The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance)

by Jenn LeBlanc

  Perry looked up at him in confusion.

  “Hepplewort,” Gideon ground out.

  “Ah, yes. That.” He sighed heavily. “That bit of ugliness can stay put off forever, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Gideon lifted a brow. “I see. So you want me to post the banns and have Hepplewort learn of it from a Society rag and bring a public claim?”

  Perry grunted. “We haven’t yet discussed it and no, I don’t suppose I do. I imagine we should leave before the week is out. But I need some time in London first. We should at least get our bearings before wandering off again.”

  “Bearings.” Gideon chuckled. “Agreed. But not too long.”

  Francine rose early, hoping for a chance to wander London playing tourist. She had breakfast on the rear terrace over the gardens, wishing someone would join her, but nobody came. She walked back to her room after breakfast to retrieve a book, thinking she would take it outside. The town house was different from Eildon; it was lonely. Trumbull, of course, was at his own town house across the square, and Shaw was on the other end of London, working. She was alone save the servants, who were ghosts, and Gideon, who was nowhere to be seen. The servants were detached, more professional. They only seemed to be there when she needed them, and they weren’t the least bit comforting.

  She grabbed Dante’s Inferno, thinking it was a good day to peruse the multiple circles of Hell, and she walked out across the large terrace and descended the wide steps to the garden bench on the lawn below.

  “Where have you been all morning?” came the familiar baritone just as she’d given up hope. Carole strolled behind Gideon, then stopped to stand close to the French doors.

  Me? she signed.

  He nodded, pointing at her.

  She smiled—she couldn’t help it, but she did her best to twist it into a stern glare. I have been here. Where have you been?

  He smiled in return, descending the steps. I’m sorry, I had some documents. But now I am all yours. What would you like to do?

  She beamed. Will you show me London? I’ve never been.

  Carole shifted from one foot to the other, looking around uncomfortably.

  I would love to show you London, he replied, then held his hand out to her.

  She took it, rising from the garden bench.

  He turned. “Carole, will you prepare a luncheon basket? Perhaps we can picnic in Hyde Park.”

  Carole nodded and skittered through the doors, happily released from her discomfort.

  Francine laughed. They hadn’t behaved in an indecent manner, but Carole always seemed so nervous.

  They took the town carriage to Marylebone, across the Thames to Westminster Abbey, then to Charing Cross near Whitechapel.

  “Whitechapel.” Her eyes grew wide as they passed through the bustling inner city sprawl. “Jack the Ripper.” Glad I didn’t wake up as a prostitute.

  “What did you say?” Gideon questioned as he watched her.

  “Nothing,” she whispered. Do you know 221b Baker Street? she signed, looking at him hopefully.

  Gideon shook his head and knocked on the roof, bringing the carriage to a halt. “Grover, are you familiar with 221b Baker?” he called out the window when Grover leaned down.

  “Pardon, Your Grace, I believe Baker Street numbers don’t pass the first ‘undred, but we can drive it on the return to Roxleigh House.”

  Gideon turned back to her and she smiled as she shifted her gaze to look out the window.

  He waved the carriage on, wanting to know everything she was thinking, but loving the mystery of her expressions.

  Carole shrank into the opposite corner of the carriage, determinedly watching out the windows. She wished she were at Eildon, at the town house…anywhere but here. The duke and Lady Francine were so powerfully connected, she could feel them communicating without raising a hand, or parting their lips. It seemed very untoward and she understood, explicitly, the duke’s need for a chaperone. She could only hope they would marry soon, and leave her be.

  With the Duke of Roxleigh in residence the ton came in droves to visit. Gideon stayed true to his reputation and did not respond to the callers. The rumor mill buzzed, since this was already the most anticipated London Season in years. Gideon’s interest in finding a bride had generated most of the gossip, but the fact that he had yet to attend a second Society function and appeared to be off the market had the ton in a right frenzy.

  After the Greensborough ball, the rumors were thick with presumptions about Lady Alice Gracin, who had been occupied throughout the night of her coming out with the Duke of Roxleigh and Viscount Roxleigh. That they both disappeared shortly thereafter, without a word, staunched the stories and stumped the gossips. Even Perry’s rakish cohorts had no idea where he’d gone off to, or why. Nobody knew what to think and everyone was rife with anticipation for their return.

  Gideon and Francine spent the mornings and evenings together—dining, reading, and riding. He didn’t linger over her wrist, and she didn’t gather herself close to whisper, both behaving as perfect models of propriety around the servants, much to Perry’s approval.

  Francine was disheartened by the recovery of her voice, since she was now able to speak at a more easily heard level and the intimacy gained from whispering was becoming lost to her. She often reverted to sign language to recapture the closeness she missed with the duke, but even that private conversation, within the boundaries of a public setting, was still frowned upon by many.

  “It is time we made our way to Hepplewort’s estate,” Gideon ground out from behind his desk.

  “Indeed,” Perry answered.

  Francine knocked at the door of the study. Gideon and Perry had been holed up in there all morning, and she was bored. The brothers rose as she entered.

  “Lady Francine, what can we do for you today?” Perry gave her a smile and a quick bow.

  She shook her head. “I just came to say hello.” she said quietly.

  “Your voice is getting stronger,” Perry said, and she smiled and nodded.

  She walked over to the desk and settled in the chair next to Perry as Gideon sat back in his large desk chair, watching.

  “We were just discussing some business that we must attend to,” he said.

  “Business?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “Yes, we’ll be leaving late tonight,” Gideon said, noting how her expression fell. “But we’ll return before your sisters arrive,” he added quickly.

  “Then we can move to Westcreek Park, where you’ll no doubt be more comfortable,” Perry said, expecting her to be excited.

  “Of course, once you move out there you’ll have to redecorate,” Gideon said. “The guest suites haven’t been used for some time.”

  They’ve been used, Perry thought. But not for guests. “Indeed, it will give them something to do.”

  Francine watched as they conversed like she wasn’t even there. She frowned.

  “Perhaps you could have them plan a dinner or small gathering,” Gideon said.

  She was growing more and more frustrated. She’d been rather self-sufficient until she wound up here, and she hadn’t minded the care everyone had taken with her, but it was starting to get on her nerves that nobody seemed to consider that she might have an opinion. Her face drew taut, her mouth pursed, and her fists clenched.

  “Do not manage me further, gentlemen, I’m sick of it. What I would appreciate is a full explanation of all these plans you’ve made without asking me.” Her voice was clear as a bell, and her speech carried a gently lilting accent she didn’t remember acquiring. She cleared her throat, smiling at the lack of pain. Her muscles didn’t react by tightening. She felt her neck, but there was no swelling.

  Gideon smiled. She even sounds beautiful. Her voice was rich and full, not meager and squeaky, no longer fouled by the tension and swelling that had distorted it. “Of course, Lady Francine, I beg your pardon. Everything’s happened so quickly since your family arrived at Eildon, I’m not sure of
what we’ve managed to tell you and what we haven’t.”

  “Well, then,” she said. “Start at the beginning.”

  Gideon nodded and exchanged a wary glance with Perry. They discussed the events of the Larrabees’ visit and the arrangements they’d made, most of which she already knew. It was the unpleasant details that she didn’t. When they finished, Francine sat with her hands folded in her lap, concentrating rather resolutely on something.

  The men waited patiently.

  With a confused look, she said, “So this Lord Heppewhatsit—”

  “Hepplewort,” Gideon corrected.

  “Yes. He…purchased me?” Her eyebrows knitted together.

  They both nodded.

  “And the two girls, they were also bartered away?”

  Again they nodded.

  “That’s horrific. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

  Gideon looked at her with grave concern. “You still don’t remember anything about Lord Hepplewort, or your family, or any of this?”

  “No,” she replied swiftly. “It’s as though you are telling me of someone else’s life. I feel no connection to any of the people you are talking about, other than a desire to help the girls.” She looked at Perry. “Which you’ve already done, so thank you.” She thought about it a bit longer. “When will they arrive? It’s been a couple of weeks since they left for France, yes?”

  “Almost a fortnight, yes. They should be arriving here in London within the week, which is why it’s so important that we go to Hepplewort now.”

  “Oh.” She glanced at Gideon. “And how long will the trip be?”

  “Only two days, maybe three. I should hope. We believe he’s in residence in Shropshire, which is most of a day’s drive, but we’ve two other stops on the return.”

  Two days, she thought. I can wait two days.

  “I will endeavor to make it two,” Gideon said with a warm smile.

  Perry glared at him over the rim of his snifter.

  Francine saw the glance and cleared her throat. “And, when you return, I’ll be living with Lord Trumbull?”

  “No,” Gideon cut in, before his brother could answer. Gideon grimaced apologetically. “I mean... You shall be living in his home, as he is your guardian, but you will not be living together.”

  “Of course.” She nodded with a smile. “Lord Trumbull, we are moving to Westcreek?”

  Perry exchanged another glance with Gideon before answering. “Until the sisters arrive, we will stay in London. Then we should go to Westcreek Park, which is not far outside London. That’s where you and your sisters will live until each of you is old enough to enter Society and find a suitable husband.”

  Francine darted her eyes to Gideon. He grinned.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve several suitors who are waiting to call on you,” Perry said smartly, then sighed. “But I’ve already given His Grace permission to court you,” he added, as if it was an afterthought.

  She blushed and turned her face away. It all seemed a bit outlandish, but in the end she was dating her duke. She would be close to him and she would not be forced to leave.

  This is exactly what I want, isn’t it? Nobody bothered to ask me, but that doesn’t change the answer, does it? She sighed heavily, suddenly more resigned than overjoyed.

  Perry turned to Gideon. “Have you decided on the parties Francine will attend?” She looked up once again, curious, as they seemed to be starting another conversation around her.

  “No. I thought I would leave that to your inimitable knowledge and discretion. However, Francine’s first ball should be her coming out, which I will host here at Roxleigh House.” He inclined his head toward Francine. “If that suits you?”

  Her tension melted and she smiled. “Yes, I think so. What exactly do you do at a coming out?”

  “It is your formal introduction to Society,” Gideon said. “Before the ball, you aren’t allowed to be in proper Society. But it is mostly an event for socializing among the ton. The events tend to be a spectacle. There will be dancing, possibly a dinner, and many young girls attempting to capture the eye of an eligible peer.”

  “Like you?” she asked.

  “Not like me,” he said with a smile. “As you’ve already caught my eye, and my—”

  Perry cleared his throat in warning.

  She blushed. “Dancing?”

  Gideon nodded. “Oh yes, there will be much dancing. Waltzes mostly,” he replied, and she smiled, trying to hide her panic. “Francine?”

  “Yes?” she said cautiously.

  “Is there something else?” he asked, a hint of suspicion coloring his tone.

  She shook her head as she blushed again. “No. No, it’s nothing. I, uh, I should find Carole,” she said quickly as she stood, drawing the brothers from their chairs, then turned and left.

  “What is it?” Perry asked after the door closed.

  “I’m not sure, but I intend to find out. In the meantime, let’s get this nasty bit of business done with, shall we?”

  “This is bound to be the ugliest business I’ve ever had need to attend to,” Gideon said as he stood looking out the window across the gardens of Hepplewort’s estate. Perry walked around the room, inspecting the decorations. The appointments were appalling, entirely over-styled and serving only one purpose: to demonstrate Hepplewort’s wealth. Every piece of exposed wood was gilded, and every hem and edge was trimmed with fringe or tassels.

  “Well, we are certainly in the proper room for a bit of ugliness.” Perry frowned as he flicked a tassel that dangled off the satin-upholstered divan. “And what exactly is this thing? It cannot be comfortable to sit upon without a backrest,” he said with a sneer.

  Gideon turned. “Oh, come now, Perry, I’m sure you could find something to use it for.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

  Perry grinned. “Indeed. Then perhaps it should be in a bedchamber. However, the fabric looks a bit slippery for that.”

  The door opened, and the brothers stood shoulder to shoulder across from the entry to greet the earl. Gideon straightened his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall. Perry followed suit and they watched intently as Lord Hepplewort entered the room. He wore an old, thick, brown brocade jacket, the sleeves torn from duress, and his trousers and shirt looked as though they had been slept in.

  Hepplewort instantly realized who they were. “Gentlemen, where is my bride?” he asked without preamble. He plopped himself down on an olive-green, satin wing-back chair dripping with gold tassels, then motioned to the chairs across from him.

  Gideon sat, allowing Perry to take the lead.

  Perry chose to stand, directly in front of Hepplewort. “My lord. I am Lord Peregrine Trumbull, Viscount Roxleigh and this is His Gra—”

  Hepplewort cut him off with a dismissive wave. “I am aware of who you both are. What I am interested in is your business here, as you don’t appear to have returned my betrothed,” he snapped.

  Gideon raised a brow, looking up to his brother as he waited for his retort.

  “My lord. We have a business matter to discuss concerning Miss Francine Larrabee,” Perry said resolutely.

  Hepplewort frowned. “Who is Francine Larrabee?”

  “I beg pardon, Madeleine Larrabee,” Perry said quickly.

  Hepplewort stood. “Yes, Madeleine. What have you done with my fiancée?” The color in his cheeks rose from his collar like a steam pot. His nose barely reached the top button of Perry’s waistcoat at full height. “Out with it, then.”

  Gideon stood and moved next to his brother. “Lord Hepplewort, if you let my brother finish, that’s precisely what we are here to discuss.”

  The sight of the two large, foreboding men seemed to sober Hepplewort, and he backed up a pace.

  Gideon thrust a bundle of papers at Hepplewort as Perry spoke. “You will find in these documents that M. and Mme. Larrabee have entrusted me as guardian for their three youngest daughters, Miss Madeleine
Larrabee included. All previous agreements are hereby dissolved. I have brought reparations. What you already paid for Madeleine, plus five percent.”

  Hepplewort began to shake, his jowls vibrating. “What interest have you in my— Why would you? What is the meaning of this?” he spat.

  “This is a simple guardianship. Her father agreed to allow me to act as guardian in his stead, to finish their education in a proper manner, and to provide them a dowry for a suitable match.”

  “But— Why?”

  Gideon started to answer, but Perry stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Because it is the right thing to do,” he said simply.

  Hepplewort launched himself at Perry but Gideon moved in front of him, taking Hepplewort up by the collar. The squat, corpulent man sank into his clothes, his flesh gathering at his chins as Gideon lifted him.

  “You will compose yourself,” Gideon said, furious. “This matter isn’t the only one with which we have issue. I recommend you control your mouth or I will send for the constable and see to it that you are taken to the Dana,” he threatened, his gaze narrowed on the man.

  Hepplewort stared at him from overwrought, bloodshot eyes, trying to quickly determine the duke’s true intent.

  “This is your copy of the agreement,” Perry said, stuffing it in Hepplewort’s jacket pocket. “You may have your solicitor look it over, though he will undoubtedly find it infallible.”

  Gideon lessened his grip on Hepplewort, slowly lowering him to his feet. “You have no more business with Larrabee. Any and all contact should be directed specifically to Lord Trumbull—or better, to his solicitor.”

  Hepplewort jerked loose and backed away, straightening his jacket and shirt and smoothing his unruly tufts of hair. Looking from Perry to Gideon, he scowled. “This matter is not finished,” he spat, causing Gideon to flinch as if his very saliva was toxic. “She is mine. You cannot keep her from me.”

  Perry advanced on him, forcing him backward until he fell into his chair. “This matter is finished, and she will be kept from you. You will not, under any circumstance, endeavor to interact with any of my wards, at any time, for any reason. Have I made myself perfectly clear?” he asked as he leaned over the plop of a man.