Dare to Risk it All (Daring Daughters Book 7)

by Emma V. Leech

  Greer let out a peal of laughter, giving him an incredulous look. “No, I couldn’t!” She exclaimed, shaking her head, staring at him as if he’d run mad. “No one like that would have ever wanted to marry a hoyden like me. Good Lord, Raphe, we’ve been through this. You’re the only one I want, and even if you only own a pile of rubble, I am the happiest bride in England.”

  He stared at her, wondering how on earth he’d been so damned lucky to marry such a woman.

  “We might have to rent somewhere. Possibly for years,” he warned her. “And it likely won’t be what you're used to. Marcross Manor was nothing like as grand as Royle House, even in its heyday, nor even Rowsley.”

  “Raphe,” she said patiently. “I’ve never lived in an especially grand house, certainly not like Royle House, but I think you’ve forgotten an important detail—”

  But the carriage swayed to a halt before she could say more, and the door was flung open. Oliver’s excited face, ruddy from the cold, greeted them both with a wide grin.

  “At last! We expected you days ago. What on earth kept you?” he demanded.

  “What do you think kept them, gudgeon?” Sylvester muttered from behind him, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

  Oliver blushed and elbowed Sylvester, who bustled Ollie out of the way.

  “Lady de Ligne,” he said with great seriousness, holding out his hand to help her down. “Welcome to Marcross Manor. What’s left of it,” he added with a wry smile.

  Raphe could not help but be amused, as his brothers fought for Greer’s attention whilst she got out of the carriage, but neither of them captured it. Something else entirely held her focus. Raphe climbed out, watching her face as she stared up at his old home. He dared not look at the building yet, but put the moment off, gazing instead at his wife like a lovesick boy.

  “Oh,” she breathed, turning to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. “Oh, Raphe, you never said. I had no idea, it’s….”

  He waited for the next words, expecting ‘dreadful,’ ‘shocking,’ ‘a misbegotten pile of mouldering stones,’ or something similar, and was a startled to see a wistful smile cross her face.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Rather astonished, he turned to look at the place that had once been his home and felt a pang of recognition. The sensation built as he stared at Marcross Manor, so much grander and finer than his memory had allowed him to recall. Perhaps he had encouraged the destruction of those memories, allowing the past to tarnish, for it made the ache of loss that much more bearable. Now, however, it came at him full force: memories of his father before it had all gone to hell, of happier times, of rainy days and hot summers and fishing on the river that ran along the south side of the property; of climbing trees in the orchard and taking apples to his fat pony.

  Emotion snagged in his throat. Marcross Manor was four storeys high, built of red sandstone, and stood lonely and proud on the crest of a hill. All around, the rolling countryside of Monmouthshire rippled out in swathes of green and white where a recent flurry of snow dappled hilltops and shady corners. Raphe remembered the stunning views from the upper floors, that feeling of being on top of the world and looking down at the vast landscape that stretched as far as you could see on all sides. His eyes burned, the sensation of having come home at once reassuring and staggeringly unexpected. The leather journal in his hand felt suddenly heavy.

  Greer’s fingers curled around his free hand, grounding him and making it easier to find his feet. He let out an unsteady breath, squeezing her fingers before turning to his brother.

  “How bad is it?” he asked, needing to get the worst of it over with at once.

  “The walls will stand long after you and I are gone,” Sylvester said with a smile. “That’s the good news.”

  “All right,” Raphe said, daring to feel somewhat encouraged. “And the bad news?”

  Sylvester took a breath and Raphe steeled himself as he rattled off what they’d discovered so far. “The floorboards and much of the woodwork is rotten, the plaster is falling off the walls, the place is alive with wildlife, the bedroom on the north corner is inhabited by owls, there are bats in the roof, birds in the chimneys, mice everywhere, oh, and I’m not entirely convinced the cellar isn’t haunted, but if it isn’t, there’s something bigger than I want to face living down there.”

  Raphe groaned. “The land?” he asked, deciding he’d better get it over with in one go, like ripping off a plaster bandage. To his surprise, Ollie piped up in response.

  “We badly need drainage ditches down in the valley, but up here, apart from being overgrown and repairing walls and fences, things are far better than we might have expected. There’s a lot of clearance needed, but it’s not such an ordeal as you might think. The orchard is apparently worth saving, though about ten per cent of the trees need felling and replacing.”

  “You discovered this?” Raphe asked, impressed.

  His little brother shrugged. “Oh, well, I walked around with the fellow you hired to make the report. It was jolly interesting, actually. He said you’ll have his written recommendations by the week after next, but I gleaned what I could, so you’d know what was coming,” Ollie said, adding. “I’d like to help, Raphe. I was thinking I could act as an apprentice to whatever land agent you take on. If… I If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Raphe nodded, looking at the young man with respect. “I should be grateful to have you, but your mother—”

  “We’ll handle her,” Sylvester said, his voice firm. “We’re not children anymore, Raphe. We can stand on our own feet. This time we’d like to get you back on yours.”

  Raphe swallowed uncomfortably, his throat having grown inexplicably tight. “Thank you,” he managed.

  “Can we go inside now?” Greer asked, looking far more delighted than the appalling list of repairs would suggest she ought.

  “Is it safe?” Raphe asked his brother dubiously. “I don’t want to lose my wife under an avalanche of falling timbers. I’m rather fond of her.”

  Sylvester grinned, shaking his head. “No, there’s no great danger. Only keep to the right on the stairs. The left side is rotten,” he added sheepishly.

  Ollie gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, Raphe, you should have seen. It was the funniest thing. Sy fell through halfway up. All I could see was his legs waving about from below. You should have heard him curse. I swear I learned a dozen new words I’d never heard before.”

  “It wasn’t funny from where I was—”

  “Dangling?” Ollie suggested, and then doubled over with mirth.

  Sylvester sighed. “Come on. I’ve not opened them yet, but I’ve piled all the estimates in what was the library.”

  They made their way indoors, Ollie still chuckling with amusement as he followed.

  “Goodness,” Greer said, staring up at the high ceilings as she paused in the entrance hall. “How many bedrooms does it have?”

  “Twelve,” Sylvester replied, “plus servants' quarters, of course.”

  “Raphe,” she said, a scolding note audible in her voice. “It’s far grander than you led me to believe.”

  She gave a little squeal of alarm as a mouse scuttled out of a corner and darted back in again.

  Raphe just looked at her and quirked an eyebrow.

  “It startled me,” she said defiantly. “And it is grand. I love it already. We shall repair it and make it a wonderful family home again.”

  “Hmmm,” Raphe said, guiding her around a hole in the parquet and trying not to notice how spongy the floor beneath his boots felt. They carried on into the library. It was a large room, a double aspect with astonishing views. The vast stone fireplace looked just as it always had, but the books were all gone, long since sold off, and the shelves that ran from floor to ceiling were falling to bits.

  “What a wonderful room,” Greer breathed, turning in a circle as she stared around her, apparently oblivious to the swathes of cobwebs, potent smell of damp, and the fact there was a large h
ole in the ceiling. A small piece of plaster fell with a quiet flurry of dust.

  Raphe sighed and made his way to the fireplace, where a stack of neat envelopes awaited him on the mantel. He glanced at Sylvester, who returned an expression of sympathy.

  “May as well get it over,” his brother said. “But whatever happens, we’ve got our own two hands. I saw what you did at Dare’s estate, Raphe. I can work too. Between the three of us, we’ll get the job done, I swear.”

  “Of course we will,” Ollie added stoutly.

  Raphe felt a swell of affection for his brothers and smiled, feeling a little more able to face the contents of the quotes. He picked them up and carried them to the wide windowsill, set down the book and the quotes, and reached for a pencil.

  Everyone was quiet whilst he read each estimate in turn. Silently, he jotted down the totals in the book, his stomach twisting in knots as he realised just how bad the damage would be.

  “Well?” Greer asked expectantly.

  He looked up to discover her almost bouncing with impatience.

  “It’s… bad,” he said. “Bearing in mind I don’t yet have the quote for the digging the ditches and the land clearance, and the estimates I’ve made for investing in machinery are only my best guesses—”

  “Yes, yes,” Sylvester said impatiently, waving his hand to make him get on with it.

  “Over fifteen thousand pounds,” Raphe said, speaking quickly to get it over with. The amount of money made him feel somewhat giddy, like the floor was shifting beneath his feet.

  “Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” Greer said dismissively. “I thought you were going to say something shocking.”

  All three brothers stared at her, dumbfounded.

  “What?” she demanded.

  Raphe held out his hands to her. “Darling,” he said gently. “Fifteen thousand is a staggering sum. I know your dowry is a generous one—”

  “No, it isn’t,” she said, interrupting him and making his guts turn to lead.

  “It isn’t?” he repeated faintly, wondering if he might pass out.

  It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t have done anything differently. He didn’t care if she didn’t have a penny to her name, but… where would they live? What would they —

  “Raphe!” she exclaimed, snapping him out of his plummet into gloom. “Stop looking so appalled. My dowry isn’t generous, it’s outrageous. Which you would know if you had let Papa explain things to you.”

  “Outrageous?” Raphe repeated, uncertain he comprehended.

  “How outrageous?” Sylvester asked, staring at her with interest.

  “Well,” Greer said thoughtfully. “We could repair this place several times over and not make a dent in it. Papa got advice from Gabriel Knight about how best to invest Grandmother’s bequest for us, and so we put a lot into his railway venture. Before we came to Rowsley, Papa got an update. It’s done shockingly well and looks to continue doing so.”

  They all stared at her in mute astonishment.

  “I’m disgustingly wealthy,” she clarified helpfully. “All three of the Cadogan sisters are. I thought you knew that.”

  Raphe shook his head, dumbfounded. “I thought… I thought perhaps ten thousand. I never—it didn’t occur to me—”

  Greer snorted, giving him a look of patient amusement. “You didn’t think to ask?”

  “I didn’t want you to think it was about the money,” he said, staring at her.

  Her face softened, and she reached up and caressed his cheek. “It was never about the money. I know that.”

  Raphe looked around, relieved to discover his brothers had made a discreet exit. He turned back to her, not yet able to comprehend his good fortune. He had this woman, and she was an heiress. Surely, it was too good to be true?

  “I would have married you no matter what.”

  “I know that too,” she said, moving closer to him. Raphe slid his arms around her, pulling her in tight.

  They stood like that for a long moment as the information finally sank in.

  “You’re an heiress,” he said, bemused.

  “I am.”

  “We’ve got lots of money.”

  “We do,” she replied, grinning at him.

  “We can make Marcross Manor a wonderful home.” He hesitated, frowning. “Unless you’d prefer something else. We don’t have to—”

  She pressed a finger to his lips. “I love Marcross. I loved it the moment I saw it. Despite all the rotten bad bits that need a lot of love and repair, and because of all the good bits that make it so very handsome. It’s just what I always wanted.”

  “Are you describing me or the house?” he asked, amused.

  “Both,” she replied with a smirk, and kissed him.

  Epilogue

  Dear Alana,

  I can’t wait to see you at the weekend. You’ll be astonished by the changes to Marcross since your visit in the summer, and this time you won’t have to stay at the inn. The house looks magnificent. There’s still much to do, but all the main rooms have been finished.

  I do hope you like the bedroom your sister has chosen and decorated for you. I helped her choose the wallpaper, for I remembered you said your favourite colour was green. It’s a sort of ivy pattern and very pretty. Greer has chosen green velvet curtains and bed hangings, though I suppose I ought not to mention bed hangings to you. Not the done thing, is it?

  Well, anyway, it looks very grand.

  I showed Raphe about the lower fields today and explained about some improvements I want to make. (I’m sorry if I droned on about them in my last letter.) He gave me this odd look and his voice got all thick and I didn’t know why. Then he told me how proud he was of me and then I understood because my throat got all tight and I couldn’t speak. Strange isn’t it, but I don’t remember my father. Raphe has always been the closest thing I’ve had, and it made me feel grand to know he was proud of me and pleased with what I’d done.

  One day, I hope I’ll have a small estate of my own.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from the Hon’ble Oliver Cootes to Miss Alana Cadogan (Daughter of Mr Jerome and Mrs Bonnie Cadogan).

  Almost 10 months later…

  26th October 1841, Marcross Manor, Monmouthshire.

  Greer fidgeted by the window of the third-floor landing, which had the best view of the road that led to the Manor. Her parents and Alana were arriving today, and she was in a stew of excitement, eager to show them everything they’d achieved.

  “Are you going to jitter about there all afternoon, love? I told you not to expect them before teatime.”

  Greer turned, smiling as Raphe climbed the stairs towards her. Her stomach did an excited little flip at the sight of him. Even after ten months of wedded bliss, she still had not become used to the fact this glorious specimen of masculinity was all hers.

  “But they might arrive before that,” she said hopefully.

  Raphe came to stand behind her, sliding his arms about her waist and pulling her back against his chest. “It’s unlikely,” he said, bending to nuzzle the tender place beneath her ear that never failed to make her shiver. “However, I have an excellent notion of how to pass the time until they arrive.”

  Greer tilted her head back to look at him, seeing the now familiar glint of devilry in his eyes.

  “It’s the middle of the day,” she said, a little scandalised, though why she wasn’t certain. He was insatiable and would accost her in the most surprising places and at any time.

  “Day or night, I always want you. Surely you know that by now, love?”

  She did. Oh, she did. She turned away from him to hide her smile. “Where?” she asked. “There’s nowhere left we’ve not tried a dozen times. I believe you intended to make love to me in every room in the house before Christmas and, despite thousands of workmen constantly besieging the property, you’d accomplished the task by June. Will you grow bored with chasing me about the manor now it’s so familiar?”

  He gave a snort of l
aughter, one hand sliding up to squeeze her breast. “As if that were possible. Besides, there're acres of gardens and woodland, not to mention barns and—”

  “Lord de Ligne, there was a frost this morning, and if you think I’m lying on the cold damp ground—”

  He smothered her indignant words with a kiss, taking her mouth as one large hand stroked her exposed throat and the other continued to caress her breast through her gown. Not that she’d meant what she’d said. She suspected he could talk her into any manner of sinful debauchery. She smothered a giggle as she realised he already had.

  Raphe broke the kiss, staring down at her, his eyes a startling blue with that impossible hint of violet that fascinated her so.

  “You were saying, love?” he asked mildly.

  Greer shook her head, admitting defeat. “Do what you will with me,” she said, putting the back of her hand against her forehead in dramatic fashion. “You’ve corrupted me, you villain, and I’ve no defences left.”

  “Excellent,” he said, grinning as he swept her up into his arms.

  Greer gave a little shriek, startled. “I was joking. We must still be discreet. The servants!” she muttered, batting at his chest.

  “Stuff the servants, if they don’t know what kind of people we are by now, then they’re too dim-witted to notice anything at all.”

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, trying her best to sound stern and not giggle with delight. “You’re not really going to carry me out to the woods?”

  Raphe smirked at her as he carried her along the corridor, pausing at their bedroom door and kicking it open. Once inside, he pushed it shut and set her gently on her feet.

  “I think you’re disappointed, you wicked girl,” he observed, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

  Greer blushed, putting up her chin. “No, I’m not,” she lied.

  He laughed, sliding his arms about her, and staring down at her with such adoration her breath caught. “As if I’d allow my lovely wife to lie on the cold ground in her condition,” he murmured softly. His big hand moving to rest upon her stomach.