Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 01]

by The Notorious Lord

  ‘I would enjoy it extremely,’ Rachel said. She waved goodbye to them and watched as the gig turned down the track that forked right towards Midwinter Marney and the sea, then she prepared to walk the remaining mile to Midwinter Royal House.

  The sun seemed even more intense out in the open. It dazzled the eyes and squeezed the head with lassitude until Rachel wanted nothing more than to lie down in the shade and sleep. By the time that she reached the square in Midwinter Mallow, she was already too hot and wished that she had taken advantage of Olivia’s offer of a ride in the gig all the way home. The village was quiet—even the birds were silent, weighed down by the heat. On impulse, Rachel crossed the dusty square and went under the lych gate into the churchyard. Here the slabs of the path burned the soles of her shoes, but the yew trees cast their shade on the uneven gravestones. She sat down in the shadow of the lych gate. That was better. Now she could draw breath and cool down, for she was unpleasantly aware of the sweat running between her shoulder blades and the flushed heat of her face. She did so hate to sweat; not only was it unladylike, it also caused more laundry.

  Perhaps it was the intensity of the heat or perhaps it was something else—Olivia’s comments, maybe—that made Rachel’s thoughts turn back to Cory Newlyn and the conversation that had gone before. Olivia had put her finger on matters with uncanny accuracy. Cory possessed many of the qualities that Rachel admired. He was the sort of man that she wanted.

  Rachel stared hard at an avocet picking its way delicately across the distant mudflats in its search for food, but the outline of the bird blurred before her eyes. She was staring intently, but her gaze was turned inward, not outward. For the first time she was confronting her feelings without artifice.

  She wanted a husband like Cory Newlyn. Rachel wriggled her shoulders under the thin material of her spencer. No. It was more than that. The truth was that Cory was the man she wanted.

  A cold sliver of fear and doubt touched Rachel’s spine as soon as the thought came into her head. That had to be wrong. Cory was an adventurer, reckless, rash and unpredictable. She disapproved wholeheartedly of his lifestyle. And yet she also cared for him. She knew she could trust him utterly. She never doubted him.

  Rachel blinked sharply, as though trying to clear her head. She felt that she was on very dangerous ground and should begin a retreat here and now, before she got herself into a hopeless position. There was no harm in admitting that she cared for Cory as she would for an elder brother. Furthermore, she was willing to allow that he possessed qualities that she liked and admired. She would even permit herself to go so far as to admit she wanted a man who embodied those characteristics. But Cory himself…She pushed away the insidious thought. It was quite impossible that she should be drawn to Cory in that manner. They wanted different things from their lives. And she was sure that he would never, ever, see her as more than a friend.

  She paused. Had Cory seen her as a friend when he had kissed her in the billiards room? Was it friendship that she had felt for him when she had sat watching him in the lee of the pine trees and felt that deep and disturbing sensual awareness? She could not lie to herself. What she had felt was something far more troubling than mere friendship. What she had felt was attraction. And she was going to have to cure herself. Fast.

  When she reached home she found Cory in the hallway, talking to her father. Sir Arthur greeted her absent-mindedly and wandered off to the excavation and Cory turned to Rachel with a smile. The late afternoon sun was making warm puddles on the marble floor and burnishing Cory’s hair to a rich bronze. Rachel swallowed hard. She was disturbed to realise that she was fast becoming fixated on looking at him. She must be suffering from too much sun. What was needed was a good thunderstorm to clear the air and return them all to the right minds.

  ‘Are you quite well, Rachel?’ Cory asked, touching her arm. His tone was gently mocking. ‘You seem very flustered.’

  ‘I…yes, thank you!’ Rachel pulled away from him. ‘I believe I am feeling the heat a little today.’

  ‘Ah, the heat,’ Cory murmured. ‘Such a useful explanation for all sorts of maladies!’

  Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Was there something that you wanted, Cory?’

  ‘Plenty of things,’ Cory said. His gaze wandered over her face and lingered on her mouth. Rachel fidgeted.

  ‘Yes?’ Her voice was husky.

  ‘I wondered whether you could find me your father’s October 1802 copy of the Ipswich Journal?’ Cory said. ‘It seems that there is an interesting reference to the Midwinter Treasure in it.’

  Rachel felt an absurd pang of disappointment and was angry with herself for it. She shook the feeling off and managed to match his casual air.

  ‘The paper? Oh, yes, of course. I will have a look through Papa’s files and have it ready for you later.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cory smiled at her. ‘I suppose I had better be going. Did you enjoy your meeting of the reading group today?’

  Rachel furled her parasol. ‘Yes, thank you. We all saw you in the gardens. I am surprised that you escaped Mr Daubenay so soon, though. Surely he cannot have achieved his sketch for the watercolour book so quickly?’

  Cory pulled a face. ‘I fear that I became bored and told him that I had pressing business to attend to. Standing around doing nothing whilst my likeness is taken is not my idea of a good use of time.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘You achieved plenty. You managed to distract our attention from The Enchantress for a start! Lady Sally was most dismayed to have the book upstaged.’

  She thought that Cory looked rather pleased with himself. ‘Did I distract you?’ he said.

  Rachel hesitated. It seemed that lying to Cory was coming a little too easily these days.

  ‘You did not distract me personally,’ she said, ‘but Mrs Stratton and Miss Lang were both quite overwhelmed and even Lady Sally herself had an appreciative gleam in her eyes.’

  ‘Whereas you, having grown up indifferent to me, were wondering why everyone was stuck on page forty-five?’

  Rachel smiled. ‘Not precisely. I could see why you would be an asset to Lady Sally’s book of watercolours.’

  Cory looked surprised. ‘Could you, indeed? That is quite an admission, Rachel. Not long ago you were telling me that you were sure there were other ladies who might be impressed by my charms, but that you were not amongst them.’

  Rachel realised that she had made a tactical error.

  ‘Well,’ she said, blushing, ‘I feel it my duty to prevent you from developing too good an opinion of yourself.’

  ‘Someone has to take on the job, I suppose,’ Cory said, ‘though God knows, I wish it was not you, Rachel. You are the person whose good opinion I most value. The only reason I agreed to Lady Sally’s drawing was to please you.’

  Rachel looked at him. ‘Truly? But surely my opinion cannot matter that much to you?’

  ‘You would be surprised,’ Cory said drily. ‘Surely you know by now that I only wish to make you happy?’

  His tone was mocking, but underneath it was a note of sincerity. Rachel searched his face. The hall was cool and shadowed and hid Cory’s expression, and she was not certain if he was smiling. It seemed remarkably difficult to tear her gaze away from him.

  ‘I had not realised…’ Rachel pulled herself together. ‘That is, I am glad that you decided to pose for the watercolour book…’

  Her throat dried up and her words with it as she took in the expression in his eyes.

  ‘And what do you think about the other things I said?’ Cory asked gently. ‘Rachel, you know that yours is the opinion I most value.’

  ‘I…’ Rachel could not reply. All afternoon she had been trying to erect barriers against Cory in her mind and now he was intent on demolishing them as soon as they were made. He raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. There was a look of deep concentration in his eyes. He leaned closer.

  He was going to kiss her. Rachel’s heart was ra
cing. Her lips parted instinctively. She saw Cory’s gaze drop to them. They were very close now. Cory’s touch made her feel quite dizzy. In a moment she would be in his arms and she would not fight it, would not resist for a second, for she did not want to do so. The idea filled her with shock and excitement and a sweet longing.

  The door to the servants’ quarters opened and Mrs Goodfellow bustled out, stopping abruptly as she saw the couple in the hall.

  ‘There you are, my lord! Lady Odell wondered if you wished to join the family for dinner tomorrow night? She mentioned something about a picnic down by the river. Isn’t that right, Miss Rachel?’

  Wrenched from her sensual dream, Rachel blushed bright red and backed several steps away.

  ‘I…Oh yes, yes, it is.’ She risked a look at Cory’s face, saw the humour there and blushed harder. Damn him for being able to do this to her. She took a deep breath.

  ‘By all means join us,’ she said, trying to sound gracious rather than merely breathless. ‘In the interests of friendship, of course.’

  She saw Cory tense slightly. ‘Friendship. Of course.’ He smiled again. ‘I should be delighted.’

  ‘Good.’ Rachel felt relieved. This should put an end once and for all to the strange nuances between them. They could recapture their old footing and be at ease. The company of Sir Arthur and Lady Odell would make it appear just like old times.

  She gave Cory a faint smile. ‘Goodbye then, Cory.’

  Cory waved and went out, and Rachel went slowly up the stairs to her room and threw herself down on the bed, staring up at the canopy. This attraction to Cory had to be a fleeting thing, a matter of proximity only. Their friendship had endured for seventeen years, but it would not last another five minutes if she were to give in to the temptation of his kisses. For how could they go back after that? Cory was not the marrying kind, and even if he was, he was not the man for her. They wanted such different things from their lives that their hopes and aspirations could never match.

  Rachel rolled over and pressed her cheek against her cool pillow. She knew that she was being sensible. She knew that she was being logical. She knew that she was drawn to Cory with an inexplicable but undeniable attraction and that she was still no closer to discovering a cure.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At eight o’clock the following evening, Rachel made her way down through the gardens to the knot of pines overlooking the river. The air was warm and heavy and the river flowed slowly. The sun had not yet set and her parents and the servants were still busy about the excavations. Cory, however, had finished work in the afternoon and sent her a message that he was returning to Kestrel Court to change his clothes and that he would see her for dinner later.

  Rachel had been touched. She would not have expected him to be so thoughtful or to attach so much importance to their meal. There had been times in the past when Cory had finished digging for the day, rolled his sleeves down and come to join her for a casual supper—having washed his hands first, of course. Apparently tonight was to be different.

  She realised the extent to which she had underestimated Cory when he appeared, for he was dressed in tight buckskins, gleaming Hessians and a coat of green superfine that fitted his broad shoulders like a second skin. He came down the slope to join her, took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. Rachel, breathing in the scent of lime cologne, felt very slightly dizzy. She took a deep breath of the fresh evening air and reminded herself that this evening was the one that was meant to set everything back in its former place. She wanted the familiar and the comforting claims of friendship, not the disturbing demands of attraction.

  ‘Good evening, Rachel,’ Cory said.

  ‘I am sorry that I am not as smart as you,’ Rachel said, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her old green cotton dress that was sprinkled with embroidered daisies. ‘You show me up, Cory, in all that finery.’

  Cory smiled. ‘Indeed, Rachel—’ his eyes skimmed her in a thoroughly disconcerting way ‘—you look charming. I have no complaints over the company.’

  They sat down on the blanket and Rachel passed him a glass of lemonade.

  ‘Would you care to eat? Mama and Papa are still at work, but I have reminded them that the picnic is ready and they have sworn to join us shortly.’

  Cory propped himself up on one elbow and reached for the bread and cheese. ‘They are very dedicated,’ he said.

  ‘They are certainly dedicated to their antiquities and devoted to each other,’ Rachel agreed, with an edge to her voice. ‘I cannot dispute that.’

  There was a pause. ‘They love you too, you know, Rae,’ Cory said. He was holding a chicken leg in his strong, brown fingers. ‘They may appear to be obsessed with their work, but they do care about you.’

  Rachel sighed. It felt comfortable to have Cory here with her now, rather like the old days when they had sat together and chatted about all manner of subjects at any hour of the day or night. For once there was none of the edgy wrangling that had so beset their encounters over the last few weeks. She had never felt a strong attraction to a man before in her entire life, and it felt odd that it should be Cory, for beneath the disturbing awareness, there was the closeness and familiarity that seventeen years of friendship had built. Which was why it was so utterly important that she should cling on to that friendship and not put it at risk.

  ‘I know that my parents love me,’ she said now. ‘It is simply that I come third on the list.’ She cut herself a piece of cheddar cheese and broke off a piece of the bread. ‘I remember hearing Mama tell Lady Cardew it was the greatest nuisance when I was born, for she had just uncovered a Roman temple in Gloucestershire and could not get out to the site for an entire week!’

  Cory laughed. ‘That sounds like your mother.’ He tossed the chicken bone aside. ‘Nevertheless, she cares for you, Rae. She must do. She did not send you to boarding school when she travelled abroad, but took you everywhere with her.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I know. I am an ungrateful wretch. I begged and begged to be sent to school, you know. I wanted to be like all the other girls. I have seen half the world when all I really wanted was to have a settled life.’

  Cory smiled at her. ‘That is a reasonable enough aim too.’

  ‘Not for you. You have no desire to settle in one place.’

  ‘True. I want very different things in my life.’

  Rachel looked at the slow drift of the river and from there to Cory’s shadowed face. ‘What do you want, Cory?’

  She thought that he hesitated before answering, but when he spoke his tone was easy. ‘All the things that I have now. The excitement of travel and exploration, the freedom, the uncertainty…’ He flashed her a smile. ‘All the things that you dislike, Rae.’

  Rachel reached for an apple from the basket and took a small bite. ‘Why do you like it so much?’

  Again Cory hesitated. ‘Because it is so unpredictable. I never know where I might go, or what I might find.’

  ‘What about the ordinary things? A home and a family?’

  Cory tilted his glass of lemonade to his lips. ‘I have a home. Newlyn Park will always be there for me.’

  ‘Like a perpetual bride in waiting,’ Rachel said. ‘What about a family, Cory?’

  ‘One day, maybe,’ Cory said. He smiled at her.

  ‘You need someone who shares your dreams,’ Rachel said. Her heart felt a little achy at the thought. For so many years she had been there with Cory, not through her own choice, perhaps, but because fate had thrown them together. To relinquish that closeness to someone Cory loved, someone who shared his hopes and plans…Her throat closed and she made a little fuss of sorting through the contents of the picnic basket.

  ‘I do not suppose,’ she said, after a moment, ‘that marriage is a particularly appealing option for a rake.’ She shot him a look. ‘Not when there are so many ladies who are willing to give you what you want without the benefit of clergy. I’ll wager that you have had many and many an offer, Cory, and not ne
cessarily of matrimony.’

  ‘I do not believe that we should be speaking of such things,’ Cory said, with a wicked smile. ‘But if you wish to discuss matrimony, Rae, perhaps you should talk of your own plans. Have you met a man with whom you could settle down? Someone to give you your heart’s desire?’

  Rachel shot him a sidelong glance. He was lounging beside her, his long, lean frame relaxed, his grey gaze on the river, where a heron was picking its way through the shallows. Behind them the sun was dropping in the sky and a full moon was climbing to take its place. The air was becoming chill. Rachel reached for her shawl.

  ‘Here, let me help you.’

  Cory’s touch was light and impersonal as he arranged the shawl about her shoulders, but still she shivered beneath his touch—and told herself that it was only the effect of the breeze.

  ‘I have no marriage plans at present,’ she said, holding the shawl to her almost as much for comfort as for warmth. ‘As you have no doubt observed, I cannot find a man who pleases me.’

  Cory’s hands stilled, then fell away. ‘Indeed? Why not? I thought there were a score of men queuing up to pay their addresses to you, Rae.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘There may be a score of them willing to pay court to my fifty thousand pounds, but they are sadly indifferent to me personally. Besides, as you so presciently observed a few weeks ago, they are rakes and scoundrels to a man.’

  ‘James Kestrel seemed more than a little interested,’ Cory said, ‘and surely he cannot be a rake. What is the stumbling block?’

  Rachel looked at him through her lashes. ‘Do you require that I reply to that question or do you already know the answer?’

  Cory gave her a quizzical look back. ‘I hesitate to get my head bitten off again by criticising one of your admirers, Rae.’

  ‘Touché,’ Rachel said, with a small smile. ‘I give you full permission to make an educated guess.’