"I don't mind, honestly. You can catch up on your correspondence whilst I do this."
So he sat beside her at the fine desk, she writing out neatly the corrected final draft of the fever paper whilst he skimmed through the mail, discarding several notes from Leonore and Rosalie without even opening them.
Why waste time? There was nothing either woman could say to him that he would find of even the remotest interest.
Several invitations also went in the wastebasket, but he kept back a couple he might not have ordinarily considered. Now that Arabella was with him, he could not always keep her in the house. Nor could he allow her to go with just a chaperone all the time.
Mrs. Evans was a good sort, but more of a governess than a woman of the world. She did not understand as he did the devices and strategems of a consummate rake. He had seen more than enough of them in action last evening at Lady Pemberton's ball to not wish for a repeat performance.
Though it had to be said, Arabella had acquitted herself admirably. Did she really have no idea how lovely she was?
He wrote to his friend Michael Avenel in Bath telling him of the unexpected turn of events, and to never mention to anyone the carriage incident he had told him about. He promised they would be down soon to see him.
Sarah Davenport's baby could be expected any time after Valentine's Day. They would go down the week before. That would mean writing to Mr. Jerome…
He looked consideringly at the dark head bent so close to his own. What to do for the best so far as Arabella was concerned, that was the question. She would only just be settling in here in London. On the other hand, to leave her here was unthinkable. They would buzz like flies around a honey-pot if he dared.
She loved the countryside, and sooner or later they would have to deal with her estate, also in Somerset, though some hours' ride from Millcote where the Jeromes lived. And the Stones too, he reminded himself. With the rest of the Rakehells only about six miles away in Brimley. It might do well to take Arabella there for some good society.
He took out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote a suitably deferential letter to Mr. Jerome stating he would be in the neighbourhood starting the approximately the tenth of February, and he would be pleased to call on him to pay his respects.
"That is a very weighty sigh," she observed quietly.
"I've told you I recently was named heir to a fine estate in Somerset. I shall have to go down there for a number of reasons, not least of which will be to close up your house for the time being if you're going to be living here."
Her eyes flashed with defiance despite her resolve to show the doctor how grateful she was for all his help. "Do I not get a say in the matter?"
"You do. We're discussing it now," Blake said mildly.
She sat back in her chair. "I see. I'm sorry. It's just that I've been so happy there. It's hard to imagine just giving it up, letting it, leaving it in another's care."
"We don't have to decide immediately. It would be a pity to just leave it to wrack and ruin. At the very least it needs a good steward, perhaps an efficient married couple who would like a place of their own. If you were to sell it, now would be the time. Prices will only fall now that the war is over."
"No, I couldn't possibly sell it. Peter-"
"It's been left to you, you know. Not him."
She shrugged. "He was ever the wanderer. That's not to say he won't come back from the Army at some point and wish to have a proper home of his own."
"Very well, then. We shall find a suitable steward until such time as we're both more settled. We shall put the word out amongst my friends in the district and see if they can recommend a suitable young man or couple."
"Thank you. For the steward, and for understanding my feelings."
"I only hope you can be happy here. It will be a big change, and a crusty old bachelor like myself-" He shrugged.
"I'm sure I shall be fine. So long as you treat me like a useful and sensible member of society, not a bit of fluff, we shall get along well."
"How are you coming with that paper?"
"Nearly finished."
"Good. As soon as you are done with that, Miss Fluff, we can start teaching you about investments."
She grinned at him and nodded. "I can't wait."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
By the time dinner was announced, Arabella was famished, and her head was spinning. But she felt a huge sense of accomplishment and was delighted with his warm praise. They said grace and then began to devour their roast with gusto.
"You've done very well. I'll expect you to keep a little account book. The newspaper is delivered every morning, and you can check the price of your consols and so forth."
"Thank you for not treating me like a noodle."
He looked up from the forkful of potato he had been about to put in his mouth. "I'm a firm believer in equal rights for women. I do think you ought to be protected in other ways, but there is no reason why you cannot manage your affairs yourself. I had to learn, after all. Males are not born with a mastery of the stock market any more than a woman with a mastery of the harp or pianoforte."
"I play both. Do you?"
"Piano only. And not well."
"Painting and sketching?"
"Yes, but only if you approve of anatomical drawings as high art."
"I believe Da Vinci-"
"Yes, just so," he remarked in clipped tones.
"What? What have I said wrong?"
He looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Well, some of the paintings are nudes, and-"
"The human body is wondrous, is it not?" she remarked in all sincerity.
"Yes, of course," he said with evident enthusiasm. "I could spend a lifetime and never discover everything there was to know."
"What's the most wondrous thing you've ever seen?" she asked with genuine interest.
"Newborns coming into the world. It's always a little miracle," he said, his hazel eyes alight with excitement. "They're all so tiny, and most of them so perfect. Adorable little fingers and toes." He raised his hand. "Some of them so small, I can fit them in one of my hands."
"You love your work." It was a statement, not a question.
"Yes, most of the time I do. But there are awful things too. Death, disease. Things which could be prevented with the right teaching and moral fibre."
She took a sip of wine before asking, "So the wealthy patients you treat help to pay for the free clinic you have?"
He nodded. "That's right."
"You will let me help? Make bandages and so on?"
"I suppose, if you're so determined."
Arabella nodded. "I am."
"Good. We shall need to teach you the basics. While I do not have many female patients here for my private practice, I would appreciate your help if I do, should the occasion arise."
She nodded happily. "Anything."
"It's just that some of them might feel better with a lady present to reassure them-"
"I understand." She took another forkful of peas, hoping he didn't observe her blush.
"Thank you. And for the help with the fever paper."
"So you teach as well?"
"Yes."
"It is a wonder you have time to tend to a young ward, then," she said quietly.
"The truth is I don't generally," he admitted. "Once the holidays are over, I shall be back to my normal schedule, and you and I will probably rarely see each other."
That thought filled her with absolute dread. "But if I help you with the clinic-"
"You can't be expected to give up you pleasure and amusements for my work. You are so young."
"But not Miss Fluff."
"No," he conceded.
"In that case, let me help," she said firmly.
"I shall consider the matter. But for the moment you might contemplate helping the servants take inventory. Discover all you can about this household. I must admit it's not something I pay much attention to. It runs smoothly, so I leave it alone. You may have
different ideas as to what constitutes smoothly, so I ask you as a favour to see what can be done. If you can run a whole estate in the country by yourself, you can most certainly take me in hand."
"I shall. Thank you for your confidence in me."
They smiled at each other shyly, and turned back to their dinner.
The rest of the evening was spent going over the papers Mr. Brown had sent, so she could understand the terms of his guardianship. It would be three years until she attained her majority and freedom. Three long years, unless Arabella could either get over her schoolgirl crush, or convince Blake Sanderson to fall in love with her.
No. Impossible. She was dreaming if she thought a worldly and successful man like him could ever consider her in that way.
At the inn it had been different. He had no doubt thought her the daughter of some genteel impoverished family. Ripe for plucking, with few consequences to fear. Now she was his ward, and his dear friend's protected sister.
No, Blake Sanderson was not the man for her, no matter how much she longed for him.
The memory sprang to mind once more of his bare chest, his trousers slipping down over his huge…
Arabella shook her head and shuddered. Stop that.
She took a deep breath to calm herself, and suggested some music. They finished the night with some Bach airs, and each could not wait to get away to the privacy of their rooms to dream about the other.
The first fortnight of her sojourn in London was spent as per Blake's request, with Arabella overhauling Sanderson House from top to bottom. She took him at his word and obtained the housekeeper's keys. There wasn't any room she left untouched.
Mrs. Evans, her chaperone who lived in one of the side streets nearby, was given a room near Arabella's in case she ever needed to stay the night. She was a stout woman of perhaps fifty, kind, but a bit silly for her tastes. She scolded Arabella more than once for being too much of a homebody.
It was true she had taken London by storm after her appearance at Lady Pemberton's ball, but she was not accustomed to spending all day and night in the idle pursuit of pleasure. Apart from a couple of rides in Rotten Row with the Stones and the Duke of Ellesmere, and once with Philip Marshall, she had not troubled to go out to pay calls, and she and the house had been in no fit state to receive callers.
With a pinafore over her oldest gown, forest green wool, and her hair tied up in a kerchief, and smudges of dust all over her, she was as lovely as ever, but not the belle of the ball that most of the Town expected her to be.
Mrs. Evans complained, "There's no sense in having me come every day and night if you turn the visitors from the door and never go anywhere. Why, we haven't even been to the shops once. The only time you've been out of this house with me was when you went to see Mr. Brown the solicitor. Really, it is not natural. You need a better wardrobe, evening gowns. Moreover, no man wants a bluestocking for a wife."
Arabella put the finishing touches to an ornamental tassle. "Why not, pray?"
"Well, no man would want a wife who was more intelligent than himself."
"I see. So I'm to pretend that I'm stupid in order to catch myself one, am I?" she asked impatiently. "Fill my wardrobe with immodest gowns to catch a man?"
Blake, who had paused outside the little cream and gold parlor to knock and look in, smiled to himself.
"Not at all. Well, not quite. But flatter men, defer to their opinions. Let them feel like Lord and Master in their own house."
"Even if they're not worthy, or fools?"
"A man's amour propre is a very delicate thing. Easily overset. When it is, well, there is the Devil to pay."
"Dr. Sanderson isn't like that. He doesn't mind if I quiz him."
"But he's your guardian. Not a man at all, if you take my meaning."
"I see."
Blake scowled at this. He grew determined to show Arabella just how much of a man he could be. He put on his most winning smile and tapped on the door.
Arabella looked up and smiled. "Hello. How are you?"
His hazel eyes glowed as he gazed at her lovely face. "Well, my dear. And you?"
"Very well, thank you."
"I must say you're doing wonders with the place. Much more cosy to come home to. Wonderful cushions, crocheted blankets. I think I must have the best wardrobe in London now thanks to you. Not to mention Cook's new receipts. Something smells delicious.
"So, Mrs. Evans can have the night off, and we can go out to the Elthams. They're having an at home, music, cards, and charades, if you like."
A pretty dimple peeped out. "It sounds wonderful. Are you sure you can spare the time, Doctor?"
"I always make time for things which are important."
"What shall I wear?"
"I like your lavender and white. It really brings up your eyes. Have you checked your investments today?"
Said violet eyes sparkled. "I have."
She hastened over to the small desk to show him her book, with the price and her tracking on the graph.
"I've heard that that's as high as it is going to go. Would you like to sell now, or take a gamble that my informant was wrong?"
"I trust you. You were correct last week, after all. We shall sell."
"We shall speak to the broker on the way to the clinic tomorrow."
"We?" she said, her brows raising.
"Yes. Now that you've transformed this house, it is about time you transformed the clinic as well."
"But Dr. Sanderson, I really must protest," Mrs. Evans exclaimed. "Arabella should not be consorting with-"
"She will not be consorting, as you put it," he said coldly. "She will be helping me."
"Very well, but you have some odd notions of what is appropriate for a young lady."
His tone remained even. "I own it. Prudery and a narrow mind are perceived by most as desirable attributes for the female gender. I would like to think it suits neither sex."
"It is my duty to obey, of course. However, I feel it incumbent upon me to state my objections now."
"Duly noted. Thank you, Mrs. Evans. Have a good evening."
The older woman was surprised that he had not asked her to join them for dinner. He simply took Arabella's hand and departed.
She shook her head. The girl was never going to get a good husband this way. She rather flattered herself a good matchmaker. There were so many eligible young men in London at present. She just had to push things forward a bit, or try to, if she could ever get Arabella out of the house. Wouldn't it be a fine thing….
"I say, Adam, you're never going to guess. Our little country mouse of a cousin is here in Town!"
Adam Neville lifted his thin lips languidly from the lewd lady he was dallying with. He squeezed her breast hard, and sighed. "What concern of this is ours?"
"Because Peter Davison is gone. Overseas. Leaving her with some old friend of his as her guardian."
Oliver sat down on the red velvet chaise longue, sandwiching the whore between them in a most suggestive manner which set her to wriggling anew.
"Peter gone? A guardian, you say?" His bushy black brows rose. "What is her fortune?"
"A good one, and getting greater all the time. She sold her shares in Pinkus' last week just before the bottom dropped out, and made a killing. This could be the making of us, old boy."
"I don't see-"
"Marriage, you fool. A fortune ripe for the taking." Oliver grabbed the prostitute's bare backside by way of emphasis. "One of us marries her, bails out the other."
The two dark-haired men stared at each other for a moment.
Adam shrugged. "Even assuming it were possible to meet with the virtuous young miss, how could we ever deceive anyone into thinking we were suitable? Her guardian will carry out inquiries. If I'm not mistaken, several of our creditors are about to call in our vowels."
"We can get them to hold off. Go to a cent-percenter, cut a bit of a dash. Find a desperate solicitor who can try to smooth things over, negotiate the marriage
settlement, in exchange for a portion of whatever one or the other of us gets."
Eventually Adam nodded. "You know, Brother, it might just work."
"I'm telling you, she's ripe for the plucking," Oliver said with a laugh, groping the girl until she gasped in pain.
Adam slapped his hand away. "Get your own. I paid for this one."
"Now, Brother, fair is fair. Share and share alike. Arabella is said to be a real beauty, by the way. Worth a king's ransom in her own right. It will be no hardship waking up to her in the morning. Assuming you ever got to sleep the night before, that is," he said with a smirk.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 76
