The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  She selected her best pair of sturdy boots, and put them on over her thick dark stockings. She dressed her hair, curling the front of it with tongs before sweeping up the back into a simple bun, and selected a plain black bonnet with a tiny edge of lace.

  She headed downstairs, where she pensively picked at some toast until Clifford arrived. They exchanged long looks which spoke volumes. Desire shimmered between them like the heat haze of a warm summer's day. She noted how resplendent he looked in a chocolate brown coat, buff breeches and waistcoat, and well-polished brown boots, looking every inch the gentleman.

  They exchange pleasantries, but Clifford could see that she was showing signs of strain. He asked her if she had passed a peaceful night. When she said she had, he began to probe further into her despondent mood.

  "I'm just worried about Mason and Rogers coming tomorrow," she confided, not wishing him to think she was upset with him over what had happened in the hall between them last night.

  He covered her hand with his own, and said, "It will be fine. We tell the truth, we state the terms we wish for our arrangements, as we have already discussed, and then we will marry. You have nothing to fear."

  "Your man will be coming too, will he not?"

  "Yes, of course. You have no need to fear him, however, as he will do as I have instructed. Alistair Grant is an old friend, very well respected, and climbing to the top of his profession as a fine barrister. I trust him implicitly to do whatever is fair, not only for myself, but for you as my wife, and for our children thereafter. He would be the executor of my will, so I should very much like you to become good friends."

  "I will be delighted to meet all of your, er, Rakehell friends when the time comes." She returned the pressure of his hand, and then sprang away shyly as more of the family entered the room.

  "Oh, don't mind us," Emma said breezily. "A little hand-holding is nothing to be ashamed of. Though speaking of hands, you'll need an engagement ring."

  "Oh no, really."

  "Yes, of course, how remiss of me," Clifford said, and hit himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "But then, Vanessa and I have already discussed the disposition of Mama's jewelry. And since, Henry, you bought Josephine a ring of her own, may Vanessa have Mother's?"

  "Yes of course, anything she likes. She gets first choice," Henry said without a trace of reluctance.

  "Thank you, but Josephine has the prior claim," Vanessa said kindly.

  "Thank you, I am sure the two of you will be best of friends and able to work things out admirably between you. But in this case, yes, Josephine has the ring I gave her, so I should be delighted to see you wear Mother's."

  Vanessa smiled. "To wear your mother's ring would be a great honor. Thank you both."

  "I have asked the bankers to call later in the day tomorrow at Stone Court. Once we finish with the solicitors, I can show you our new home. If you and Josephine can accompany us there, Henry, we will all settle the matter of the jewels then."

  "I shall ask Papa for the carriage," Josephine offered.

  "No need to trouble him," Henry replied. "I shall walk back and send ours over. I need the exercise, and wish to look at one of the low-lying fields on the way back. I've heard reports that that field adjoining the forest is flooding again."

  Vanessa was pleased to hear of his arrangements with the bankers. Clifford seemed confident that everything would be settled amicably by the end of the day.

  The rest of the family came into the room in twos and threes to have a light repast before heading off to the local church, which the Jeromes and Stones had help found many years before. After the meal, they all walked over together. They sat in the top pews for over an hour listening to the long sermon with the rest of the gentry of the district. Then Clifford took Vanessa around and introduced her to the most important people he wished her to get to know.

  All eyes were upon Vanessa, the woman with ten thousand a year who had been gambled away by her disreputable half-brother and was said to be mad herself. Vanessa tried to smile graciously at the many impertinent questions she had to answer. If Clifford had not been at her side she did not know how she would have managed. He had an uncanny knack for not giving anything away, but not being rude to anyone either.

  "And now, if you will excuse us, we are expected back for dinner," Clifford said as he led her away from one vinegar-faced ferocious mama and her graceless daughter.

  They turned away and ran straight into Peter and Toby Stephens. Both Clifford and Vanessa felt each other stiffen.

  "Well, Vanessa, it's good to see you looking so well."

  "Peter," she said in clipped tones.

  "I had heard you were not well."

  "It is true. A bad oyster, I fear."

  Toby fiddled with his neckcloth. "You are all right, aren't you?"

  "Er, yes, fine now, thank you," she said, surprised by his concerned tone, his earnest expression.

  "And are you comfortable at the Jeromes?"

  "Yes, indeed, Peter. They have been most kind, and all extremely attentive."

  "We did not call because we did not wish to intrude."

  Clifford said calmly, "No intrusion, since you are family, but Vanessa is being watched most closely now, and must not be fatigued unduly. So if you would care to call, please send a note round arranging an appropriate time."

  Peter gave Clifford a long, assessing look, then glanced at Toby. Toby gave a tentative smile. "Yes thank you, we will." He bowed to them both, and moved toward their carriage.

  "So you are well, Cousin?" Peter asked once more.

  "Yes, indeed, Peter. And content. Clifford is a good man, his brother and friends too. I know the card game took place at your ball, but you have no reason to reproach yourself now. I understand why you played. My fortune is certainly tempting enough."

  "You are very intelligent, but most unworldly. You need someone to look after your interests," Peter rejoined, with a sharp stare at Clifford.

  "Very gallant of you, I'm sure, but I am fine where I am. And will not be going back to Hawkesworth House, I assure you."

  Peter relaxed at last. "The invitation is always open at our home. Aunt is not exactly well at the moment, megrims, but we will always be glad to open our doors to you." He bowed, turned on his heel, and left.

  Vanessa and Clifford both heaved sighs of relief. The brothers had been acting oddly, but certainly not menacingly. They were ambitious, but did not stand to gain by harming her. Not now that Clifford had offered to pay their debts if they would just leave her alone.

  Clifford was sure something else was troubling them. Guilt? Over what?

  Clifford wondered again about the recent depredations to his estate, and the highwaymen. It was unlikely, but it was possible. The boys had all been raised together...

  Vanessa stared pensively after Peter. "Well, that was kind of them. But I am more than content to be at the Jeromes."

  "Even if it is as busy as a coaching inn at times?" Clifford asked with a smile.

  She laughed lightly. "Yes. I do find the company there most stimulating."

  Clifford resisted the urge to kiss her right in front of the whole parish, and contented himself with a squeeze of her hand.

  "I say, you two, time to head back. I'm famished," Josephine said, waving to them from across the churchyard.

  "Just coming," Clifford called.

  The younger members of the party walked back through the winding lanes to work up an appetite for the fine dinner which the Jeromes were famous for hosting each week.

  Clifford took things slowly, not wanting to tax her strength. Under the crisp golden and red trees of early autumn, Vanessa could feel herself glowing under his warm regard. With her hand in his, she felt she could take on the world, and win. They would be the perfect couple, she was sure of it. She just had to convince Mason and Rogers of the fact, and then all would be right with her world.

  The vicar, Mr. Grayson, rode over to Jerome Manor on his horse. He was a
quiet, unassuming, but fiercely intelligent young man whom Vanessa was pleased to know.

  Clifford was relieved to see she had no false pride. Many women of her station would not have troubled themselves with a mere parson, but she took a lively interest in his schemes for the poor, and convicted felons.

  "But some people are just born bad," Henry argued at the dinner table later that afternoon as he passed the sauceboat. He had started the argument more for the sake of getting a rise out of the vicar, than because he genuinely believed it.

  "I know you must have heard about the Widow Marsters and her daughters. Just because one depraved incident like that occurs once in a blue moon does not mean that all men are born bad," Mr. Grayson said a trifle too loudly, causing all the women's eyes in the room to turn to him.

  "What on earth happened to them?" Emma demanded. "We have heard nothing."

  "I, er, that is to say..." The discomfited young man tugged at his clerical collar, turning more and more crimson.

  Clifford cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's not a fit subject of discussion for this pleasant dinner table."

  "Please, Clifford, I know you believe in protecting women from certain unpleasant truths. But the Widow Marsters and her three daughters are friends of ours, and make the most wonderful dresses and cakes and pies," Josephine said.

  Clifford looked to the head of the table, allowing Mr. Jerome to impart to them the sad news in whatever way he saw fit.

  "Their cottage was attacked, and they perished in the blaze."

  "Attacked?" Josephine echoed. "I don't understand, Father. Who would want to attack a harmless group of women?"

  The men looked from one to the other.

  Finally Clifford cleared his throat and ventured to say, "Very bad men. They were robbed and left to die."

  The unspoken question hung heavy in the air. They all knew the answer.

  "Those poor women. How horrible!" Emma cried, and shuddered from head to toe.

  "I'm sorry to have spoken so unguardedly," the hapless Mr. Grayson said to his host.

  Young Samuel Jerome, resplendent in his gold-braided uniform, spoke up at last. "It's not your fault. In any case, it is just as well this matter is out in the open. I would advise every young woman in the district, indeed, into the next county, to be extra vigilant of her safety. We believe that the group of highwaymen who have been causing so much havoc on the London road were responsible. That this was their evil work."

  Vanessa looked from one grim face to another. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the Marsters holding is quite far from the London road. Or the Oxford one. Why on earth would anyone pick on such a quiet farm? There must be very little traffic along those lanes apart from the local residents."

  "We in the Army have been charged with patrolling, trying to bring these fiends to justice. We all know that a horse can only travel so far, and must be fed and groomed. That the men have to be housed and fed as well. These men have to be in the area, and all the investigations at the local inns have yielded nothing of any note."

  Clifford tried to keep his face neutral, but he peered at Vanessa out of the corner of his eye.

  "So they are just wandering up and down the roads seeing who they can victimize?" Emma asked in horror.

  Samuel shrugged. "They do not seem to need a motivation for what they do. They have been termed highwaymen, but they have not robbed every one of their victims. Some have just been attacked, and er, well, molested." He blushed hotly. "They are in dark clothing, and masked. Carrying drink with them. I have been asked to assist the Bransons in the investigation, along with some of my men who are also from around Millcote."

  "And have you or the Bransons discovered anything of import?" Mr. Jerome asked.

  Samuel shook his head. "While we have been making discreet inquiries, we have not as of yet found anyone who has been unaccounted for during the approximate times of the attacks. Of course, these men are operating as a group, so it would be easy enough for them to vouch for each other without us being any the wiser."

  Vanessa shuddered at the thought of the fate of the poor women.

  Clifford tried to smile at her reassuringly. As he looked at her, so pale and wan, something caught at the edge of his memory and tugged...

  As he remembered, his eyes bulged and he began to choke on the morsel of roast beef he had just place in his mouth. Henry had to come around the back of his chair to thump him soundly on the back.

  "Thank you, thank you," he wheezed, and took a sip of water.

  Vanessa noticed his hand trembling as he brought the glass up to his lips.

  "Really, all of this unpleasant talk is enough to put anyone off his dinner," Henry observed, looking at Emma's wan features, and the fact that she had stopped eating.

  "Once again, I apologize for ruining this lovely family meal. I should go now." Mr. Grayson rose. Despite all the protests to the contrary, he took his leave post-haste.

  "Well, not one of our more successful dinners," Mr. Jerome sighed. Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he stood and invited the men to join him in his private parlor for cigars.

  The ladies trailed out to the small sitting room designated for serving after-dinner coffee. The usually light-hearted atmosphere of the family gathering had turned grim. As soon as was decent, they all asked to be excused to go to their rooms. Vanessa was glad to be alone with her own company.

  But once up in her room, she felt at a loose end. She could not settle to read or sew. More than anything, she wanted to be with the man who was always present in her thoughts. The hours seemed interminable until she could see him again. Supper would not be served until eight, a cold collation on Sundays so that the servants could take one of their two half-days off.

  She stood up and restlessly wandered about the room. She gazed out the window, and saw Clifford below.

  She ran over, opened the casement and poked her head out to call to him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Clifford heard the disturbance above and turned. Though he still looked sad and pensive, he mustered a smile at his delight in seeing her calling to him from out of her window.

  "I feel like Romeo in the balcony scene," he teased. He put his hand over his heart in a comically melodramatic manner. "Will you be my Juliet?"

  "I've already said yes."

  "But I would never want you to regret your choice."

  "If you have been honest and forthright with me, then I never shall."

  Clifford sighed. "The truth can sometimes be an overrated thing."

  "How so?" she asked with a frown.

  "Where it causes pain to the people we love."

  She blinked, and sat on the ledge. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

  "No, nothing. And please, do be careful up there."

  "I'm fine. You must remember me climbing everything in sight when I was a little girl. My father used to call me his little monkey."

  "Not a very flattering description, even if apt."

  "I don't mind. It was rather adorable."

  He grinned slightly. "Well, I'm sure you haven't climbed any trees since you gave up short skirts, so please, do be careful."

  "Pray do not change the subject. I want to know what has you worried."

  Clifford shrugged. "All this talk of violence is most unsettling. I would have you and our children safe."

  She stared. "We shall be. They will catch the highwaymen, and there will be an end to it."

  He shook his head. "There will never be an end to it. If those men remain uncaught, more innocent people will suffer. If they are found out, their innocent families will suffer."

  "Better the guilty should suffer, than the innocent be preyed upon, Clifford."

  He sighed. "But their families are both innocent and ignorant of what their men have done. They will not be able to hold their heads up in the district again, even though they are blameless."

  Vanessa shook her head. "Surely people would not be so uncharitable as to censure them for the
actions of their sons or brothers or husbands or fathers?"

  "I imagine it depends upon the extent of the crimes."

  "And it will depend upon the individual people as well, how harshly they choose to judge. But as the Bible says, 'let he who is without sin cast the first stone.'"