The Love of a Rake

by Linda Rae Sande

  Clarinda allowed a wan smile as she leaned over the earl and lifted a glass of scotch from the side table. She offered it to him, making sure he was aware of what her low-cut dinner gown exposed. “That is good news, considering what happened last year,” she said in a quiet voice.

  The summer of 1816 had been horrible for nearly everyone in England. With so much rain, cool temperatures, and very little in the way of a growing season, many tenant farmers had nearly starved. Only those who owned coal mines seemed to have made any money, although even some of them claimed they couldn’t do so simply because no one could afford their commodity.

  “Remember the caller I had today?” she asked, deciding to bring up the matter of his cousin before dinner was served. He had already taken an interest in her cleavage.

  “Yes. In fact, I meant to ask about her. Who was she?”

  Clarinda gave him a look of surprise. “So, you didn’t recognize her?”

  Daniel shook his head, a frown forming. “I did not see her,” he replied, his attention suddenly torn from where it had been a moment before.

  Sighing, Clarinda wondered how best to tell him of her conversation with Constance Fitzwilliam. “Do you have a cousin named Constance?” she asked, deciding to first be sure the woman wasn’t an imposter.

  Daniel straightened and turned his head fully to regard Clarinda, an eyebrow arching up in surprise. “Yes,” he hedged. “She would be about ...” He considered when he last saw the chit and suddenly stiffened. “Five-and-twenty,” he whispered. He didn’t offer anything more about his cousin, but it was apparent to Clarinda he was recalling something from the past. Something not so pleasant.

  “Her inheritance seems to be missing,” Clarinda said, careful with how she made the statement. “Do you have any idea what might have happened to it?”

  Daniel took a deep breath and held it a moment. “No doubt gambled away by my late uncle, Edward,” he said, not trying to hide his disgust for the man.

  Crestfallen, Clarinda settled back into the settee. “Oh,” she murmured. After another moment, she asked, “Is there nothing to be done?” giving her husband her very best doe-eyed glance. “She’s nearly out of funds despite how careful she’s been with what little she has had since her father’s death.”

  Daniel caught the look and suddenly straightened. “Well, I won’t leave her destitute, if that’s what you’re concerned about. But last I knew, she had one of the most valuable stables in all of England. If she wanted to, she could sell her horses and be set for life.”

  Clarinda blinked. And blinked again as she regarded her husband. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Daniel shrugged. “Uncle Edward gave her a horse—a filly—when she was young girl. He’d won it in a card game. Seems the mare was a product of a bay and some racehorse that had won the Ascot back in the day. Not knowing its true value, he forgot about it. But Connie, having grown up in the stables—she was a hoyden if ever there was one—she managed to find a suitable stud—I’m not sure who she found or if any money was exchanged for the stud service—and the next thing you know, she was the proud owner of a colt she named Mr.Tuttlebaum—”

  Clarinda gasped. “I’ve heard of that horse!”

  Daniel grinned. “Haven’t we all?” he replied. “Made lots of money, which my uncle quickly lost. Some of it in David’s gaming hell, come to think of it,” he said with an arched eyebrow.

  “Some? Or all?” Clarinda asked, one of her eyebrows arched up to match Daniel’s. She knew of her first husband’s gaming hell and exclusive brothel, of course, but she never considered who had lost their fortunes therein.

  The earl shrugged. “Most of it, I imagine,” he acknowledged. “Which is one of the reasons I will see to it Connie is provided with enough funds for a suitable dowry,” he said before he finished off his scotch. He closed his eyes a moment, as if he had remembered something else.

  Clarinda sighed. “I don’t think a marriage is in her future, Daniel,” she said softly. “She’s already on the shelf. But I also think she will be happy to simply live the rest of her life in Sussex.”

  Daniel frowned. “She can use the funds to live on, I suppose. But I would like to know why there isn’t some inheritance set aside for her. One that was protected from Uncle Edward.” He paused a moment. “Did she say anything about the stables?” he asked then.

  Clarinda shook her head. “Not that I recall.”

  “Hmm,” he managed. The sound of the dinner bell sounded faintly through the closed door. “Ah, saved by the bell,” he murmured, bussing his wife on her cheek when she gave him a quelling glance. “I’ll do right by my cousin. I promise,” he whispered. “In fact, I’ll write her a cheque in the morning and send her a note that it’s ready.” Although he would prefer to simply have a footman deliver the cheque, he knew he should at least meet with her in person. And even though a good deal of time had passed since that night in the stables, he would carry the memory of it for the rest of his life.

  Smiling, Clarinda gave him a kiss on the lips, a kiss that seemed to take the earl by surprise. “Thank you, my lord,” she said as she made her way.

  Daniel mumbled before saying, “Was Lady Pettigrew here today?” he asked suddenly. “I could swear I heard her voice.”

  Clarinda sighed. “Yes, she was,” she admitted. “I think she was feeling a bit sad.”

  “Oh?” Daniel replied as they made their way into the dining room. “Something happen?” Besides Lord Pettigrew’s mistress having left his employ to marry a baronet? he nearly added.

  The countess nodded. “She let her hairdresser go,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  Daniel blinked. “I’m surprised she still has one. Doesn’t she always wear a wig?” he countered suddenly.

  Clarinda suppressed the urge to grin. “She does, but the girl could have stayed on to dress her wigs,” he claimed. “When I suggested she hire her back for that reason, she said she tried to do so but discovered the girl had already taken a position in another household.”

  “Serves her right,” Daniel said as he pushed in Clarinda’s chair and then moved to take his own. “And good for the girl. I hope she ended up in suitable house?” he half-questioned, thinking it would be difficult to work for Lady Pettigrew.

  “Well, that’s the puzzling thing. When Lady Pettigrew went to the agency to get Foster back, she was told the girl had been hired by Lord Wakefield’s majordomo for the earl’s household.”

  Daniel frowned as he tried to remember if he had ever seen Charles Goodwin’s majordomo. “Tall man, isn’t he?” he said as a footman poured his wine.

  “Yes,” Clarinda agreed. “Why do you suppose Lord Wakefield would hire a hair dresser?”

  The earl regarded her for a moment before considering the question. “I’ve absolutely no idea,” he finally said. “But I rather imagine The Tattler will mention it in the next edition,” he added before beginning his soup course.

  Never having thought her husband to be a reader of the gossip rag, Clarinda regarded Daniel for a moment before allowing a giggle to escape.

  She didn’t notice Daniel’s look of consternation.

  Chapter 30

  An Earl Returns for Dinner

  Seven-thirty in the evening

  “I admit to being a bit surprised that you’re still here,” Charles said quietly as he gazed up at Eleanor. She was halfway down the main stairs and watching him from where she stood, one hand gripping the railing as if she needed it for support.

  Perhaps she did.

  “A few hours ago, I would not have been,” she replied with a sigh. She took a step down and paused. At the same time, Charles took a step forward, his Hessian boots tapping on the marble floor of the main hall.

  “And what, pray tell, kept you from leaving?” he asked. Nothing in his expression gave away whether or not he was pleased to see her, but Eleanor was quite sure she saw a hint of admiration in his eyes.

  How could he not admire ho
w she looked just then, though? Alice Foster had done wonders with her hair, and Miss Clos du Bois had brought the perfect dinner gown, it’s deep sapphire coloring a perfect contrast against her pale skin and dark hair color. She had allowed the maid to use just a hint of lip color—the pot was in the top drawer of the vanity along with dozens of pins and jars of powder and such, the cosmetics probably left behind by a former tenant of the townhouse.

  Eleanor took another step down. “Well, first a lady’s maid magically appeared at my bedchamber door,” she said, her manner rather serious despite her words.

  Charles allowed a grin. Chester had followed up, then, and he had seen to hiring a lady’s maid. “Do you ... like her?” he asked carefully.

  Taking another step down, Eleanor nodded. “I do,” she answered. “Although I do have to wonder what happened to Lady Pettigrew’s hair. Foster was dismissed because of it.”

  His eyes arching up, Charles gave a slight shake of his head. “I think it’s common knowledge amongst the ton that Lady Pettigrew has no hair of her own, so she probably doesn’t require the services of a hair dresser.”

  Eleanor had to suppress the grin she could feel lighting up her face. “Lucky me,” she replied. When she saw his head angle to one side and one of his hands indicate she should continue, she sighed. “Then a modiste appeared with a trunk full of gowns and frippery and such—”

  “Oh, thank the gods,” Charles said dramatically. When he noticed Eleanor’s arched eyebrow, he added, “There was some thought that Miss Clos du Bois was already engaged with another client and would not be able to see you until tomorrow. Which would have been entirely unacceptable, seeing as how you were left with so little in your valise.”

  Her eyes widening a fraction, Eleanor stifled the urge to inhale sharply. Had he looked into her valise when he took it from the brothel earlier that day? Or perhaps he was left with the impression it was nearly empty when she opened it the first time that day. Opened it and started bawling at finding some of her things missing.

  “I do hope she didn’t include a night rail in any of the clothing she left for you,” Charles ventured, biting back the urge to curse when he realized he sounded like the very rake he was. “Forgive me, I did not really mean what I just said.” He paused a moment, noting how Eleanor simply stared at him. “I did, actually,” he countered himself. “Mean it, I mean. I cannot help myself, but I cannot abide the thought of you in yards and yards of fabric whilst you sleep.”

  Her brows furrowing, Eleanor seemed to think on that comment for a moment too long. “I can’t really be sure if she did or she didn’t include a night rail,” she murmured, attempting to stop the blush of color she could feel creeping up her neck. Did the earl have any idea what he had just said? What he had just admitted? Besides his words confirming he was and probably always would be a rake, he had thoroughly embarrassed her by suggesting she sleep naked tonight.

  She took another step down. “But I do hope you’re prepared to pay a rather large sum of money, because there is an entire wardrobe of bride clothes up there,” she said as she motioned up the stairs.

  “Including a wedding gown?”

  Eleanor blinked, surprised at how concerned he seemed about what the modiste might have accomplished in the few hours she was on the premises. “Yes, I do believe there is a suitable gown for just such an occasion,” Eleanor said with a nod. “Do you suppose I’ll be wearing it anytime soon?” She took another step down.

  “God, I hope so,” Charles replied as he took two steps forward. “Tomorrow, if my lady is so inclined?”

  Taking another step down, Eleanor paused and held her breath. He wants to get married tomorrow? And he seemed rather pleased by the prospect! Pleased, and not the least bit worried, or bothered by the thought of being leg-shackled. “What will my lord wear?” she asked, angling her head to match his.

  Charles seemed a bit taken aback by the question. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected her to say. “Whatever Chester puts me into, I suppose,” he replied in an off-hand manner. He took the remaining two steps to the base of the stairs. Given Eleanor still had two to go, she was nearly eye-level with him as he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  “He’s a good man,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Charles felt a bit of envy at hearing the words spoken of his majordomo. “Yes, he is,” he agreed with a nod.

  “As is your brother.”

  The bit of envy turned to full on jealousy as Charles took a step back. “He is?”

  The question was full of caution, and Eleanor furrowed a brow before she took the last step down. “He paid me a visit a while ago,” she said, her voice still quiet. “It seems ... my affections were poorly placed.”

  Eleanor wondered briefly if Lady Priscilla felt any affection for the men she would apparently be welcoming into her bed, or if she only proposed their arrangement out of curiosity. Once her curiosity was sated, though, what then? Would she be satisfied with a loveless union? Or would she be left with child? Or would they continue their occasional ... what was it called?

  A menage â trois.

  She shook her head, not wanting to give it any more thought.

  Charles frowned. Did Eleanor feel affection for Arthur? Or no longer? “Where ...?” He stopped and blinked a few times as he considered how to ask his next question. “And on whom are your affections directed now?”

  Eleanor took another step down so that she stood nearly eye-to-eye with the earl. “I must admit, I no longer feel affection for your brother,” she said with a sigh. “Or rather, I do, but in an entirely different manner.”

  Charles closed his eyes and felt the sting of her words. She did feel affection for his brother, then. “And what is different now?” he asked, his question a mere whisper.

  “He is your brother. If I marry you, he will be my brother as well,” she replied simply.

  Swallowing, Charles nodded. “True,” he agreed.

  Sighing, Eleanor regarded Charles for a moment. “He was quite ... firm in his opinion that I should know something of his character,” she explained. “Seeing as how we will be related. By marriage. And given the gossip that is apparently more truth than not.”

  Charles held his breath, wondering what his brother had said. What he had done. “And what was it about his character he wished you to know, my lady?” he asked carefully.

  He hardly knew how to describe the rumors of his brother to a gently bred daughter of the ton. Would Eleanor even know what the term meant? Understand the ramifications? His brother would be in danger of arrest for the rest of his life should anyone pay witness to him with in the company of another man. “There were rumors he was a molly, but—”

  “He is a molly,” Eleanor whispered, glancing about as if she feared a servant might overhear her words. “I know what it means, my lord,” she claimed when she noticed his look of shock. “I may live in the country, but I do read. Books. Newspapers. And I do read The Tattler,” she said with an arched brow. “I admit, I felt ... crushed when he told me. When he explained how it was he could marry his intended and see to her happiness as well as his lover’s.”

  Charles frowned again. “Lady Priscilla?” he clarified.

  Eleanor nodded. “Apparently, she ...” Her faced suddenly pinked up as a blush bloomed over her face. “She has certain ... proclivities that make their impending union a perfect match.”

  Charles frowned, startled by her words. His head dropping back on his neck so that he was suddenly staring at the overhead chandelier, Charles wondered what Eleanor might mean. “When you say ‘proclivities’—”

  “She is looking forward to a marriage bed with two men,” she whispered. “Something I cannot myself claim to want anything to do with.”

  Arthur had obviously shared far more with Eleanor than he ever had with his brother! “I should think you would be scandalized,” he remarked in alarm.

  Eleanor regarded him a moment, realizing he was probably more scandalized tha
n she was. “Well, I was a bit when he explained the part about ... three people sharing a marriage bed,” she said, sotto voce.

  Blinking, Charles frowned. “A menage â trois?” he whispered, his brows furrowing. “And Lady Priscilla is agreeable to the arrangement?”

  A small smile appeared on Eleanor’s face. She leaned forward, her lips next to his ear. “She is the one who suggested the liaison.” An eyebrow arched as she watched how Charles’s face changed with this bit of information.

  “I would never have guessed it of a bluestocking,” he whispered, one of his hands going to Eleanor’s waist. “Perhaps I have been pursuing the wrong women with whom to share my bed twice a ...” His hand intercepted her wrist before Eleanor could slap his face, the sudden anger causing her face to redden with her ire. “I am teasing,” he said quietly, his face leaning towards hers. “But I admit to feeling a bit of relief that you are not suggesting a similar arrangement for our union,” he added when he saw her anger hadn’t abated with his words. “I cannot abide the thought of sharing you with another man, my lady,” he said, his manner suddenly sobering. “The idea that you felt affection for my brother had me quite vexed, I’ll have you know.”

  Eleanor’s head tilted up. “And yet, I will be expected to abide another woman in your bed?” she countered, her anger still evident.

  Charles straightened as if he had suddenly felt the slap she had tried to land on the side of his face only the moment ago. “You will not, my lady, for there will be no other woman in my bed but you,” he claimed in clipped words. “Nor shall I pay visits to a brothel.” He waved toward the table near the vestibule, “I should never wish to give you a reason to throw a vase at me.”

  Eleanor glanced at the now-empty table, her head dipping a bit. “I am sorry about the vase. I truly didn’t intend for it to break,” she murmured.

  Charles regarded her a moment before angling his head, wondering if perhaps she thought he might catch it as opposed to ducking so he wouldn’t be hit by it. “Apology accepted, of course. The thing was hideous.”