Deborah Simmons

by The Last Rogue

  “No. I must get to work,” Jane protested. To his regret, she sat up and began tugging on her gown, and surrendering to her resolve, he helped her with the tapes. Then he reached for the shirt he had carelessly tossed among the heather and his mangled waistcoat, permanently divested of a button. Antoine would have a hemorrhage.

  Jane giggled as he tried his best to fasten it, and Raleigh gave her a feigned look of outrage. “I can see that my days as a dandy are over.” True to form, Jane did not appear the least bit apologetic, but nodded approvingly as she rose to her feet. Raleigh realized that more than just his wardrobe was destined for change, and he smiled at the knowledge. Finally, he, the last of his circle, was embarked on a new life, full of the love he had longed for so often.

  If only he could be so certain of all aspects of his future, Raleigh mused, glancing down toward the overgrown grounds of Craven Hall. As he helped Jane fold the quilt, responsibilities he once would have avoided came too easily to mind. His two prisoners from last night would have to be turned over to the authorities, and although he had no interest in rounding up the rest of the gang, there was one other person whose involvement he could not ignore.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I feel as if I simply must accomplish something today, with the house, I mean,” Jane said, coloring sweetly.

  Raleigh lifted her chin and placed a swift kiss on her lovely mouth. “I understand, and I, too, have a duty to fulfill.”

  “The solicitor?” she asked, as they headed through the tall grass down the gentle slope.

  “No. One more matter in connection with our monks,” Raleigh said.

  “Are you talking about their mysterious cohort?”

  “Yes, though mysterious would not be the word I would have chosen.” Hideous, yes, or grotesque, Raleigh thought, with a shudder. But at last his household would be free of the horrific creature, for even Jane could not argue with the facts. The very notion made him glance her way with some trepidation. “This time Mrs. Graves has got to go,” he declared in his most serious tone.

  Jane stopped to stare at him. “Surely you cannot believe that she was behind it all?”

  “Now, Jane, by her own admission, she was the only servant here for years. Just who else would they have paid to use the premises?”

  “Oh, but there must be a reason!” his wife protested. “I cannot imagine that she would agree to house illicit goods without cause.” Raleigh nearly groaned as Jane’s expression turned determined. “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  He sighed as they reached the rear entrance. “Very well, but I doubt if the old witch will even be here after what happened last evening,” he muttered as he opened the door for his wife. Inside, he set aside the quilt and strode toward the kitchen, without even pausing to repair his appearance.

  Unfortunately, he was soon proven wrong, for the housekeeper dutifully answered his summons to meet them in the dining room. Apparently unaffected by the night’s happenings, she approached them looking just as dour as usual.

  “Ah, Mrs. Graves, please have a seat,” Raleigh said, watching the woman slowly lower herself into one of the heavy mahogany chairs that lined the wall. “I have been meaning to speak with you about my wife’s kidnapping,” he began, ignoring Jane’s frown at his choice of words. “I was hoping you could tell us just how long smugglers have been storing contraband in the cellar.”

  Although he felt her enmity, the housekeeper refused to meet his gaze. The silence between them stretched so long that he wondered if the woman had nodded off, but at last she spoke in that doom-filled voice of hers. “It was necessary to keep food upon the table.”

  Raleigh had expected to hear some excuse about coercion, not this odd revelation. “Are you saying that you used the money they paid you to provide meals for yourself?” he asked in surprise.

  She nodded sourly. “And for Mr. Holroyd.” Lud, the situation was even worse than he thought, if the servants were resorting to criminal acts simply to feed themselves!

  “See, I told you there had to be a good reason!” Jane said triumphantly.

  Raleigh slanted her an affronted glance before turning back to Mrs. Graves. “Are you saying that my great uncle did not provide you with ample funds to run the household?”

  “He refused to spend anything on repairs or upkeep. Eventually, he stopped paying the few others who had stayed on. Times were hard, he said.”

  Raleigh felt his heart sink. Despite all the evidence, somehow he had hoped that there was a way to salvage Craven Hall for Jane, but the housekeeper’s revelations were rapidly destroying any last remnants of his optimism. Struck by a sudden thought, he cleared his throat. “Did you think to sell any of the items in the house?”

  The housekeeper gave him a fierce glare that was positively gothic, and Raleigh spared a moment’s regret that Prudence would never meet her. “Mr. Holroyd did not like to get rid of anything.”

  That, Raleigh thought, was an understatement. “But some of the statues and paintings might be very valuable,” he suggested.

  The housekeeper maintained her grim expression. “That wouldn’t have been right.”

  Hmm. It was acceptable to take money for storing illegal contraband in the basement, but not to sell something to keep old Cornelius in his suppers. Raleigh recognized some manner of ethics there, though he was not certain what kind exactly. Either way, it was all moot now. Apparently, the housekeeper had been doing her best to keep the house together, which was her job.

  “I’m sorry if Lady Raleigh suffered for it. I didn’t mean for them to hurt anyone, just to scare you all away,” the woman admitted grudgingly.

  The memory of finding Jane pinned between two monks threatened to overwhelm Raleigh, but he forced a smile at what must pass as the old woman’s attempt at an apology.

  “I am sure you did not,” Jane said, and Raleigh stifled a groan. His wife was entirely too softhearted for her own good, but he, for one, was still confused by the housekeeper’s erratic behavior.

  “I can understand the smugglers’ desire to be rid of us, but why would you want to drive us away?” Raleigh asked, even as he suspected the answer. Any heir with a whit of sense would have torn down the old hall and cast out the grisly old housekeeper in a trice.

  Mrs. Graves said nothing, remaining stone-faced and silent until finally the stillness was broken by Jane’s soft murmur. “Perhaps you were worried that we might make changes in the household,” she said, and Raleigh nearly scoffed aloud at the thought of Mrs. Graves suffering anxiety. “But we certainly have no intention of doing away with your position, if we can help it,” Jane said, much to Raleigh’s dismay.

  “I’m sure all these changes have been a strain on you,” Jane added. “Perhaps you would like to take some rest for the remainder of the day.” With a kind of horrified fascination, Raleigh watch Jane help the creature to her feet and steer her off toward the servants’ quarters. He was left standing alone in the dining room, feeling as if he had witnessed another gothic terror come to life. Surely Jane did not mean to keep the decidedly loose screw in their employ?

  When he thought of all those grisly incidents that had awakened Jane and him in the middle of the night, sending them out in the moonlight, forcing them to share a room…Pausing suddenly, Raleigh wondered if the housekeeper’s crimes were really so vile after all. Indeed, perhaps he ought to be thanking the woman for indirectly causing all that intimacy between him and his new wife.

  After a moment’s consideration, Raleigh shuddered, rejecting such a course wholeheartedly. Thanking Mrs. Gruesome was just too ghastly to contemplate.

  * * *

  Raleigh watched the familiar cottages at the edge of the village come into view and realized that he was becoming quite accustomed to Chistleside. A month ago or even a week past the notion might have alarmed him, but no longer, he thought, pausing to acknowledge a greeting shouted toward the coach.

  He grinned, for he was still surprised whenever any of the locals spoke to
him without underlying threats. After what had happened, Raleigh had expected increased enmity from the villagers; instead he sensed a reluctant acceptance of his presence at Craven Hall.

  Of course, he had handled the incident with the smugglers as gingerly as possible, quietly arranging for the goods to be disseminated to the local inns, and he had made no moves against the traders, except for seeing to the arrest of the two men who had held his wife. He enjoyed his wine too much to quibble about its origins, nor did he see the point of kicking up a fuss over a business that had been going on for centuries and would continue, with or without his approval.

  Yes, he was actually beginning to grow comfortable in Northumberland. And at Craven Hall? Raleigh chuckled as he imagined what Pimperington’s reaction would be to that news. Lud, the last of his London circle would surely give up on him. But did he care? Not a whit!

  As unbelievable as it sounded, Raleigh was enjoying himself too thoroughly. Indeed, the past week had been the headiest of his life, with long pleasure-filled nights and days spent stealing his wife away for secluded trysts on the moors. In between he managed to sort through the hodgepodge of Cornelius’s collections, looking for something that would entrance Jane.

  Jane. Raleigh smiled at the mere thought of her, so happy at Craven, busying herself with one task after another and bright with excitement at every odd find. Truly coming into her own at last, she was wearing colors, leaving her hair loose, smiling and laughing with him. He swallowed hard as he remembered how she let him feed her sugared biscuits from his hand, and how her passion, once unleashed, left him weak and gasping.

  But even as Raleigh relished her abandon and the newfound confidence that shone from lovely features, he had a sinking feeling that she would not feel so at ease elsewhere, say in Sussex or London or Westfield Park.

  And that was the only thing that prevented him from continuing indefinitely in the delightful, lazy routine he had fallen into. The niggling worry about their accommodations hovered over him like a dark cloud, blunting the edge of his happiness. He was accustomed to living in reduced circumstances, cadging meals from friends and traveling from his parents’ houses to the country estates of his friends, but now everything was different. He couldn’t drag Jane around in that kind of restless, makeshift existence.

  Jane was forever, and she needed stability. She was also content to settle for his great-uncle’s crumbling wreck, but just how long could they stay here? They had discovered some items that looked to be worth money, but how much? Although the upkeep on the building would not be too high, compared to larger, more ornate residences, Raleigh hadn’t the blunt. The original section of the building needed a new roof, and the whole place begged for costly improvements.

  It was enough to upset even Raleigh’s normally carefree disposition, and he sighed, pushing aside his uncharacteristically maudlin thoughts as the coach slowed. As usual, he was stopping to check at the closed solicitor’s office before going on his other errands, but when he automatically glanced in that direction, he stared in surprise.

  The sign was gone. Was Felix Fairman finally back? The wheels had barely rolled to a stop before Raleigh leapt from the coach, eager to conduct his business. His steps immediately slowed, however, as he prepared himself for what could only be ill news. If Cornelius had left too many debts, all their discoveries would be for naught…Drawing a deep breath, Raleigh opened the door, to find the small room nearly as cluttered as Craven Hall. Its only occupant was a small baldheaded fellow, who looked up from his desk. “Are you Mr. Fairman?” Raleigh asked.

  “I am, indeed!” the slender man said, rising from his chair. “And you must be Lord Raleigh. I apologize for not being here when you arrived, but my nephew suffered an accident on his way to London, and my sister was quite distraught. Much better now, thankfully, so I returned as soon as possible, though I daresay you did not need me. From what I’ve heard you have settled in nicely, quite nicely indeed. May I say, my lord, that you are just the man to bring together the village and its environs.”

  Raleigh nearly looked over his shoulder to see if his father was standing there. Surely Fairman was not talking to him? But the solicitor was bowing and nodding enthusiastically. “I’ve heard nothing but good about you since my return, and I must say that it will be a joy to have the local hall inhabited again, and by a nobleman and his wife. This is a wonderful place for a growing family, my lord,” he added with a wink.

  Raleigh’s stomach contracted sharply at the thought of Jane ripe with child. Although he had never viewed reproduction as anything other than the onerous task of supplying an heir for the earldom, now he saw it as something else entirely—as a chance to be a part of a family that valued affection far more than expectations.

  Raleigh swallowed hard as he envisioned Jane running through the heather with his sons and daughters, sharing her laughter and her love. She could be pregnant already, and the knowledge made him want even more strongly to remain at Craven Hall, far away from Westfield Park’s cold corridors. But wishing did not make it so, as he had learned long ago.

  Raleigh cleared his throat. “I am certain that it is, but there is a small matter of my great-uncle’s affairs,” he said, far more casually than he felt.

  “Ah, yes, of course! Do sit down, my lord.” Fairman seated himself behind the desk and shuffled through some papers. “I have it all right here, and it is quite straightforward. As I wrote the countess, you are the sole legatee.”

  Raleigh again wondered about the mysterious offspring whose whereabouts he had not been able to determine. “What of a daughter?” he asked, turning his attention back to the solicitor. “There is some evidence pointing to an illegitimate child.”

  Fairman looked up with interest. “You don’t say! I must admit that I have heard nothing, and even if such an heir should come forward, she would have no claim upon the estate. It is entirely yours, and includes several tenant farms, the Hall and all its contents, and various investments and funds that produce an annual income of around fifty thousand pounds.”

  Raleigh’s mouth fell open, and he closed it promptly, only to swallow hard against the hope that flashed through him like lightning. “I beg your pardon. I don’t believe I heard that last part correctly,” he said, forcing a smile.

  Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Fairman lifted his head to eye Raleigh quizzically. “I don’t have the exact accounting, of course, since I’ve been gone for several weeks, but Mr. Holroyd had amassed quite a tidy sum by the time of his death.”

  Raleigh shook his head to clear it. “Excuse me, but I am at somewhat of a loss. The Hall, you see, is in deplorable condition, so I was under the impression that my relative was, er, penniless.” Or worse, he thought privately.

  “Ah!” Fairman smiled. “I see! Mr. Holroyd kept to himself, rather a recluse, you know, so I have not viewed the premises. What little business we did together was mostly conducted through correspondence. I believe he dismissed most of the servants years ago, so I can understand why you would come to that conclusion.”

  Fairman frowned. “I regret that the building has been let go, but I assure you that even though he had a reputation as a pinchpenny, Mr. Holroyd was quite the investor, and, I believe, a collector as well. Actually, the situation is not as uncommon as it would seem. Often it is the farmer we think of as barely scraping along who puts by quite the opposite.”

  As he listened to Fairman’s calm reassurances, Raleigh struggled to keep his composure for one of the few instances in his life. He wanted to beg this baldheaded fellow not to tease him even as elation surged through him. He cleared his throat once more. “And there are no debts to be paid?”

  “The funeral expenses were taken from the estate, of course, but otherwise I know of none, unless there are amounts owed to servants or tradesmen that have not come through my office.”

  Mrs. Graves. Raleigh felt a stab of guilt that the horrid creature had not been paid, but that could easily be remedied, and he was swiftl
y overwhelmed by euphoria. Was he grinning like an idiot? The solicitor probably thought him daft, having no idea of his straitened circumstances or what this news meant to him and his wife. Jane. Suddenly, Raleigh couldn’t wait to tell her.

  “Very good, Mr. Fairman. Now if you will excuse me, I have to return…home. But I shall schedule an appointment soon to go over the details. You have done an excellent job, and I will make sure you receive a more substantial expression of my gratitude.” Although he meant a monetary reward, Raleigh could just have easily kissed the solicitor right on his bald pate, such was his joy.

  The little man reddened. “Not necessary, my lord. I am simply pleased to know that there will be a nobleman in residence after all these years and one of your strength of character. May your presence bring new prosperity to the village.”

  Raleigh wasn’t too sure about that, but he smiled and backed away, leaving Fairman to shut the door as he hurried to the coach. Calling quickly to the driver, he barely made it inside before he threw back his head and laughed uproariously at the vagaries of fate, which, having winked at him for years, had now dumped good fortune squarely into his lap.

  With a low sigh, Jane pushed aside a heavy gilt frame so that she could see what leaned against the wall behind it. She had come across this treasure trove of paintings when she had finally removed a huge stack of papers from one corner of the library, and now she was eager to see what gems she had uncovered.

  No doubt, Raleigh would tell her that she should have one of the new footmen move it, but Jane preferred doing for herself, and her husband might as well become accustomed to it. The most perfectly groomed man in all of England had wed a woman who liked soiling her fingers. Shocking, but true, Jane realized with a smile, for she enjoyed working with her hands in the garden, in the house…and in her husband’s bed. Thoughts of the latter—Raleigh sprawled before her in all his golden glory, shuddering beneath her touch—made her flush.