She frowned at her brother.
He laughed. "My dear sister, I am the one who told him where you'd be that evening. The poor fellow has been sleeping at the club and hounding me about you for days. Although he pretends it's perfectly innocent and nothing more than concern for your reputation. Now here he is again, after I mention to him that I will ride with my sister in this very park today."
The subject of their conversation rode a handsome black stallion on the other side of the lake, but now turned in their direction to cross the bridge. Raven was obliged to admit that Hale cut a tall, fine figure in the saddle, despite his lack of sartorial aplomb. In fact, when she saw his old hat again, her heart lifted, as if she sighted an old friend.
Her brother added suddenly, "Matthew Bourne is lucky Hale chose not to prosecute for that assault."
"What assault? What are you talking about?"
"Did you not see the mark under Hale's eye? There was an encounter outside the club. According to the doorman your name was mentioned, shortly before Bourne threw a punch."
His eye! So that was the cause of it? And yet, when she asked Hale he had not told her how it happened. Instead he had dismissed the matter casually as a "mishap".
She wished she'd known all this before she wrote her letter to Matthew and then she need not have bothered so much with being tactful. Evidently this incident was the one he had referred to in his letter.
"He could have brought charges against the drunken ass. There were plenty of witnesses and Hale didn't lay a hand on the fool in retaliation. Didn't even want Bourne barred from the club."
Well, that did not sound much like a man who would violently harm another, as Matty had insisted Hale did to his brother. Indeed, it sounded like a man who kept his patience in the face of severe provocation.
"Apparently it didn't put Hale off you either." Ransom chuckled dourly. "Can't talk sense into some people. Here he is, still pursuing you, despite the bodily harm. Following you all over town, much to the horror of the upper classes."
Before Raven left the suite that afternoon, her mother had gleefully read aloud another handful of invitations. All Hale's doing, apparently. To imagine otherwise would be foolish.
Raven had regarded this change in their social status with the derision she felt it deserved. "We are invited as novelties, and nothing more. I do not care to be gawped at, mama, and made to look ridiculous."
To which her mother replied, "Gawp? I do wish you would not use these common terms and phrases, Raven. You got them from your father, I suppose, but they will hardly be fitting for Greyledge."
"If Greyledge cannot accept me as I am then I had better not go, for I have no intention of ever pretending to be anyone else. If his lordship invites Raven Deverell to his estate, then Raven Deverell is what he gets. Faults and all."
"I will not let you spoil this for me, Raven. Things are looking up at last. The tide is turning, and I shall soon be back where I should be. I always knew you would be more use to me than my ingrate sons. I knew that sooner or later they would turn against me and become their father's pawns. But you, my only daughter— you understand what it is to be a woman in this vicious world of men. You cannot deny me this happiness."
Pressing one hand on the nervous twinge under her bosom, Raven had quickly left the suite rather than listen any further to this harangue.
She didn't know what to do about Hale. The brush of his lips against her cheek on the Faulkner's terrace might have been an accident. When he saved her from falling down the steps at the theatre, it was, perhaps, just an impulse of gallantry.
Having never won so much attention from a "proper gentleman" before, she was uncertain what to do with it, or what he expected from her. Her mother was right about that— she'd never known his like before.
Did he really know what he was doing when he invited her to his estate? Surely he understood the consequences to his previously unblemished reputation?
All these questions made her anxious and also unusually quiet, according to Mary Ashford, who, when Raven called in to hand her the note for Matthew Bourne, had accused her of being in the "dreamy state of a milk-faced romantic heroine". Mary was always rather contemptuous of heroines in novels, despite her fondness for reading about them.
Now here came the man who had caused all this speculation, and Raven suffered that same pinching and tickling, as if some winged creature with tiny fangs was trapped under her corset and trying to fight its way out.
"He is following you," Mary Ashford had whispered to her at the Faulkner's party. "The man looks most irritated. What have you done to him?"
"I cannot think what I've done," she'd replied to her old friend. "But I promise you it was unintentional."
Mary had laughed. "That's what you always claim." But turning solemn for a moment, she had added, "I must say, the Earl of Southerton is remarkably handsome. Far more so than I expected."
Surprised, Raven was then forced to look at him again with new eyes. After all, Mary had the soundest judgment of anybody she knew, apart from her own father.
As she recalled the wicked torment of Hale standing near her chair at the Faulkner's musical evening, his little finger toying slyly with a curl of her hair, she knew her cheeks were scarlet again.
And then the vase breaking the glass door, shattering the moment, interrupting the music. How odd that it happened when it did, just as their fingers touched while both reaching for her fallen reticule. Magic, she mused. Was it some sort of supernatural force the two of them caused, as Mary had teasingly suggested?
Sensing her unease, the horse under her shook its head and skipped sideways.
No. There was no such thing as magic. As her father would say, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for everything.
Hale drew near and tipped his hat. "Miss Deverell, I see you're riding sidesaddle today." His eyes narrowed. "I approve. It is much more ladylike."
"But I'm not a lady," she replied jauntily. "I'm a Deverell." He had better not think he could change her, she mused. Is that what he was about? Did he imagine she'd been waiting for him to save her? He could think again, if that was the case. As she had said to her mother, if he invited Raven Deverell, that's exactly what he would get.
Her brother cut through the awkward silence with a loud cough. "So you've invited my sister to Greyledge. Should I be asking your intentions, Hale?" She knew that Ransom was enjoying this very much, his eyes laughing.
Hale replied softly, "That's up to you, Deverell. Do you think my intentions might not be honorable?"
Oh, he was very sly about not giving away his motives. Like an oyster shell clinging to its pearl, answering one question with another.
"Good lord no. A gentleman like you cannot possibly have wicked designs on my little sister." Ransom rubbed his chin with one hand, looking contemplative. "Although it would save us all a great deal of trouble, if you might be persuaded to take her off our hands. We're beginning to despair of ever finding her a brave enough match."
"Yes, I can see how that might be a challenge of phenomenal dimension."
Raven pursed her lips and looked away to admire the swans on the lake. She reached under the veil of her hat to brush a lose strand of hair back behind her ear. But in so doing, she reminded herself of his lips touching that same spot on her cheek.
It was not as if she'd never before been kissed, for pity's sake. Why then did it feel like so much more?
"But I'm afraid your sister has not yet decided whether she will come to Greyledge," Hale was saying. "I do not know that I have anything much there to tempt her."
"Of course, she'll come. Why wouldn't she?"
"I might visit Papa and Olivia at Roscarrock," she exclaimed hotly, unable to stay mute and aloof, despite her best efforts. "And the new baby."
"You can do that later. There's plenty of time to visit family, but I doubt Hale will invite you again if you turn him down once. Besides, you needn't think you're leaving me with our mother. You'r
e far better than me at managing her."
Raven's annoyance mounted in waves. Of course, Ransom didn't bother to practice anything he found difficult. Instead he rested on the claim of inability and passed the task on to someone else. But before she could reply, Hale spoke.
"It is entirely up to Miss Deverell where she chooses to spend her summer, and I would not wish to keep her from family. But it is true that once I return to the estate I will not come back to town again for a considerable time and then she might be sorry." The sun's glare caught her full in the eye as she tried to see his expression. "Miss Deverell could miss her opportunity to win a certain wager before the grouse season, and I know she likes to gamble," he added.
Raven raised a hand to shelter her eyes from that bright beam of sunlight. "What wager?"
He stroked the neck of his horse and said, "You told me once that you wanted to beat the Almighty Hale. I believe that was the expression you used. If you come to Greyledge, you'll have a chance to try, won't you?"
"I did beat you once already," she reminded him, watching his gloved fingers caress the horse's mane.
"If you refer to a certain race at Bourne Lodge, madam, that doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"Because you broke a rule to do it. You can only count a true win when you succeed within the rules of the game. I'm sure your brother and father would agree with me that every good game must have rules."
Was it the sunshine that blurred her vision and made him look younger? His eyes were lighter, demanding and teasing at the same time. With the sun behind him, he had no need to squint, of course, and she had the disadvantage. Knowing Hale, he probably had control of the blasted sun too, she thought.
"You mean your rules," she muttered.
His eyes widened. "Are there any other kind?" She was convinced a wicked smile was about to make its appearance, but he tipped his old hat and rode on rather hastily, giving her no chance to verify it.
Ransom chuckled. "Good lord! Banter from the most somber and staid of gentlemen. What can this mean, sister?"
"It means he's parted from his proper mind." But he had, as far as she could understand it, challenged her to another horse race. How could she not be intrigued?
"Perhaps he means to get you to Greyledge and lock you away in an attic, where you can cause mankind no further trouble."
She laughed at that. "Such an imagination you have, brother."
"Or he might propose marriage."
Her laughter halted abruptly. "That is possibly the most ridiculous thing you've ever said."
"Well, if he does propose, you will have no choice but to say yes."
The sun was much too hot today and she longed to be out of the glare. "Let's go back to the stables."
"One does not refuse a man like Hale," her brother continued. "You had better not disappoint us. Our mother will never forgive you if you let this one get away."
"You and mama are making far more out of this than is necessary. I do not know why he has asked me to his estate. For all we know he may have invited many people."
"Hale doesn't host house parties. He simply doesn't. He's not that sociable. Now, of all the women he might have picked, he's suddenly graced you with an invitation. At least you might make an effort— and do not give me that expression, for I have the family's best interests at heart. Even if the chances are slim, you ought to try and like him, for all our sakes. Once you get to know him, all his money and his grand estate, he might not be nearly as dull and dreary as he seems now."
"Continue this teasing and I shan't go." She should not go. It was a mistake to entertain the idea, to get her mother's hopes up. But...when she saw the hint of a smile on his lips it was like spotting the first buds on the trees in spring. A sign of hope. Of something warm and lively beyond the stern, stony exterior. It pricked her curiosity and laid down a challenge.
"What happened to his wife?" she asked as they rode on. "Damon said you might know."
"She died after only a few years. He lost a child too, I believe. A tragic business."
"A child?"
"It's not talked of. But then he seldom talks of his private life."
Again, Raven thought of how she had teased him about boring people to death and putting women in graves. Could she possibly have said anything worse?
"How terrible," she muttered, biting her lip.
If not for that icy little heart she might be very moved. A dead child was an awful thing. Children were so innocent, it was particularly cruel when they were taken, but it happened too often. She frowned and adjusted her riding hat with one hand, fussing with the net veil. "Is...is that why he stays away from society?"
"I think he's the quiet sort by nature, but I daresay grief kept him away for a while."
Raven considered all this as they rode along the path.
It did seem strange that a man with so many advantages had remained alone for a decade. After all, he was in possession of a title, an estate and a comfortable fortune. Even if he was beastly arrogant and not very handsome. Well...not in the conventional sense...not boyishly so.
Some women were mercenary enough not to care.
Perhaps he had not found another woman who met his high standards. So what on earth did he want with her— the one woman who had made it clear that she would never conform to his tightly regimented life? Already she had cost him a black eye and the price of an antique vase.
"So our mama has taken up with a new lover," Ransom said suddenly. "Anything we should be concerned about?"
Raven groaned. "His name is Alphonse Reynaux, a man from her past."
"Reynaux? Christ, what is she doing with him?"
"You know him?"
"A little. Enough." Ransom's face turned grim. "Our father had him banned from Deverell's a few years ago for unpaid debts. He's a troublemaker, cunning. I'd better warn him off, for mother's sake."
"I wish you the best of luck with that endeavor. Mama will cling. She never listens to reason when in the throes of an affair. I have tried. And as you like to say," she muttered dryly, "I am better at managing her than you are."
"I never heard him say he knew our mother."
"A long time ago, when she was eighteen. But he had been abroad for years he said and only just returned."
Ransom gave her a dark look. "Reynaux has been in London two years at least." Then he paused. "Ah, but of course, he did not bother to make himself known to our mother again until recently."
"What do you mean?"
"When she acquired a useful and wealthy friend... through her daughter. I'm sure Reynaux is not the only old acquaintance who will suddenly seek our mother out again to rekindle whatever fragile connection they once had. Hale is tremendously influential, but you knew that, surely."
"Oh." She felt foolish for not seeing that Reynaux meeting her mother in the street was more than a twist of fate.
Her brother's suspicions were likely justified, she realized with a sinking heart. Their mother, who always preached about the way of the world turning on what one person could get from another, ought to know that there was no coincidence of Reynaux reappearing in her life only a few days after Hale made a stir by dancing with Raven. The whole town had been alight with the gossip after the Winstanleys’ ball, and Reynaux could not have avoided hearing of it. According to Ransom, the Frenchman had been in London for much longer than he'd told them, so there had been ample time to reunite with Lady Charlotte, if that was purely his intention. Yet she had not been of any interest until their sudden turn of fortune.
No good could possibly come of this for their mother, and Raven shuddered to think what Hale would make of them dragging a debt-ridden cheat into his small, select circle of acquaintance. He would rue the day he ever met her. But she had tried to warn him.
Perhaps it would be a good idea to take her mother off into the countryside without her French gentleman. Let him move on to another attachment while they were gone.
The prospect of Oxfords
hire and Greyledge began to look far more attractive.
Chapter Fourteen
"Raven, you know very well that women are not allowed here. And that includes you, whether you would rather be a man or not." Her brother stood from behind his desk as she was shown into his office at the club that evening. The butler who had accompanied her gave a crisp bow and left them alone.
Raven looked around the office, swinging her reticule. "Papa used to bring me here all the time when I was young. I had to sit in the corner there and read aloud or practice my letters." These were some of her favorite memories from youth— sitting in her father's office, watching him shout at people, count money, and put his booted feet up on that large desk while he whistled. Sometimes, if he was in a good mood, he taught his daughter card tricks and other useful talents, such as how to empty a man's pockets without him feeling a thing. All lessons, of course, that caused her mother to scream at him that he was unfit to be a father.
Ransom sniffed. "He only brought you here with him because you were such a terror to any unfortunate woman he hired as a nanny, and he feared one of them might be reduced to throttling you one day."
"Ha ha! But the name of the place is Deverell's, is it not? And since I am one, I should at least be familiar with how father made his fortune. He might even decide to leave all this to me one day, especially if you shoot at him again."
"You never tire of trying the boundaries, do you?"
"Certainly not." She noticed the half empty decanter of brandy on his desk— something he had supposedly given up after the tragic curricle accident that left a young woman dead and himself suspected of murder. "But at least I learn from my mistakes," she added, terse.
Ransom threw her a scowl and flopped back to his chair. "What are you doing here?"
"You said Hale sleeps and dines here most evenings, and I need to see him. Alone."
"I'm not sure I should allow it."
"Try."
He looked at her thoughtfully, the fingers of one hand tapping on his desk. "Will you accept his invitation to Greyledge, then? Does mama know you're here?"
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