The Rake

by Mary Jo Putney

  Alys made herself seriously consider the idea before answering. “No. She has any number of admirers, but she is always charming to them. I can’t imagine that any are lovelorn or unstable enough to do something so dreadful.”

  His brows drew together. “Was anyone so angry about the smallpox vaccinations that they might want to retaliate? I would be a more logical target, but you were the one that carried out my orders.”

  “There was some grumbling, but no one was really outraged.”

  “I hope you’re right. I would hate to think that you were endangered by my actions.” His gaze met hers, dark with concern. “Perhaps I’m just naturally suspicious. But—just in case—be careful. And talk to your wards about this.”

  “I will,” she said soberly. “I surely will.”

  Alys had her discussion with her charges over tea that afternoon. Though each had lost cherished personal possessions in the fire, their gratitude that no one had been injured or killed kept their losses in perspective. Alys mentioned the possibility of arson, but decided not to suggest that it might have been deliberately aimed at someone in the house. Davenport’s wild theory must be a result of his own colorful past. Murder by arson simply wouldn’t happen in peaceful Dorset.

  She half hoped that her wards would be reluctant to live in the manor house, but they received the idea with enthusiasm. “By Jove, Mr. Davenport really wouldn’t mind having us here? He’s a great gun.” Peter gave his approval quickly, then subsided into silence, probably plotting the best time to ask Davenport for driving lessons.

  William liked the idea of being so close to the stables, while Meredith got a speculative expression on her lovely face. “We would actually be living here, not just guests?” When Alys nodded, Merry said dreamily, “This house is so much better for entertaining than Rose Hall, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, and Mr. Davenport has insisted that we treat it as home. He has been very generous.” He’d even tried to pay for the cost of replacing their wardrobes. A brisk argument had ensued, resolved only when Alys agreed to let him pay half of the costs. She continued, “He doesn’t really understand what he’s letting himself in for. If you plague the poor man to death, we’ll have to make different arrangements. But since you all like the idea, we’ll try it.”

  Her decision was greeted with whoops of joy. Of course the pleasure Alys herself felt was merely because her wards were happy.

  After the boys left, Alys had a private talk with Meredith. Eyes dancing, Merry assured her guardian that she had no intention of succumbing to Mr. Davenport’s elderly charms. He had acted in a most respectable—indeed, positively avuncular—fashion. Not quite convinced of her employer’s respectability, Alys resigned herself to trusting in Meredith’s considerable good sense.

  The only real objections came from Junius Harper. He arrived late in the afternoon, bubbling with solicitude and indignation. Alys received him in the small salon, grateful that Davenport was away from the house.

  Junius clasped her hand fervently. “I spent last night with the bishop in Salisbury, and have only just returned. You can imagine the perturbation I felt upon hearing the dreadful news! Sweet, fragile Miss Spenser ... such danger must have been a great strain on her delicate nerves.”

  While Merry certainly had cause to be distressed, it was Alys who had come closest to being baked like a Sunday joint. But as everyone knew there was nothing delicate about that great, strapping Alys. She disengaged her hand. “Certainly it was a frightening experience, but at least no one took any injury.”

  As they seated themselves, the vicar’s expression changed to one of dire foreboding. “As alarming as news of the fire was, it was as nothing to the agitation I felt on learning that you had spent the night in this ... this ... house of infamy!”

  “House of infamy? That’s coming it a bit strong, Junius,” Alys said, amused by his priorities. “Would being burned alive really be preferable to a ‘fate worse than death’?”

  Ignoring her digression, he intoned, “I do not hesitate to tell you that I was shocked. Nay, more than shocked. Appalled.”

  Wishing that he had hesitated to say it, Alys said with asperity, “Brave of you to risk your immortal soul by calling here.”

  Blind to sarcasm, Junius said, “I hope I know where my duty lies. But I must insist that you remove yourself and the children immediately. I am surprised that you did not think to go to the vicarage last night. Though I was not there to receive you, my housekeeper would have made you welcome, and Miss Spenser would not have been exposed to that rake’s wiles.”

  The vicar’s generosity was not quite enough to balance the surge of temper Alys felt at his peremptory words. “Since I was in no condition to consider alternative residences, Mr. Davenport’s offer was most welcome. And need I remind you that you have no right to insist that I do anything?”

  “Surely I have some right as your spiritual adviser, if not as your friend,” Junius said stiffly.

  Feeling ashamed of herself, Alys said in a more conciliatory tone, “I know that you’ve taken Mr. Davenport in dislike, but I assure you, he has been most gentlemanly. He also showed great presence of mind and courage last night. Did your informant mention that he saved my life, at great risk to his own?”

  The vicar dismissed that with a flick of his hand. “Physical courage comes easily to his type. It is his morals—or rather, his lack of them—that concern me. I will have no peace of mind until you and your charges are away from here.”

  “Then resign yourself to having your peace cut up,” she said, her eyes glittering with exasperation. “Mr. Davenport has invited us to live here, and we have accepted.”

  Horror showed on the vicar’s face. “You cannot mean it! It is bad enough to have stayed one night in the aftermath of a disaster, but to live here? It is wholly unacceptable. Miss Spenser’s reputation will be ruined forever.”

  “Between her brothers and me, she will be adequately chaperoned.” Alys was quite willing to use Davenport’s own arguments. “Besides, we must live somewhere, and there are no other houses available in the area.”

  “You could live at the vicarage.”

  She sighed. While Junius was not a stupid man, he could be quite maddeningly obstinate. “If it is propriety that concerns you, the vicarage would be no improvement, since your household is also a bachelor establishment.”

  “Surely the differences between the homes of a man of the cloth and a libertine should be obvious!” Junius said hotly.

  “Of course there are differences. For one thing, Strickland is considerably more spacious,” Alys snapped, struggling with the desire to give Junius a really crushing setdown. “While your offer is magnanimous, it would look very odd indeed for us to move in with you. Mr. Davenport’s obligation to provide his steward with housing is at least a legitimate reason for us to stay here.”

  Junius swallowed hard. “If you need a reason, you can marry me. Besides providing a proper home for the children, you would also be able to give up an unladylike employment that must surely be distasteful to you.”

  Not only was she not the sort of woman men desired, she couldn’t even inspire a decent proposal! Provoked beyond tact, Alys exclaimed, “That is the most bird-witted reason for marriage I’ve ever heard! Believe me, there is no need to sacrifice yourself. My wards are all delighted by the prospect of living at Strickland, and I think it will work well. As for my employment, I don’t find it in the least distasteful. Indeed, I enjoy it.”

  “If you won’t marry me, then let me pay my addresses to Miss Spenser!” the vicar said wildly. “It is unthinkable that such sweet goodness be corrupted by a man such as Davenport.”

  Two proposals within a minute! The vicar must be setting some sort of record. “I assure you, Junius, such draconian measures as marriage are not necessary. Meredith will come to no harm here. Your lack of faith in her virtue is most unflattering, I might add.” Offering a sop to the cleric’s anxiety, Alys went on, “Besides, Mr. Davenpo
rt will probably soon tire of the country, and we won’t see him again for months.” She didn’t believe that, but the possibility might reconcile the vicar to the situation.

  He stood, his movements heavy. “I see that your mind is quite made up. I will pray that you come to your senses before it is too late.”

  As Junius was taking his leave, Davenport entered the small salon with Nemesis faithfully shadowing his heels. His eyes took on a glint of unholy amusement when he saw Alys’s visitor, but he greeted the vicar with civility, as if they hadn’t come close to blows at their previous meeting.

  “No doubt you are surprised to see me here, Davenport,” the vicar said belligerently.

  “Not at all. Since you are a friend of Miss Weston and her charges, I would expect you to call,” Davenport said with perfect affability.

  “I shall be calling again.” Junius’s tone made it a challenge.

  “But of course.” Davenport raised his brows. “You don’t strike me as the sort of man to flinch at entering the lion’s den if his cause is just.”

  While Alys suppressed a choke of laughter, the vicar gave his host a suspicious glare, unable to decide if he was being mocked. Deeming discretion the better part of valor, he took his leave. After his departure Alys said, “It was good of you not to forbid him the house, even though he behaved so badly the first time you met.”

  Davenport gave a half smile. “If this is to be your home, I hardly have the right to forbid your guests. I’ll admit I would rather the good vicar didn’t run tame here, but I daresay my godless presence will reduce the number of his visits.”

  Alys was sure that he was right, and took a certain guilty pleasure in the thought. Junius could be rather a trial. “Were you looking for me?”

  Reggie nodded. “I thought it might be useful to discuss sharing the same establishment so we know what to expect of each other.”

  “An excellent idea,” Alys agreed, sitting down again. Over the next hour they discussed a variety of issues. Davenport felt no need to eat in solitary quiet, so dinners would be taken together. Alys did suggest that William could eat in the nursery, but was glad Davenport felt it unfair for the child to be condemned to eat alone merely because he was the youngest.

  The bedrooms assigned to the guests the night before would become permanent. The young people were in a cluster in the east wing, Davenport was at the far west end of the house, and Alys’s spacious chamber was in the center, flanked by empty bedrooms on each side so she would have more privacy. Although it wasn’t said aloud, the location was a good guardian position since, at least in theory, Alys would hear any surreptitious night traffic. Propriety was such a silly business. Any two people wishing to misbehave together could surely find a way.

  They had discussed the duties of Alys’s servants and reached an amiable accord when Alys saw Attila enter the door of the salon. The cat immediately went into his hunter mode, golden eyes feral, belly tight to the carpet, hindquarters and tail quivering. Moving with panther swiftness, Attila lunged across the carpet and pounced on the collie, who was peacefully sleeping with her muzzle on her master’s foot.

  Nemesis jumped up yelping and whirled madly, looking for the attacker. As Alys swept the cat up in her arms, Davenport concentrated on calming his beleaguered dog. “Your cat, Lady Alys, is a bully,” he said, his face alight with amusement.

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” she said ruefully, struggling to keep Attila from going after Nemesis again. “I hadn’t realized quite how much of one. I know cats don’t much like other cats unless they are raised together, but I’m surprised that Attila will attack a sizable dog.”

  As the trembling collie pressed against Davenport’s leg, he ruffled her ears comfortingly. “You’re going to have to get used to him, Nemesis.” He chuckled. “I have a feeling that the humans of our households will get on better than the pets.”

  As they laughed together, it was easy to believe that was true.

  Chapter 13

  Adjusting to life in the manor house proved painless. Even effervescent William recognized that the owner of the house was unused to the vagaries of children, and didn’t press his attentions unless invited to.

  Dinner was the only meal they took together, and it proved a comfortable occasion. Davenport tended to speak little, but watched the young people with obvious amusement. Soon everyone was relaxed and volunteering information on their respective activities. Peter screwed up his courage to ask for instruction in driving, and with dazed delight found himself the eager student of a veritable top-sawyer. William’s heart was won when a lively pony, just the right size for him, appeared in the stables, while Merry quickly fell into a friendly, teasing relationship with Davenport.

  After her initial surprise, Alys realized that it was only to be expected. The children had missed having a father, and if not precisely paternal, Davenport did make an excellent honorary uncle. Only with Alys did he maintain a certain reserve, friendly but not entirely relaxed. Perhaps he feared she would pursue him ruthlessly if he gave her any encouragement.

  Nonetheless, he did make the effort to subvert the seamstress. When the last lot of clothing was delivered, it included several gowns Alys had not ordered, all in brighter colors and more daring cut than she usually wore. Meredith admitted with a smile that she and Davenport had planned it between them.

  When Alys confronted him indignantly, he pointed out that she was no longer a governess, so why did she dress like one? Surely there could be no need to restrict herself to navy blue and brown when she was dining with her family. In fact, she owed it to the people who had to look at her to maintain a good appearance.

  Half amused and half exasperated by his high-handed ways, she kept the gowns. In her fashionable youth she had been restricted to demure white muslins which did nothing for her coloring. It was a pleasure now to wear rich green or rust or gold. She thought she looked rather well. Certainly the children thought so, and the admiring warmth in Davenport’s eyes sent a glow through her entire body.

  The days quickly returned to the normal pattern of work and family. It was the nights that were difficult. Alys told herself the problem was a strange bed, but she was all too aware that she was sleeping under the same roof with a man of quite overpowering attractiveness. A man, moreover, who showed occasional signs of interest in the fact that she was a female.

  As she endured her fourth night of insomnia, she finally asked herself exactly what she wanted from Reggie Davenport. An affair? While it was conceivable that in the heat of passion she might throw caution to the winds, it was quite impossible for sober, unglamorous Alys Weston to cold-bloodedly embark on such a wanton course.

  In a burst of candor, she admitted to herself that the idea of being his mistress was enormously appealing. Yet how could she set such an example to the children? An affair could not be kept a secret for long, and would surely jeopardize her position as steward.

  So an affair was out of the question, and there was no other possibility. Her employer appeared to enjoy her company, had even found her not wholly lacking in appeal, but he was certainly not going to marry her. If Davenport wanted to set up a nursery, there were any number of more eligible females in the area. Or he could go to London and have the pick of the crop. The very respectable fortune he had acquired would offset his rakish past, and with his personal magnetism he would have his choice of ladies who were far younger, prettier, and wealthier than she.

  Alys reminded herself that if he ever did marry, he would doubtless make the very devil of a husband. However, she feared that her thoughts had a faint whiff of the fox complaining about unobtainable grapes.

  As she rolled over in her bed, she faced her worse fear with brutal honesty: that in a moment of drunken indiscrimination, Davenport would take her to his bed, and find the experience too uninteresting to repeat. Even the thought brought a sick knot to her stomach. The least pain and humiliation lay in accepting that her present amiable, limited relationship was the best she
could hope for.

  Her logic was faultless, and there was a certain relief in having worked the matter through. Unfortunately, her stomach was still knotted with anxiety. Perhaps some brandy would help. With a sigh, she sat up and fumbled for her new dressing gown, an attractive garment in gold velveteen with braid trim.

  The most convenient brandy supply was in the library. She expected the room to be empty at such a late hour, and was startled to see her employer lounging in his favorite wing chair, coat and cravat off and his feet on a brocade stool. It was a perfect picture of a gentleman at his leisure. Reggie had a book open in his lap and a half-empty goblet in his hand. Candlelight touched the tooled leather backs of the books and cast a warm glow across the room, and Nemesis snored peacefully by his feet.

  Alys halted uncertainly in the door, admiring the play of light on the planes of his lean face. She was about to end her brief moment of self-indulgence and go away when he glanced up and saw her.

  He gave her a lazy smile. “Come join me.”

  “Are you sure I’ m not disturbing you?” She hung back, even though she yearned to accept his invitation. “I didn’t realize anyone else was still awake.”

  “You’re not disturbing me. It’s no bad thing to have company in the dark watches of the night.” He raised his goblet in a wry toast, then drank deeply. Waving a casual hand at the decanter, he said, “Have some brandy.”

  Usually he was impeccably dressed, but she had noticed that when he drank he became faintly disheveled. Tonight he looked distinctly rakish. She guessed that he had been drinking since she and the children had gone to bed. Still, his speech was clear and unslurred, so he could not be really foxed.

  She went to pour herself a glass of brandy, and noticed that the book on his lap was in Greek. That shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. While he must have had the usual education of his class, he radiated such physical force that it was easy to forget how intelligent he was. She, who had worked with him, should know better.