Geoffrey and Malcolm Branson, father and son, local magistrates in Somerset
Innocence always calls mutely for protection when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world, meaning no harm.
Innocence is a kind of insanity.
Graham Greene, The Quiet American , Part 1, Chapter 3
Innocence is lovely in the child, because in harmony with its nature; but our path in life is not backward but onward, and virtue can never be the offspring of mere innocence.
If we are to progress in the knowledge of good, we must also progress in the knowledge of evil. Every experience of evil brings its own temptation, and according to the degree in which the evil is recognized and the temptations resisted, will be the value of the character into which the individual will develop.
Mrs. H. O. Ward. Sensible Etiquette of the Best Society Customs, Manners, Morals, and Home Culture, Compiled from the Best Authorities, Chapter 12 (1878).
PROLOGUE
London, 3 February 1819
Parkins looked out at Howell from his watery blue eyes, hardly daring to tell him the news he had just heard at the club.
"Well, out with it, man. You've been staring at me like a hare faced with a stoat for the past five minutes. It's puttin' me off my drink."
Parkins slid to the edge of the rickety wooden bench, ready to flee if Chauncey cut up rough. "It's just that, well—"
"If you don't want to me my second when I duel that bastard Randall Avenel, just say so now, you little weed."
Parkins' Adam's apple bobbed. "It's not that, Chauncey. Well, not entirely."
"Then what? Your parents found out you're in the River Tick?" He put down his ale tankard long enough to search the sagging pockets of his brown worsted wool jacket and frayed linen waistcoat.
At length he managed to come up with a few coppers. "That should tide you over. But I swear, once Avenel is dead, the world is our oyster—"
Parkins pounced on the pennies his companion had clinked down on the scarred table, and shook his head. "But that's just it, you see. There's no need for a duel now."
Howell glared, his normally bulging eyes looking as though they might come right out of their sockets. "There's every need. I never thought that cold bitch Isolde would actually get futtered when I sent her there to ruin her reputation and put her and her family completely at my mercy. I'm certainly going to make her pay for it for the rest of her life.
"But now that I think about it, it couldn't have worked out better.There was more than one witness to her ravishment now besides me, including that harpy who attacked me, and the butler. Randall can't cover up the fact that he's defiled an innocent aristocratic girl. So all you have to do is not mix up the pistols, and we're home free."
Parkins blinked owlishly. "Mix up the—"
Howell gave a dark frown, realising he had said too much to the unsuspecting Parkins already. He never should have admitted planning to ruin Isolde, let alone….."Misload them, I mean," he said hastily.
"Chauncey, I'm trying to tell you, there are to be no pistols. None at all. There's no need. Randall's made good on what he did to the poor girl."
His thin lips curled into a sneer. "Made good? How? By setting her up in a little cottage near town as his latest doxy?" He took a hefty swig of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve in a clear gesture of dismissal.
"She's a Viscount's daughter. He can't get away with making a whore of her so openly. And I'll never believe it anyway. Randall must hate the bloody sight of Isolde. Her father ruined his, and everyone knows it. Completely disgraced the old Earl, who died of shock. Or maybe even topped himself, I shouldn't wonder.Mistress? Hah. Murderer,more like."
Parkins shook his head. "Wife."
"Whaddye say, man, speak up?" He cocked one already jutting ear forward. "Shut that bloody singing, you poxy-faced curs!" he bellowed at the table to the left of their corner,earning himself a stream of colorful curses from the carousing sailors in the dockside tavern who were belting out a shanty so lewd it was making Parkins blush.
"I said, wife. It's all over the club. The most eligible bachelor in Town, the Earl of Hazelmere, was married this very day. "
Chauncey thunked the tankard down. "Hell and damnation! No! No!"
Parkins nodded. "It's true. So the girl's honor is no longer at issue, and you don't have to duel—"
"No, damn it, no!" Howell shouted, turning puce."I won't let that bugger take what's mine."
"She must have married him of her own free will," Parkins said mildly.
"She was tricked, duped just like he fooled her into bedding him. The marriage is a sham, a lie, I tell you, " Howell insisted, before draining his tankard to the lees and rising from the bench.
"Her whole family was there, including her brother—"
"Who didn't even try to duel for her honor, obviously," he gritted out, furious that another part of his clever plan had been foiled.
Parkins shook his head. "You know how they view duelling in the Town now. It's not like the olden days. Now it's just as much a matterof public scandal as an affair, and more often than not deemed murder to boot.
"Look, Chauncey, I'm sorry your little dove flew the coop, but it's not like she had any money or anything after her father died—"
Howell bit his tongue as his mind raced.Married. Married…. What the hell was he going to do now? His creditors, the whole district back home, would be agog. And even wedding the plain Clarence girl was not going to get him all he needed—
"And that's the other thing. Her brother Stephen has married Fanny Clarence, the woman you threw Isolde over for—"
"Damn and blast! What the hell am I supposed to do now?" he fumed, storming out of the tavern and into the street.
"I don't know, but Chauncey, about the money—"
Though he was out in the open now, Howell felt the walls closing in on him. "In good time, Parkins, I promise. This isn't over yet. They may be married, but widows are made every day."
Parkins shot him a horrified look.
Howell once again bit his tongue before he said too much, and tried to give a false smile. "Accidents, natural causes, death comes to us all, as the good book says."
"What, The Eager Strumpet?"
Howell rolled his eyes. "Not that book, you fool, The Bible."
"Oh."
"Just look at how Randall became Earl if you don't believe me.He had four older brothers, yet he still inherited. Isolde may be a bride now, but that's not to say she'll stay that way."
Parkins slowed his pace now, looking at his companion with a growing sense of dismay. He had the feeling he was missing something in all this…. But what?
Howell was clever, that was for sure. Perhaps too clever…
"Where are you going?" he asked, watching his friend striding further and further away from him into the distance.
"To think things through and decide on my next move," Howell threw over his shoulder, before turning the corner and vanishing in a swirl of river mist.
Parkins paused and stared for a moment into the darkness. Then he glanced at the lights flickering on the murky waters of the Thames. The stench of decay became almost overwhelming as he stood there, and made his stomach churn.
He had felt sorry for Howell losing both Isolde and Fanny in that way, but now he was not so sure. And was it really fair to marry someone just for their money or status in society, or their good looks?
Isolde Drake had always been kind to him. Too good for the likes of Howell, to his mind. But then, the pair of them had been cousins, and pre-contracted from their youth.
Why had Howell thrown her over? If only because of the money, he was a damned fool. Isolde was a remarkable woman, worth ten of Fanny Clarence even without a tuppence to her name. And as for looks, well, who wouldn't want to possess her—
Parkins felt his cheeks heat, and began to hurry home to his family.He had wasted too much time wi
th bad company, he could see that now.
Howell was out for no one but himself. Whatever plans he had to punish Randall and Isolde for marrying, he wanted no part of them.
He only prayed that the newlyweds knew what they were up against. Howell was certainly a vicious enemy when thwarted….
Not the kind of man you wanted to meet in a dark alley, as the phrase went.
At that thought, Parkins took better stock of his surroundings, Looking left and right, there was no sign of Howell, thank the Lord, but the plain fact was that he was all alone in one of the worst areas of dockside London, with the river fog closing in all around him.
The yowl of a tomcat made him start out of his skin.As he broke into a half-run, Parkins bundled up his collar against the cold, but all the same, the cold finger of dread stroked down his spine.
Howell would make them pay if he could. All of them. And even himself now that he knew too much about Howell's affairs. Perhaps he should consider taking his uncle up on his offer to go to India after all….
Chapter One
London, 4 February 1819
At their wedding supper that night Isolde looked a bit less pale and strained that she had since they had met and married in such haste.
Randall was concerned at her unease over her sudden and shocking change in circumstances, and wanted to make it was easy for his new wife as possible to get used to the idea that they were well and truly wed, and he had every intention of making their marriage work.
So as they dined on roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, he talked with animation about their future together. He waxed lyrical about the beauties of Brimley, and the old estate at Barkston House, which he had not stepped foot in since his brother Francis had been killed.
"It comes with too many memories, you see, but it is splendid," he said, his eyes drinking in her dark hair, delicate nose, and her cornflower blue eyes that were looking at him with such trust and innocence.
"It does indeed sound a lovely house. We were going to move down to Somerset, you know, live on Philip and Jasmine’s estate, in their dower house."
"Well, that’s out of the question now," he said in clipped tones.
She stared at her husband's handsome face, in particular his marvelous lapis blue eyes. Her brows knit, but she reminded herself to be patient with hew new husband. After all, they were complete strangers apart from all they had shared since they had met. Her sixth sense was useful, but didn't help her know him in the more practical day to day sense.
"What, you mean living in Brimley, Randall? Why? Is the house in bad repair?"
He shook his head and sighed. "No, it’s been kept up. My family used it, the horses our family is so famous for are all still there. I just never could bring myself to go back to the scene of the crime, as it were. Otherwise, I’m told it is as lovely as ever.
"They remodelled a fair bit of it, bathrooms and so on. All modern conveniences. My parents had torn down some walls to make one huge master bedroom, with windows either side, so one could look out at the green fields of England. There is nothing like the green, sheep, cattle. The sunshine…"
"Is it very large?"
He nodded. "Oh my, yes, a real country seat."
"And your mother?"
"She adored it, if that’s what you’re asking. It came to her through her family connections. She never got to spend nearly so much time there as she would have liked, especially recently, with Father always being so busy with Parliament when it was in session. But it is beautiful." The expression on his face was wistful, almost hungry
A plan was forming in Isolde’s mind. She had visited the district, knew almost all the Rakehells had settled there gradually. Why not she and Randall?
"You shall have to show me all of your watercolors after supper."
"Do you paint?"
She nodded. "Yes. And play the pianoforte and harp."
"I love music, and used to sing. You shall have to play for me."
"With pleasure." She smiled.
At the word pleasure, he came over with his wine glass again as he had at dinner.
"Oh no, Randall, not again. My family will be here in a minute and— Oh!"
His touch sent lightning passion streaking through her slender frame. The silk of her drawers whispering over her sensitive flesh ignited her even more as he stroked her lap until she shuddered.
"I’ll serve you the parsnips in a minute."
She recalled their first meal together which had been so arousing, and their intimate joke.
"I do indeed have a hearty appetite, as you've discovered. By all means bring on the parsnips. But they’d better not be sliced."
He laughed uproariously and resumed his seat. She hardly dared meet his eyes.
"I’ve never met anyone so responsive as you."
She blushed. "I just don’t understand it. I mean, I’ve never... It takes some getting used to."
"I know all of this is most disconcerting. And I suppose it was rather naughty of me to touch you like that. I’ll try to be patient, so long as we can hold hands, sit next to one another?"
"I would like that. But we need to be careful, Randall. One touch from me even in public seems to have the most remarkable effect, which I’m not so sure you can restrain."
He grinned, admitting without shame the truth of her words. "Ironic considering I have done nothing but be restrained in some respects for so long. What can I say, you bring out the best, or worst in me."
"Neither good nor bad, if it’s genuine, Randall."
"It is."
She nodded. "Then I’m going to give you a warm embrace, and we’re going to have supper. After that we'll go see your watercolors and have coffee in our little blue drawing room."
She rose, went over to where he was sitting, and held him to her. He put his arms lightly around her waist, forcing himself not to grab her and pull her on top of his massive erection.
Soon she stepped away, for she could sense from his breathing how difficult it was for him to be so close to her. Her sisters, mother and cousin all arrived a short time later, took in the high colour on the couple’s cheeks, and determined they were going to call it an early night and leave the two lovebirds to get on with things.
Randall tried to listen politely to Isolde’s mother, but he never took his eyes off his wife. He observed her chatting happily with her two sisters, her face in animation and repose a most arresting sight. He tried to stem the rising tide of jealousy he felt every time he looked at her handsome if bookish young cousin Antony Herriot, with whom she evidently shared a great deal.
On a professional level, he reminded himself, recalling the conversation which they had had. The young man had said he had never offered for her. More fool him. But somehow Randall grew convinced that it was just as well. That on every level, Isolde was made for him.
She was gracious, kind, witty, forthright, and though her virtue was beyond doubt, she was a passionate woman. But not everyone sparked her passion. Not Howell, not her cousin. He would need to test her in company, a prospect he was really not relishing, since keeping the bucks of the Ton at bay was going to be a Herculean effort.
But at least they would not be expected to go into Society for some time, for between their mourning and the honeymoon period they did not have to see anyone or be seen if they did not wish to for some time. He would need to speak with her about the duties required as an earl’s wife, but he felt sure she would do him proud no matter what.
In any event, they were not going to go off gallivanting whilst his mother was still ill. He was certain his wife was not some vacuous bit of muslin only interested in the next ball or soiree. In fact, quite the opposite. He had the feeling she would work her fingers to the bone if he did not insist she seek some diversion.
She met his eyes across the table as the meal was ending.
He cleared his throat and said, "I’m not a great tippler or smoker, so if Dr. Herriot here doesn’t mind forgoing those things, I think we c
an safely take the ladies into the large gold drawing room?"
"Oh, no, I don’t mind at all," the young doctor said with an airy wave.
Isolde came up to her husband and put her hand in his. He led her to the ornate chamber, fit to hold several dozen people, but immediately regretted it. He didn’t need to try to impress two children and a doctor only interested in helping the poor.
Nor a grief-stricken widow, for her mother sighed, and put her arm around her daughter. "How proud your Pa would have been of you, dearest. This is more than he ever could have hoped for you."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 4 (The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Sets) Page 29
