking and storm-tossed blue eyes, who was clad in unrelieved black from bonnet to cloak, her sodden woollen gown clinging to her lithe body almost like a second skin, he noted, as she opened the damp cloak in an effort to dry it and get even warmer.

  She was half-drowned by the storm that had been raging most of the day, by the look of her, and no doubt freezing with the February chill.

  Other men might have judged her as a mere whore, there for only one thing. Hopkins actually asked if she would like tea or coffee.

  She looked up and smiled gratefully. "That is more than I could hope for. You are too kind. Tea, please."

  "I'll bring it straight, give you a chance to tidy yourself, and then announce you. The bathing chambers are under the stairs, just to your right."

  She looked surprised, but pleased. "Thank you, I would love the chance to freshen up."

  "This way, Miss." He gestured with his arm, and led her further down the hall, then allowed her to go ahead of him. He pointed at the drawing room door once more, leaving it ajar, so she could get her bearings once she was finished.

  She smiled her gratitude, earning herself another earnest stare. "Thank you. It's more than I could have dared hope for in these circumstances."

  Hopkins opened his mouth again in an effort to issue a warning, but decide to let her have a hot cup of tea and some food first before he sent her back out on the streets. He'd hunt up a few coins for her and...

  Contemplating what next course of action would best help the poor girl, he vanished down the hall, while she went in to avail herself of the sumptuously appointed chamber, washing her hands and face with the running warm water, which to her delight and not a little amazement, came out of two bright brass taps.

  Once she had completed her toilette, she returned to the small blue sitting room, and sat on the wooden chair at last. She placed her reticule and gloves on the low table, along with the untrimmed black bonnet she had removed in front of the mirror in the powder room.

  She then glanced around to where she had tucked her small valise, out of sight on the floor between the chair and one of the finely upholstered armchairs. She had kept it out of sight under her cloak so as not to appear too presumptuous, and now made sure it would not be visible to the Earl when he entered, but ready enough to hand should she be forced to depart hastily.

  At last she began to relax, and stretched her hands before the fire, rubbing them for warmth and to dispel her nerves.

  It certainly wasn't like her to behave so impetuously, she admitted inwardly, but she needed this job. Their entire family home was about to be broken up. They could scarcely even afford new mourning clothes. She plucked at the threadbare damp old gown, one of her oldest, but the only one she had in the correct color. She shivered, and sniffed. Poor Papa. How had things ever come to such a pass....

  Hopkins returned a short time later, carrying a laden tea tray, and wondered precisely the same thing. She looked so bereft, forlorn, but also determined, judging from the set of her chin.

  She stared in surprise at the array of food on the tray, her eyes widening. Her glance flew to his face, and he could see she was barely able to restrain herself from reaching for a sandwich.

  "This is magnificent. Thank you so much for going to all this trouble."

  "Not at all, Miss," he said automatically. He began to fumble in his pocket for the coins he'd secured from his own desk, when a new thought struck him as to why such a woman might be here.

  It was one which made more sense, though was no less distressing. No. Not another one. The Earl already had eight by-blows to provide for...

  He heaved a sigh then, and merely patted his pocket. All the money in the world would not help her predicament now. In fact, it might tempt the desperate young woman to make her situation even worse.

  "I'll give you a few moments to enjoy your repast, and tell the Earl you're here," he said quietly, bringing his hand down to his side.

  "Thank you, you're so very kind," she said, falling upon the food with nervous little bites. Her stomach was heaving with overwrought emotions, but she'd had nothing all day, and the last thing she wanted to do was faint dead away in the middle of her interview.

  He watched her famished reaction with a heavy heart, then went to inform his master that his visitor had arrived.

  Chapter Two

  Randall was upstairs in the green and gold room which had once been shared by his parents until his father had died and left his once-radiant mother a devastated widow.

  The earl had been in the prime of his life. Yet one minute he had been there, the next, they had buried him in the family vault. The scandal had taken a terrible toll...

  Since the Earl's death several months before, his mother had become a mere wraith, to the point where she scarcely acknowledged the outside world.

  As Randall wished he had not, he reflected as he wrung out a cloth for a cold compress for his mother. He thought resentfully of the time he had wasted at the club that day gossiping with some of the men about the most incredible new Incognita making the rounds of London. She had been dubbed 'The Eternal Virgin.' By all accounts, she could produce the ultimate fantasy, and play the part to perfection.

  Randall, always willing to have a little flutter in more ways than one, had bet Tubby Barnet ten guineas that he would be able to see through her disguise. That the woman would do or say something that would give away her ruse. No professional woman's act could be that good, he had said cynically.

  He did not normally have any woman in his home. But with his mother in another world, and he so long without a paramour, what did it matter?

  In any case, he would not pursue the ladybird all the way if he discovered the ruse. If he managed to catch her out, he was to send her to the club with a note from him and confirmation from her that she had not managed to trick him after all, and that would be an end to the silly business.

  So preoccupied with his mother was Randall that he never heard the timid rap at the front door. He had sat continuing to bathe his mother's forehead with some rosewater, and mopping up his clumsy spills.

  His innards churned as he realized that she was all he had left now. Oh, there were a few distant cousins, but he had been a fifth son, and yet still had ended up the Earl. He shivered with dread at all the men who had had to die to make him the heir... Men far better than he could ever hope to be, he thought with a grim twist of his handsome mouth.

  He could remember when his home had rung with happy laughter. The war ha
d taken two of his brothers, initially due to his father's disapproval, and finally through death.

  A riding accident, and a sudden fever had taken the second and fourth. It had been hard at times when he'd been growing up, being so far out of the limelight, the dreamy and artistic younger son who had never had anything expected of him.

  The cossetted youngest son, he admitted to himself now, who could be indulged by both parents because he was lovable and sweet-natured, so completely the opposite in personality to his eldest brother, the uncompromising Michael, in every way.

  Randall had adored Michael, worshipped him from afar. But he had been prickly, forceful, determined, a Radical. Their parents loved them all, but as the heir, certain things had been expected of Michael. When it came to the crunch, their mother had naturally taken her husband's side in the many arguments they had had, and Michael had been lost to them from then on.