The Rake's Rainbow

by Allison Lane

  Clenching his teeth as his groin tightened, he deliberately pushed memories of his love into the background. Somehow he must forget her. She was lost to him for all time. Even Darnley’s demise couldn’t help them now. He would lock her memory into a private mental compartment and not allow her to intrude on his daily life. Visions of her beauty could warm his heart when he hit one of life’s rough spots, but she would otherwise remain hidden.

  Thank God, Caroline was plain. Though not as dowdy as she had first appeared, she would never be mistaken for a diamond. Her freckled face and neatly coiled hair were acceptable, but there was no comparison between her and his love. And that was good. It eliminated the temptation to do so. Nor did she seem prone to chattering, giggles, vapors, or other missish behavior. And she was sensible. Once she had accepted his hand, there had been no more protests over their union, merely practical discussion of how best to accomplish the deed. It boded well for the future. He would not be subjected to pouting or second thoughts. Now if he could just coax a little passion from her... That was the one thing he could not live without. Oh, Alicia, how deeply you touched my soul...

  Fastening a stronger lock on that mental compartment, he determinedly returned his thoughts to Caroline. It was quite possible that passion lurked beneath her unpromising exterior. Her grandfather, the late Earl of Waite, had been a lusty devil who reputedly passed his appetites on to most of his numerous offspring. He grinned at remembered tales of the seventh Waite’s eldest daughter, now a dowager viscountess. And she was Caroline’s aunt. The future looked brighter. He wished he could remember their last encounter, not that it would provide any guidance. That an encounter had taken place he knew quite well. The signs had been present when he had cleaned up, which would make tonight easier...

  * * * *

  They arrived at Crawley just before sunset. Thomas had not exaggerated its condition, conceded Caroline as the coach bounced along a heavily rutted drive toward the house. If anything, he had understated the case. When had he last visited his estate?

  Neglect was everywhere, overshadowing the usual January barrenness. Weeds choked the drive, fences sagged in forlorn disrepair, deadwood threatened anyone foolish enough to walk beneath the trees, and several fields that should have been under cultivation appeared not to have supported a crop in years. A handful of sheep grazed over a sparse pasture, confined only because someone had jammed brush into the breaks in the estate wall. Water pooled in a meadow whose natural drainage had been blocked by feral shrubs, threatening to back up onto the drive.

  The house appeared little better. The sun’s last rays illuminated windows that had not been cleaned in years. Several roof slates were broken, wood showed little trace of paint, and the stonework needed pointing. However, the charming facade would offer a warm welcome once they tamed the surrounding shrubbery and pruned back encroaching ivy.

  Thomas handed her down from the carriage. “This looks worse than I remember,” he admitted in chagrin.

  “You certainly did not exaggerate conditions, sir,” she agreed. “When were you last here?”

  “I suppose it has been all of two years, but Tibbins should have kept better order.”

  “Tibbins being your bailiff?”

  He nodded.

  Caroline sighed. “That is for tomorrow. First things first. Are there servants? And are we expected?”

  The door was not yet open, so he fished in a pocket for his key. “Yes and no. I forgot to send ahead, and it would seem my valet has not yet arrived from town with my luggage.”

  “Then the servants are probably at dinner.”

  But this speculation proved false as footsteps finally sounded in the hall. A stately butler opened the door.

  “Mr. Mannering, sir!” he exclaimed, his staid mien slipping for a moment, revealing more than a trace of chagrin.

  “Peters, this is my wife, Caroline,” injected Thomas with a charming smile. “I take it Cramer has not put in an appearance?”

  “No, sir, ma’am.” Peters’ eyes twitched to the adjacent drawing room which was under dusty Holland covers.

  “I understand my husband neglected to send notice of our imminent arrival,” she said easily. “I’m sure that can be put right on the morrow.”

  Thomas nodded. “For now, if you will see that the master bedroom is readied and our luggage carried up, we will stretch our legs in the garden. And some food would not be amiss. Trays upstairs will do for tonight.”

  “At once, sir,” agreed Peters, hurrying toward the servants’ hall.

  Thomas turned to Caroline, a rueful smile on his face. “I fear I am not making much of an impression, am I?” He looked like a little boy trying to escape some well-deserved punishment. He undoubtedly had years of practice at charming himself out of scrapes. She firmly suppressed the smile his hangdog look elicited.

  “That depends on what else you have forgotten, sir. What others did you neglect to inform of our nuptials?” But the twinkle in her eye belied the stern tone.

  “I hope nobody. The notice should appear in the papers this week. Father is looking after my business in town and has expressed a desire to meet you soon as possible. The exact date is undecided as Mother is laid low with a chill and is unable either to travel or receive visitors.”

  They had reached a terrace along the west side of the house. Caroline caught her breath, for despite the lack of care, the view was delightful, lit to its enchanting best by the setting sun’s rosy rays. The manor occupied a low hill from which paths wound south through terraced formal gardens to a lake nestled in the valley. Beyond its shores rose a line of larger hills, most of them forested. A stream drained the lake, winding across parkland and meadows before turning out of sight.

  “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “How sad that it has been let go for so long.” Then she gasped at the implied criticism.

  But he was not perturbed. “Yes, it is sad, though not entirely my doing. I have never lived here, you know, and have not owned the property very long. There has been no one in residence for over a decade.”

  “Then the house should be in poor shape, indeed. I wonder if we will need more help. There cannot be much staff. Is there a housekeeper?”

  “Mrs. Peters. But you will need to hire additional servants.”

  They had reached the western edge of the formal gardens, so they retraced their path back to the house, where he led her on an abbreviated tour. With the furniture still covered, she could not evaluate its condition, but every room told the same story of decayed neglect – dingy carpets, faded draperies, wall coverings varying from loose to tattered, cobwebs and dust everywhere. The only room that elicited a second glance was the library. It was nicely proportioned and appeared considerably less neglected than the rest of the house. The shelves seemed well-stocked.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” warned Thomas, noting the enthusiasm in her eyes. “Collections of sermons dominate this undistinguished assortment, if I remember correctly from my last visit. However, my own books will arrive by the end of the week, which you are welcome to peruse. And feel free to order anything else. There is an excellent circulating library in Banbury, and when we go up to town, I have subscriptions at all the booksellers.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.” She smiled, surprised that he appeared to be bookish, a tendency she would never have suspected from his previous behavior. If so, it could provide a foundation for a tentative friendship.

  He next led her upstairs to the master suite. “You will have to share my room until yours is renovated. It is quite untenable at the moment, or at least it was when I was last here. Order whatever you need and make that your first project.”

  Shivering, she gazed at the enormous bedroom. If this was the best Crawley offered, she did not yet have the fortitude to peek into her own rooms.

  The carpet’s color was impossible to discern, for dirt had turned its pattern to mud. The previous tenant had kept cats. Snags and tears decorated the bottom half of both draperi
es and bedhangings, and the wallcoverings were destroyed. But the bed was freshly made up, the fireplace burned merrily – already reducing the chill of an unused room – and the furniture appeared solid, though in need of a good polishing. A table was laid for supper. She suddenly realized that Thomas was speaking.

  “...will bring bathwater. I must check the stables before the light is gone, for I dare not have my cattle sent down without adequate facilities. One of the maids will be up to help you shortly.”

  “Thank you, Thomas. Take your time. I am weary after traveling all day and will rest. We can eat later.”

  He lightly kissed her hand and strode away.

  She immediately set out to explore the suite. Thomas’s valise was in the dressing room so she unpacked it, then did the same with her own. Her trunk had not yet made an appearance, but scuffling sound heralded the arrival of her bathwater.

  “I am Sarah, ma’am.” The rosy-cheeked maid bobbed a curtsy when Caroline entered the bedroom. She did not look a day over fifteen. “Mrs. Peters sent me to do for you.”

  “Thank you, Sarah, but I am not accustomed to much assistance. Do you know what has become of my trunk?” She was already slipping out of her traveling dress, the sight of hot water reminding her of how dusty she was from the road.

  “It will be up directly,” promised Sarah. “There is not much staff, so the groom will have to be summoned to carry it. Have you nothing in your valise that you can wear this evening?”

  “Oh, yes.” Positioning a screen around the hip bath, she removed her shift. The screen caught the heat from the adjacent fireplace, creating a cozy nook. “I have already unpacked it. The blue muslin will do. How large is the staff? Mr. Mannering suspects that we will need additional workers.”

  “Not very big,” admitted Sarah. “The house has been empty ever so long. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Peters, there’s myself and Polly for maids, and Mrs. James in the kitchen. Polly just started and is still in training.”

  “Is she replacing someone who recently left?” asked Caroline curiously, wondering how even an abbreviated staff had allowed the house to get so filthy.

  “N-not exactly,” stammered Sarah, suddenly sounding embarrassed.

  “What is wrong?” Caroline put as much sympathy in her voice as possible. “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “Oh, please, ma’am. I warn’t meant to say that about the training, as Mr. Tibbins don’t know about it, and we’re not supposed to give it away.”

  Vastly surprised, Caroline nonetheless managed to hide that fact. “I take it the official staff consists of Peters, Mrs. Peters, and Mrs. James. So how do you and Polly come to be here? I want the truth now. Frankly, I am glad to find you.”

  “Well” —Sarah hesitated before continuing in a rush— “after the old owner moved out, Mrs. Peters had no help and no company, for Mr. Tibbins would spend nothing on the house. But there are often girls from the farms and the village who want to go into service. Boys, too, sometimes. So Mr. and Mrs. Peters have got into the habit of accepting us for training and then helping us find positions in respectable houses. Mostly we work in the servants’ hall and the housekeeper’s apartment, but before we can be placed, we have to do one of the big rooms. I did the library just last month. Please don’t hold it against Mrs. Peters. She is ever so good to us.”

  “I think it an excellent program,” agreed Caroline. “We will undoubtedly continue it. I will speak to Mrs. Peters myself. Now perhaps you can find my blue dress and lay it out.”

  Sarah bobbed a curtsy and took herself into the dressing room to collect the required gown. Caroline luxuriated for several minutes in the warm bath, thinking over the girl’s fearful confession. She was not at all impressed with the bailiff, either with his refusal to countenance staff for the house or for his apparent ignorance of a longstanding apprenticeship program that flourished under his very nose. Thanking Sarah for her assistance, she sent the girl back downstairs, then dressed and resumed her explorations.

  Beyond a second dressing room lay what would undoubtedly be her own room. Thomas was right about its condition. Deplorable was her own impression. Too bad none of the training had been perpetrated up here. Silk hung in tatters from the walls, matching the draperies. It was impossible to discern either color or pattern from the remains. Besides the cat damage, years of sun had shattered the fabric, leaving long tears along each fold. The bedhangings were not much better. The carpet contained scattered holes too large to mend. What little furniture remained was damaged – a chair with a broken leg, sagging drawers in the chest, a mattress that appeared less comfortable than sleeping on the floor...

  Clearly whoever had previously owned this estate had spent nothing on it for a very long time. Tibbins was not solely to blame. Was the rest of the house this bad?

  One of her first priorities must be determining how much money she would have in her household budget and what Thomas’s plans were for indoors. Obviously, the bulk of his inheritance would have to go to improve the estate’s productivity if they were to manage in the future. But an earl’s son would not tolerate living in squalor. Footsteps sounded and she turned just as Thomas stepped through from the dressing room. He had already bathed and changed. Had she fallen into a trance?

  “Contemplating sleeping in here tonight?” he teased, then smiled at her shudder.

  “You are right. It is uninhabitable,” she agreed. “Did you deliberately minimize the deterioration for fear of driving me off?”

  “No, but my memory certainly played tricks on me. Now that I am here, I realize that little has changed, but I did not recall the details. It makes me shudder to think what tomorrow may disclose.”

  She shivered. “Is the rest of the house this bad?”

  “I’ve no idea. I never looked beyond the mess downstairs. And I’ve a confession. The rooms I showed you earlier are all I’ve ever seen. But come, Peters has brought up dinner.”

  Over the meal, which was plain but surprisingly good considering the lack of advance notice, Thomas set out to charm his wife and set her at ease. He refrained from any further reference to sleeping accommodations or what activities the night would hold, instead conversing on the estate and what must be done to rescue it from its shameful condition.

  “The stables are in unexpectedly good shape,” he reported over the soup. “I have long toyed with the idea of raising hunters and plan to give it serious consideration. This is excellent hunt country and my groom is an outstanding trainer. What think you of the idea?”

  “I will have to defer to your judgment, Thomas. Though I ride modestly well, I have had little opportunity to exercise the skill and know next to nothing about horses themselves.”

  He welcomed the intelligence that she rode. “We must find you a mount. Do you drive, as well?”

  “Alas, no. I used to ride with the squire’s daughters, but Papa’s resources never extended even to a gig. I would love to learn. It would seem necessary if I am to deal with the tenants.”

  “Then I shall have to teach you,” he offered, greatly pleased by her enthusiasm. “I will spend tomorrow morning with Tibbins and should have a better understanding after that of just where I stand. Perhaps you could spend the time with Mrs. Peters. Then we can compare notes and decide what is to be done first.”

  “Ask him about the roof. Several tiles appear damaged.”

  He nodded.

  “And may I bring in helpers from the village to clean for the next few days? We can discuss permanent staffing later, but this dirt has got to go.”

  “Amen to that, wife.” Thomas grinned. “Do whatever is necessary, though I begin to think it will require a miracle and far more cash than I have to set Crawley to rights.”

  She refused comment, instead asking about hunters. This topic lasted for the remainder of a leisurely meal and convinced her that he not only knew horses, but had seriously studied the problems of setting up a breeding and training facility. He was not a dedicated wastrel, she concluded
in relief. So what had triggered his admittedly lengthy debauch?

  Following dessert, he left to track down her missing trunk while she prepared for bed. She could not avoid a measure of terror at the thought. Five days ago she had not even met this man, yet now she was expected to not only allow, but to encourage the ultimate intimacy. Never mind that he had probably already indulged himself in that regard. Having no memory of the occasion, it did nothing to alleviate her anxiety.

  She pondered what she knew of the marriage bed. Both of her sisters had reported that the procedure was nothing to fear and could even be enjoyable. Of course, Constance was in love with her husband, and Prudence shared a comfortable friendship with hers that predated their wedding. But at least their words were encouraging. Caroline instinctively knew that the success of her own marriage would be greatly enhanced if she found that she could enjoy intimacy. For her husband gave every impression of doing so. If this became something they could share in amity, it would provide yet another link between them. If not, she foresaw a lonely future, with her at Crawley and Thomas in town.

  She finished brushing her long hair and deftly braided it for the night. Now what? Should she climb into bed? She had no idea when he would return. What if she fell asleep? That would hardly endear her to him. Nor could she lie for any appreciable time without succumbing to fear. She decided instead to settle into a chair near the fire with the volume of Marmion that had been in her valise.

  Ten minutes later Thomas opened the door. Her heart immediately began to pound and she could feel her muscles tense.

  “Your trunk will be up in the morning,” he reported casually. “Sarah will help you unpack. At the moment, she and Polly are cleaning the breakfast room so we will have somewhere to eat.”