Redeeming the Roguish Rake

by Liz Tyner

  ‘You have no compunction with dishonesty.’

  ‘I hate it in others.’

  ‘Might they hate it in you?’

  ‘If they wish. I don’t mind either way.’

  He leaned forward, studying her face. ‘Did you catch the illness that is in the area?’

  ‘I’m just a bit jittery about the wedding.’ Her cheeks did feel warm, but not in the pleasant way. Feverish. Not ill from the body, but ill from the day. She glanced at her hands in her lap and noticed the skirt of the dress she wore. She’d had to almost starve herself to fit into it. But she’d so wanted to wear it. ‘And the groom.’

  The slow twist of Fox’s head as he moved back and the look he gave her was the most direct she’d ever received from anyone in her life.

  He spoke. ‘I am fine with some untruthfulness, by the way. Dishonesty is a bit of sweetness that helps the truth taste better, not bitter.’

  She’d not known before how strong his jawline was. Her fingers straightened. Tense. ‘Vic—’ She’d almost called him vicar.

  ‘You look lovely today.’ He changed the subject. Very well. Their conversation wasn’t reassuring her.

  She didn’t raise her eyes. ‘Do you truly like this dress? Or is it a bit of untruthfulness.’

  ‘You are stunning in it.’ She looked sideways. Sincerity shone from every last glimmer of his eyes. He’d not been nearly so direct when he’d been recovering and he’d grumbled. It was almost as though he worked harder to be sincere when he didn’t care.

  ‘What if we don’t really like each other?’

  ‘Thousands of marriages rock along quite well every day under such circumstances.’

  ‘I’d always imagined…’

  ‘A vicar.’ He pulled her fist to his lips and dropped a kiss over the knuckles. He held her hand lightly. She kept her fingers closed. ‘And no matter what happens, no matter what unfolds, you have my word that I’m more palatable than that arse of a half brain my father brought to the village.’

  He shifted, pulling his coat closer to his middle and taking in a deep breath. ‘I have just spent three weeks with the man. The first week, my father tired of the man being at his elbow and requested, very sincerely, that the vicar give me guidance. My father then proceeded to recite my sins aloud—and someone has kept him much better informed than I realised. For the next two weeks Dunderhead believed his loyalty to his patron depended on his pointing out the error of my ways. And the words, “Get the hell out” meant “Talk faster” to him.’

  He shut his eyes and shook his head. ‘In the past three weeks, were you praying that I be punished for my sins, sweet?’

  ‘No, I was praying that I not have to suffer for them.’

  Just the tiniest movement of his eyes answered her and then he ended the silence by saying, ‘I will beg the guests pardon for going in the wrong direction and explain that I couldn’t wait any longer for a moment alone with my bride.’

  Fox had not a care on his face.

  She looked into the blue eyes, considering his words and how he’d said them. ‘They will believe you.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked to the window.

  The calm waters. No ripples. So much sincerity.

  ‘The time spent with my father was interesting. His pitching the new vicar my way was clever. I tried to shoo the man back, but it took some effort and a bit of fear.’

  ‘I love my father very much.’

  ‘Of course, your father may visit us in London. You can even send a carriage for him from time to time.’ He glanced at her. ‘I did receive his note telling me you would graciously decline from marrying me.’

  ‘He is concerned about my happiness.’ And she was worried about him. Her father was getting older and he… He had never lived alone. Her heart cracked a little. She’d not given the marriage enough thought. Everything had seemed perfect when she’d thought she courted the new vicar.

  He gave the tiniest perusal of her face and his voice flowed with sincerity. ‘I believe we will get along quite well.’

  She somehow doubted he believed that.

  She unclenched her fingers, moving them from his. She had a gold band on her left ring finger. She didn’t remember seeing it placed there, but she did remember most of the ceremony. Touching the ring, she said, ‘I suppose you plan to obey me, then.’

  Her words had fluttered into the air, out the window, and probably meant as much to the horses as they did to him.

  He didn’t answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rebecca looked around. Each time she’d visited the earl’s estate, she’d always noticed how tall the ceiling was when she walked into the main entrance.

  The butler opened the door for them. She’d never spoken with him before. According to the village, he wasn’t one to speak, particularly with common folk. Her friend Mary had told her he deemed anyone who didn’t play an accomplished chess game well beneath him and could not sleep if someone bested him at a competition.

  Then they walked into a grand room with an even higher ceiling. One she’d never seen before. Strains of violin music wafted in the air, muffled by voices competing to be heard. The whole town was in the one room. She searched to find her father.

  He stood at the side, a wilted figure. Mrs Berryfield spoke with him at his right. The earl leaned in at his left

  Then the earl raised his face and saw her. At that moment her father looked up. His shoulders straightened and he snapped back into the man she knew.

  ‘My apologies that we’ve started without you.’ The earl lessened the distance between them, his movements parting the visitors. ‘We didn’t know where you’d decided to go.’ His smile beamed at her, but then his eyes moved to his son. ‘Your cousin Andrew says you are planning to live in London.’

  Rebecca’s ears heard the imaginary court give her the verdict of Transported.

  *

  Fox felt Rebecca becoming smaller at his side. She wasn’t teetering, about to tumble as her father did, but she certainly wasn’t bursting at the seams with happiness. She swallowed. Her face was the colour of his cravat.

  Damn. He’d been half-jesting when he’d said that about the martyrs, but she looked as if she’d eaten rotten fruit.

  Beside the earl, her father managed a smile and his eyes melted at the sight of his daughter. ‘I’m pleased you didn’t leave.’

  Fox could have tipped a sword blade against the vicar’s neck and he doubted her father would have noticed unless the blade obstructed the view of Rebecca. He glanced to the earl’s eyes and stared into the heat of a forged blade. Neither looked away.

  ‘I had to see you again before I left, Father. To make sure you are well.’ Rebecca’s voice diverted their attention.

  ‘I am.’ Her father took her hand. ‘I just wasn’t prepared to lose my little girl.’

  ‘You’ve gained a son,’ the earl said and turned so that his view excluded Fox. ‘We traded children.’

  ‘Now you both have two,’ Rebecca said, her voice wavering into the silence. ‘Both your families increased.’

  Her father didn’t look convinced. Neither did the earl.

  ‘I would hate to feel we’re orphans.’ Her voice held an ache. She felt like one.

  Fox chuckled, his arm going around her back, giving a pat. ‘London isn’t so far away. Just the right distance.’

  She caught the jab at his father.

  The earl shut his eyes briefly and gave one of those little groans that the dog did when his stomach got mashed by accident.

  Rebecca heard the sound of Thomas Greene’s violin in the distance. He wasn’t a bad sort. His wife was sickly. She should have waited.

  They all moved into the dining room.

  The earl had hosted wedding breakfasts before. In fact, he often did. But this one was different. More elaborate. A prodigal-type feast.

  At the sidebar, mounds of ham, tongue, rashers of bacon and eggs waited.

  She sat, staring at the plates. Hand-
painted roses graced the edges. She traced the gilt-trimmed edge and looked again at the food. She looked around for her friend Mary, whom her father had helped gain employment. But she wasn’t surprised not to see Mary. Mary would be in the scullery, working.

  At the side, all dressed in his fine clothes, hands gloved, Chester Berryfield stood at alert, dressed in footman’s livery, and they shared a smile. He’d managed to work his way from the stables to the house and soon she expected to get the news he and Mary were going to wed.

  A tiered plate in front of her had rows of pears circling the base, stems inward, and managed to fill the spaces, leading up to the top with a circle of chestnuts topped with a flower bloom. Another sat at the other end of the table and, in the middle of everything, no taller than her hand, a round cake with a frothy icing. She wasn’t surprised by the cake because the cook had sent a note asking if she wanted orange or rosewater flavour for the icing, or had a different preference.

  And it wasn’t a Sunday and she didn’t know how she’d find a single good work to do in a world of gold-rimmed plates.

  Everyone talked around her, the voices swirling into one huge strand of gaiety. Foxworthy chuckled and laughed as if it were the happiest day of his life. He even glanced her way a few times and his eyes caressed. But she imagined that to be the exact same look he’d given each of the women he’d proposed to. A natural look. One that easily attached itself to his face and stuck there, not really connected to thoughts, but to a smile and whimsy. He laughed at some jest Beatrice had made and said something about being the most fortunate man alive and again looked at Rebecca with that lovely, all the world’s a stage gaze.

  Fox even reassured her father that Rebecca was indeed a rare jewel, and her father’s face lightened in relief.

  The lines on the earl’s face increased with Fox’s banter. When the earl’s eyes met hers, he spoke quietly. ‘Of course, you may visit at any moment you wish to.’ For the first time, she saw their familial resemblance. Both could encourage with their face and words. But the earl always spoke the truth and his face didn’t conceal it.

  *

  Fox stood at the side after the breakfast ended, watching the other guests mill around in the grand room—a room swathed in grey colours reminiscent of a harsh winter.

  Her father and his own had their heads together, eyes downwards, talking.

  The door opened and the sounds of others talking drowned the fiddle tune.

  As soon as Rebecca stepped from the table, a lady rushed to her. ‘Oh, you look so lovely in the lace cap Mrs Smith made for you.’

  Rebecca raised the hem of the dress so that her satin slippers were visible. ‘Thank you so much for my shoes,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I only embroidered the flowers on them. Lottie did the border stitching. That way one of us could finish our part while the other worked and they would match up.’

  ‘If I do say so myself, we did a fine job,’ Lottie walked up beside the other woman.

  ‘All of us wanted to contribute,’ a spindly young woman with her hair piled on her head spoke.

  ‘Do you have the handkerchiefs?’ A woman with sprigs of grey hair sticking from her bun asked.

  ‘Yes. They’re in my new reticule. Thank you for that, Mrs Berryfield, and you, too, Amanda.’ She bent to talk to a little girl. ‘I have never seen one prettier.’

  Little Amanda clasped her mother’s hand and smiled brightly, teeth missing in front. She blushed, nodding.

  The bees swarmed around the honey. Then one of the ladies handed Rebecca a bag tied with a string at the top. ‘From all of us,’ the older woman with sprigs of grey hair said.

  Rebecca loosened the string and peered inside. Then she pulled out a fabric ball as big as her fist. Her cheeks reddened. The ladies cackled. She shoved the ball back into the bag.

  ‘Promise you’ll use it,’ one of the ladies admonished.

  Rebecca’s cheeks brightened even more.

  ‘We’ve all added one of our pins,’ Mrs Berryfield said, then she reached out and patted Rebecca on the arm.

  The blush. So different from his world. He’d not noticed her simple ways until she’d stood by his cousins.

  She’d never fit into his world of the ton. His father knew it. Her father knew it. She didn’t.

  His father shunned society and the action had tamped down his influence among the people who made the decisions that shaped the world.

  He’d somehow chosen the most unlikely, impossible prospect for a wife, then proposed to her just because he wanted her. Because she had a pure heart and now the care of that heart rested in his hands. He should have let her reject his proposal.

  ‘I cannot believe you wanted the man from the papers here for such a private thing as your marriage.’ His father spoke at his side.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Father.’ He’d actually hoped it would be the last time he’d appear in print. But he doubted it now.

  ‘You must do the right thing,’ his father commanded. ‘You can’t hurt someone as gentle as Rebecca. Even you should have some compassion for her.’

  ‘What about your actions, Father? You hardly show up at Parliament.’

  ‘I do. When I can.’

  ‘You should stop by and visit Mother while you’re in town. Or at least write to her more. It isn’t as if you don’t have the time.’

  ‘She asked me not to visit. You know that.’

  ‘Was the obey part in your vows also?’ Fox asked, eyebrows up.

  His father directed a stare at him. ‘For some reason, I don’t like her mentioning that I’m living proof one shouldn’t marry for money.’

  ‘She’s jesting.’

  ‘No. She’s not. She told me within days after she married that the highest bidder isn’t always the best choice.’ He frowned. ‘Her parents raised her to be a pretty confection. I was of an age to think I liked confections.’

  ‘Mother’s not all fluff.’

  ‘No. She’s not. But she was in love with a footman and felt if she didn’t marry me, she’d never get to see him again.’

  He studied his father’s face.

  ‘Yes. She’s not a bad sort, but we were both young and I wasn’t used to coming in second behind the servants, and she wasn’t used to anything but her way. Got us off to a bit of a bumbling start.’ He chuckled. ‘We were stumbling along with some semblance of truce and we both decided to make the best of it, and we did, for a while. When your sister died, it didn’t seem worth it any more.’

  ‘You both live apart to be contrary.’

  ‘And what if we do? It keeps us from hating each other. There’s something to be said for that.’

  ‘A lot, I’d say.’

  ‘I always thought you were smart, but that you’d never taken the time to explore that option. Now it’s time to use your head to think of someone other than yourself. There will be children.’ He laughed softly. ‘Wouldn’t it be ironic if they were like you and preferred their grandfather over their father?’ He clapped Fox on the back and lowered his voice. ‘I can hardly wait for your son to be born.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t particularly like children.’

  ‘Not all children expect to have gold spoons and silver rattles.’

  ‘Well, I will be happy to give such toys to my child.’ Laughter burst from his father’s lips. ‘You do that. And he’ll visit with his grandfather and discover he prefers austere life.’

  The earl nodded, eyes towards Rebecca. ‘The deck is stacked against you ruining my grandson’s life with frivolity and nonsense. The vicar’s daughter will instil values in her children that you have no wish for. She cannot accept immoral worlds. Her whole life has been devoted to caring for others. My grandchildren will have the values I wish for them. Your grandfather is not getting the last laugh.’

  Fox saw the truth in his father’s eyes and their truce dissolved.

  He turned his back.

  ‘Duelling at dawn tomorrow?’ Andrew walked up and asked.

>   ‘Think nothing of our volleys with words,’ Fox answered. ‘Father would think I did not care for him if I didn’t annoy him.’

  ‘He always insisted he must visit you,’ Andrew said.

  ‘You think he cares for me? That’s a laugh,’ the earl retorted.

  Fox saw his father studying him.

  A month before he would have said he visited his father just to annoy him. But then he’d just stayed with him while they waited to see if his father became ill. They’d talked about the weather at least once in the morning, once midday, and then again as the sun set. And one day, when the sun was disappearing from the sky, his father had begun to recall how he’d personally woken his father to tell him of the birth of a baby boy.

  Fox heard stories he’d never even known to ask of.

  Fox was certain everyone in the gardens kept talking, but he couldn’t hear them. He could only hear the echo of his words in his head. ‘Of course. I visited you every long holiday from school and twice yearly since then. Did you not notice?’

  ‘I assumed your mother insisted you come.’

  ‘No.’

  Fox watched the words register in his father’s eyes.

  ‘Aunt couldn’t keep him from visiting you,’ Andrew said. ‘She tried. She was afraid you’d not let him return to London.’ Andrew gave a bow, and moved back to Beatrice’s side.

  ‘Is that true?’ the earl asked Fox.

  ‘I fear my cousin’s memories are much better than mine. All I remember is that when I arrived you would tell me constantly how I disappointed you and I’d be so encouraged I’d leave to accomplish more.’

  ‘That’s not how I remember it. You blathered on about how I’d not enough ballocks to stay with your mother.’

  ‘I don’t remember that, but I’ve drunk since then. It tends to wash away so much.’

  ‘Perhaps now that you are married you will be able to remember that drinking washes away the memories, but not the actions.’

  ‘I shall not forget. No matter how much I try,’ Fox said, nodding.

  ‘I showed you how two moderately decent people can so easily learn to detest each other.’ His father turned slightly. ‘You’ve been a young fool.’ Then he moved enough so that his face was hidden. ‘Do not become an old fool like your grandfather. Or like me.’