The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "Aye, you were always getting the worst of it. But then you always stood out as the most flamboyant and Devil-may-care of all of us," Clifford said with a fond smile.

  "Well, can I help it if I was born dashing and debonair?" Jonathan said with an affected drawl.

  "Not at all," Sarah laughed. "But you could be slightly less rambunctious, dear brother."

  Jonathan assumed an air of wounded dignity. "And here I thought I was the very model of a respectable clergyman," he said in an accent which would have cut glass.

  "Indeed?" Clifford chortled. "Is that why you put on plays and insist upon the best comic parts? You've never seen a better Tony Lumpkin in your life, Miss Ashton."

  "So long as you are referring to him in the role from She Stoops to Conquer, rather than his actual deportment," Pamela rejoined with a smile. "I've certainly never witnessed any of the raucous behavior which you are twitting him over."

  Clifford looked surprised and pleased. "Good, then, he is a reformed character thanks to you. Some of his practical jokes were really most naughty."

  "Oh do tell," Pamela said enthusiastically, ignoring the uneasy look which had settled on Jonathan's face.

  Clifford smiled. "My favorite was when he crept around behind the dais at High Table in the college and tied the Master's wig to the back of the chair. He stood to say the Blessing and displayed his bald head to everyone in the college."

  They all laughed merrily.

  "That wasn't so very naughty."

  "No, the Master actually saw the humor in it himself," Jonathan said. "That's not to say I didn't get punished for it, though. I had to serve as his personal secretary every spare moment I wasn't at my studies for a whole month, and wasn't invited to dine at High Table again for the rest of the year.

  "But I did learn an awful lot about how to construct a careful sermon from copying out his work, though I thought I would go blind at the time. His penmanship was even worse than mine."

  Sarah looked horrified. "Is such a thing possible?" she asked in mocking tones.

  Jonathan gave a wry grin. "Indeed. It is a weakness of mine I'm trying to overcome."

  "Not soon enough for me, since I am now your copyist."

  "In that case he can take lessons from me," Pamela said merrily. "My hand is said to be most fine. I actually won several prizes for it at school."

  Jonathan smiled at her. "Then if you are equally good at reading, you may act as my secretary. You will certainly learn a great deal, as you have asked, and will spend your time most productively for the good of the whole parish."

  "Oh, I don't know," Pamela said, blushing modestly.

  Sarah was staring at her brother.

  He realized he had overstepped the bounds of propriety. "I was teasing, Miss Ashton. Of course a young lady like yourself has far better things to do with her time than pore over the spidery writing of a dull clergyman like myself."

  "No, it's not that," she began to protest. "I just want to do well. Once we're in Bath we'll be together a great deal. Since you're giving up your duties for my sake, I should be most pleased to return the favor, if you really think I can."

  "Er, yes, well, we shall see."

  "Bath?" Clifford asked pointedly.

  "Yes, Miss Ashton and her aunt Mistress Susan Bledsoe will be staying with the Elthams. Sarah and I shall be going as well for a fortnight. I assume Thomas has included you in the invitation?"

  "Oh yes, it's a standing one. I hadn't realized you would be staying. You usually travel back and forth."

  "Er, yes, I'll be staying this time," Jonathan replied, tugging at his pristine white neck cloth as though it were strangling him.

  Vanessa stood suddenly. "The butler is telling us it's time to come in to dinner. Shall we?"

  Clifford Stone took Pamela's arm and Jonathan took Vanessa's and his sister's. Henry and his wife trailed along behind.

  Over a fine dinner of venison, pigeon pie, and saddle of lamb, with soup to start and a sumptuous array of tarts afterwards, the Stones gave many practical suggestions for the school, which Jonathan noted down in a small pocket notebook. They also donated some of their schoolbooks from when the Stone boys themselves had been small, and gave a generous financial donation.

  She saw a different side to Jonathan as they discussed all aspects of the school. He was passionate, argumentative, and teasing by turns. She could well imagine that he had been a much more outgoing youth. But people matured, and the war had certainly taken its toll upon him as well.

  After several hours of lively conversation, he drew to her side in the drawing room as they sat down to sip coffee. "There, our errand is accomplished, I believe. Would you like to start for home now, or linger for the evening?"

  "I would not want to inconvenience them after they've been so kind. And with the weather looking so changeable, perhaps we should get back to Brimley, before we end up having to stay several days?"

  "On the other hand, it might be safer and more prudent to linger one night? They won't mind. And you would get the chance to speak with Vanessa and my sister about your own course of proposed study."

  Pamela stared back at him in some surprise. "So she told you I wish to be a better woman?"

  "She didn't need to. I can see your daily struggles, ever since your father passed away and you became guardian to Bertie," he said softly, his eyes resting upon her face like a caress. "But yes, she mentioned it. We confide in each other always. She is very fond of you, you know. Our own sisters are quite far away, and rather older than she. And one can never have too many friends."

  She shook her head and replied warmly, "No, indeed not. I should very much like to stay."

  Jonathan smiled in relief. How sinful could it be to keep her to himself for one more evening?

  "I shall tell Vanessa now." He rose from his chair to address the lady of the house.

  "Oh, wonderful. So pleased you can stay, Pamela," the auburn-haired woman responded a moment later. "I shall lend you both whatever you like. Clifford, Jonathan will be staying the night. Can you get him sorted too?"

  "Of course, my love."

  "And don't worry about dressing for the evening. We shall have such fun."

  "Just like the old days."

  "Well, not quite," Henry said.

  Jonathan looked grim once again. "I most certainly expect a better supper than gruel and rice pudding," he declared, though his tone did not match his words.

  Everyone laughed.

  Vanessa replied in mock horror, "Perish the thought! And Cook would box your ears for ever suggesting such a thing."

  "Right, I'll go have the rooms made up for the ladies in our wing. Jonathan can stay in Henry's wing for the sake of propriety," Clifford said.

  Josephine made a face. "So long as you promise not to drag him out for a dawn ride the way you used to. He and I need our, er, beauty sleep," she said, blushing.

  "I wouldn't dream of it. As a vicar I'm supposed to encourage all my flock to be fruitful and multiply. But there's no reason why Miss Ashton and Sarah can't come out, if you don't mind lending us mounts."

  "Not at all," Clifford said heartily. "Since you're evidently going to leave me to my er, beauty sleep as well, it's the least I can do."

  Jonathan winked and patted him on the shoulder.

  The party divided up, with Jonathan going to the east wing, Pamela and Sarah off to the west. Pamela was shown to an elegant bedchamber draped in navy and gold.

  Vanessa left her to explore the room and small washing alcove whilst she went to fetch her some night things.

  "And here's a dress you might like to borrow," Vanessa offered when she returned. "It won't be a perfect fit, but it's much lighter in weight than your own, and more suited to the house than to traveling."

  "Thank you so much. Yes, it was a rather snowy day, and you know what it's like to sit in a dank church on a hard pew," Pamela said as she vanished behind the screen and began to unbutton her bodice and remove the many layers she had donne
d that morning. "It's a lovely color, thank you," she said, admiring the slate blue frock.

  "I thought it would go well with your blue eyes, yet still be dark enough to be suited to your mourning."

  "Thank you, that is most kind. I know I'm supposed to be permitted gray and even lavender, but it's hard at times not to think that I'm disappointing my father in some way. I am rather fond of evening finery, and have probably danced far too much this year and got myself talked about," she admitted sadly.

  "However, you must consider whether you are wearing it for outward show, and the sake of convention, or to genuinely honor his memory?"

  Pamela considered the question seriously for a moment. "Would it be terrible if I said all those reasons?"

  "Not terrible, no," Vanessa reassured her. "It's good that you're honest. So long as you're satisfied that you've paid him the respects you owe him, what does it matter what others think? Only you can say for certain. And no parent wants their child to be unhappy, after all. You're very young still, and your father would want you to enjoy yourself and marry well if the chance presents itself."

  Pamela smiled timidly, feeling much better about her troubled conscience. "Thank you. You've been most kind."

  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go see about Sarah, and baby Arthur. Then I shall have a little nap. Motherhood can be quite wearing at times. I shall see you later at supper. Do please ring if there's anything else you need."

  "Thank you."

  Vanessa pointed. "Sarah is right next door. She'll be happy to act as your guide. And I shall be more than pleased to give you an extensive reading list as soon as I'm more fully awake. See you anon."

  Pamela washed and changed, then looked over the books which sat on the charming walnut desk. She was pleased to see that they were all improving tracts and classics.

  She went to the window to gaze out at the dusk descending over the countryside. The sun hung suspended like a perfect crimson globe. She watched the rays caress the gently rolling green hills. It was lovely, not dissimilar to the view out her own window.

  She wondered what it would be like to live in such a splendid home herself one day when she was finally wed. But after having seen the Stones interact with each other, she decided that perhaps a home was not simply bricks and mortar, but the people within.

  The vicarage was old and rather sprawling, but Sarah and Jonathan had certainly made it into a cozy and welcoming haven. She wished she could say the same for Ashton Manor. It was elegant and refined, with none of the easy informality of Stone Court. Even the four young children did nothing to alleviate the frosty formality her Step-Mama seemed to impose upon her home. Not that she disliked her, but she had never gone out of her way to be a real mother to Pamela.

  She shook her head and went over to the mirror to check her appearance. She was not going to allow herself to feel gloomy. Not when she had made so many new friends, and was here at Stone Court with Jonathan Deveril.

  Her heart gave a little lift at that thought, and she went in search of Sarah.

  She too had donned a fresh gown loaned by Vanessa, a rich sable brown.

  "You look lovely."

  "It's a bit too fine for the vicarage, but perfect for here. Are you tired? Do you wish to lie down for a while, or would you care to go below and see who is about?"

  "Oh, by all means let us join the others. Vanessa has gone to rest, but I'm not in the least tired."

  When they arrived downstairs, they found the three men in Clifford's study, lounging with a small glass of sherry apiece, just listening to the latest news from the war.

  Clifford had evidently received a package of letters from one of the other Rakehells, Randall Avenel, with instructions to share the news with all of their associates interested in his brother Michael's news.

  "He says Blake is fine but far too busy doctoring to write, so Michael has acted as secretary to take down all the information of note. Randall's own secretary was kind enough to make a fair copy of his letters to send to us. Since one of his fellow officers was coming back to London for the holidays, Randall got the packet of letters quite promptly. He sends his love and best wishes to us all. He's delighted to hear that several of us are married, and sends a big kiss to little Arthur."

  "Wonderful." Jonathan caught sight of his sister and Pamela in the doorway, and sprang up, pulling down his jacket and bowing. "Forgive us. We did not see you there."

  All three men had now risen. Pamela waved them down again. "Please, this is your home, Sirs, and Jonathan is an honored guest. There's no need for such formality, now is there, Sarah?"

  "No, of course not. These gentlemen have all seen me in nappies with gobbets of rusk smeared all over my face."

  "Not much change then, eh?" Jonathan teased.

  "Oh, you," Sarah giggled, swatting his arm playfully.

  "I simply meant you are as lovely as ever, except that the rusks were most efficacious, since you now have the most gorgeous set of teeth."

  "Oh, so smooth-tongued, as always."

  Jonathan laughed. "What do you expect from a vicar? And you would not want any Spanish coin from your brother, or indeed any other man."

  "No, of course not. There's far too much empty flattery and hot air as it is, without you starting. One thing I can always rely upon is you being direct, Brother."

  "Well, ladies, what would you like to do now?" the young vicar asked with a dapper bow.

  Sarah deferred to Pamela. "You're the guest of honor. It's up to you."

  "In that case, I should very much like to hear your friend's letters as well."

  Jonathan stared at her. "Oh, um, I don't think--"

  She gave a merry little smile. "I'm very grateful for you trying to protect my sensibilities, but I don't need to be protected from the ways of the world, grim and stark though they may well be."

  "No, I'm aware of that, but what if there were something terribly gruesome or shocking?"

  She gave a mild frown. "Is your friend a rake or rattle, or ungentlemanly in some way?"

  "No, indeed," Jonathan said most firmly. "Michael Avenel, Viscount Glyne, is the very best of men. No angel, that's for certain, but not a debaucher, and without an evil intention in his body. But he's a most prodigious soldier. Nicknamed The Grim Reaper, in fact. I would not wish any details of his campaigns to distress you unduly."

  "Well, let me decide for myself? Do, please. I can see how much you wish to hear his news."

  She sat on the sofa next to Sarah and nodded at Clifford to continue.

  He had been sorting the letters into chronological order, and shrugged. Jonathan looked uneasy, but settled back in his chair.

  Clifford sorted the pile to his satisfaction and began to read. "'My dearest family and friends. I hope this letter finds you all in good health, and that you've been receiving news from me regularly. Blake is well, and we see each other when we can, though not in a professional capacity, I'm happy to say. I remain well and uninjured, praise God. I only wish you all had been so lucky, and that we were all still together here in the Peninsula. Sorry for the selfish wish, but I do miss every one of you.

  "'Jonathan's dramatic performances in the officer's mess are still talked of to this day. And Clifford's skill with a rifle is legendary. As for Thomas, his impromptu cricket games and uncanny ability to find a greased pig to keep the men occupied is sorely missed. Not least because the pig made such good eating when we were done with the game.'"

  Pamela stared at the two men present who had been mentioned in turn, who both seemed blushingly pleased with themselves.

  "But enough fond reminiscing. Now for some real news. I'll start with general impressions, and then fill you in on old friends. First off, we have had lulls in the action because of the weather and terrain, which is of course most mountainous in the Pyrenees. Anyone who thinks it does nothing but rain in England has never been to Spain and the south of France in the winter months. It is cold and bitter, and I'm heartily sick of the constant drizzle. The
only thing worse is the frost and snow. We're on quite high ground in our encampment. Often the first thing we have to do before even having breakfast is dig out hapless comrades trapped in their tents by snow.'"

  "Oh my," Sarah sighed. "I do hope he is getting our little packages and presents."

  Clifford nodded as he read the next paragraph. "'Supplies are hard to come by, and often do not even deserve the name breakfast. Far too many times your thoughtful parcels have meant all the difference between a mouthful shared amongst comrades, and an empty belly. We're all more grateful than we can say, for that and the merest snippets of news from home, from the Rakehells, and especially from you, my dearest brother Randall.'"