"Not at all. I consider him my best friend. He is among other things, courageous, loyal and very, very intelligent. Never to be underestimated."
"And do not forget charming," spoke a deep voice near the door.
"I heard you come in," Major Rhyle said. He added with a chuckle, "And he detests to be spoken of in absentia."
Delia had started in surprise. "As do we all," she said. She offered a hesitant apology to Torgreave. He crossed to sit beside her and accepted a cup of tea.
"Where is Mrs. Lochmaddy?" the earl queried. Even as he spoke the door opened and the Scotswoman hurried in.
"I was detained, my lord, Miss. I apologize."
"Don't sit down, Morag. I think we shall leave the gentlemen." Delia seized the interruption as excuse to take her leave. She needed the sanctuary of her own chamber to ponder all that the major had revealed.
The major and the earl rose and watched her depart, trailed by Mrs. Lochmaddy. They were momentarily speechless.
Then, "What did you say to her?" Torgreave demanded.
"Answered her questions," Rhyle said laconically. "Is she your sister?"
The earl did not respond. To the major's surprise he took a cake from the plate and devoured it.
"This accounts for your interest in the late earl's affairs, of which I caught a whisper in various circles?"
"It does." Rupert straightened. "No more than a whisper?"
"You have been very discreet," Rhyle assured him. "Have you thought of querying Augustus?"
"I will as soon as may be possible, but I cannot at present locate him."
"He might be closely involved," the major suggested.
"He's an aging libertine, charming and remarkably irresponsible. I doubt he was ever in Scotland."
"He's been your mentor and model. Don't dismiss his involvement." Rhyle leaned back in his chair.
"Go to the devil," said his lordship.
* * *
"Dearest Aunt, We have enlarged our party as the Brother of the Earl has come to Town. There is a Frost Fair here upon the Thames and we have enjoyed some mild Entertainments..."
CHAPTER FOUR
They skated the next day on a square of carefully cleared and smoothed ice in the middle of the Frost Fair. With her new stockings and furs, Delia was delightfully warm despite the continuing frigid spell of weather. She donned her blades eagerly and was on the ice before Torgreave had finished fastening his buckles. Delia took a turn or two revelling in the speed and freedom. Then she spun back to Torgreave's side.
"You are expert!" he exclaimed.
Delia glowed with pride but disclaimed the accolade. "Take my hand," she instructed Rupert, as he wavered on his blades at the edge of the slick surface.
"Oh, no, not just your hand." He slid his arm about her shoulders rather than following her instructions.
"I thank goodness for this veil," she muttered with some asperity. She shoved him upright. "I should be embarrassed to have anyone know me, even were I your sister, with your lack of propriety."
"I shall fall down unless you support me," he retorted. He dropped his strong right arm from her shoulders and put it about her waist. "This was your idea."
"I don't care. Release me!" She wriggled, then glided out of his reach. She was relieved to be free of his proximity for, involuntarily, she liked it too much.
"Help!" he muttered. He balanced precariously for a moment, then slipped and crashed to the ice at her feet.
His beaver hat rolled off, and he was motionless.
She surveyed him anxiously. He made no move.
"Rupert, have you injured yourself?"
He peered up, mischief in his eyes, his dark hair in wild disarray.
"Merely winded...though my dignity and pride are wounded. But now you must help me up."
She shook her head at his rascality, but offered her gloved hands.
He gripped them and stood. He settled his blades, adjusted his coat, and tested his balance.
Releasing one of his hands, she retrieved his hat.
He covered his head thankfully against the cold. With a wicked smile, he slid his arm about her waist once more. "Shall we try again?" he invited. He managed admirably after only a little time, and crossed the square at Delia's side with ease and grace. When he struck off on his own, she stroked in the opposite direction.
It occurred to her that she was trying to skate from her own feelings. She paused and stared without seeing at the crowds passing and repassing the skating square. Her feelings caught her up. She had enjoyed the pressure of Rupert's arm about her waist. She had delighted in the strength and warmth of his hand enveloping hers. She was truly wicked, she thought, if he was indeed her brother. Anxiety lent wings to her blades and she skated away from her thoughts again.
Torgreave gained her side with difficulty. "Slow down," he called. "You skate as if all the demons in hell are in pursuit."
"Only one," she retorted, over her shoulder. Then she relented and slowed.
"We should leave," he suggested. He appeared unmoved by her comment. "It is beginning to snow. And it is close on four o'clock. Cullen will be waiting."
She agreed without argument. As eagerly as she had wished to skate, she now wished to be gone from the ice.
They removed their blades in silence after Delia refused all Torgreave's offers of help. She took his arm reluctantly, as they began their frosty walk back to London Bridge. The fair had lost its excitement for her, in the turmoil of her own feelings. She looked on the drink tents with disgust, the dirty ice with distaste, and the gaiety with dissatisfaction.
"Someone fell through the ice yesterday," Rupert said. "It's a danger to consider well. And look there, some fool is roasting a sheep. That will weaken the ice more."
"Foolish indeed," Delia responded. Whether she said of it Rupert's words or her own thoughts, was not clear even to her.
***
"Your library is remarkably to my taste," commented Delia that evening after supper. They had chosen, as they often did, to remove from the dining room to Torgreave's fine bookroom. "Homer, Lord Byron, Mr. Shelley and Mr. Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Adam Smith and David Hume."
Rupert was relieved to think that she had regained some degree of equilibrium. Something had disturbed her sorely during their skating expedition. He would have given gold to know what it was, but was not foolish enough to question her about it. He suspected it had something to do with feelings that they both experienced, holding each other's hands, supporting each other on the ice. They could neither of them speak of those feelings.
He sprawled in his chair by the fire, and watched her perambulations about the room. Idly, he thumbed over the stack of books beside him.
"Do you know, the nephew of Mr. Hume, also David, is a friend of my Aunt Barbara? He frequently attends at her drawing rooms," she said.
"Does he indeed?" That caught Rupert's interest, though it occurred to him that she was trying too hard to initiate conversation. "I should like to meet him. There is much of merit in Mr. Hume's work."
"I think so too. Walter Scott also is a friend of my aunt. We admire his work, and laugh at his desire to keep his authorship of his new novels secret."
"Novels? I have not heard of them. He should manage those well. Much of his work I cannot appreciate though his Lay of the Last Minstrel is very fine. Generally narrative poetry is not my favourite form of literature. Byron is on the shelves here because he is a friend of mine. Both authors are before you. On the top shelf." If she wished inconsequential chatter, he would oblige her.
Delia unfolded a library chair into its steps and mounted them as he watched. "I have them." She brought down Childe Harold and Marmion, and he saw her shiver.
"I thought the cold had eased this last day or two, but tonight it seems more intense," she explained.
He said nothing, preferring to appear engrossed in his reading. The shiver disturbed him; he wanted to warm her. He repressed the thought, and leaned forward to lift the poker and stir th
e fire.
She settled into the winged chair near him. "Rupert, I have a desire to be inquisitive."
He paid heed to her then, and leaned his black head back against the leather. He watched her lay her volume of Scott aside, and draw her shawl more closely about her. "I have little desire to satisfy curiosity," he stated. "Where is Mrs. Lochmaddy this evening?"
"I have sent her to spend some time with Mrs. Inniskip. They are much in sympathy, and I cannot bear Morag's always watching."
He wondered why she found her companion's scrutiny uncomfortable. What had she to hide? He had no leisure to consider the matter. She had not forgot her questions.
She was blunt. "When we were in Bond Street you met a gentleman and gold changed hands. Why?"
For a long moment, he regarded her. He ran his long fingers through his hair, as he weighed his response. Finally he was as blunt as she. "The gentleman is one of the Directors of a Foundling Hospital. He informed me the cold has brought severe hardship to children in the streets." He stopped, and looked away from her to a flickering candle flame. The firelight shimmered on his barbarically patterned banyan. He noted it absently. "I have long supported that Hospital," he cleared his throat. "I think it is not so, but I cannot rid myself of the fear that one of those wretched little children may be my son or daughter."
Delia appeared to wish she had not asked. She was scarcely able to speak but said, "I had no notion of the sort of concerns dissolute behaviour could cause. You are to be commended for your conscience."
"Am I?" he commented. His gaze revealed his bleak reflections. "Have you more questions?"
She was silent, apparently gathering her thoughts. He hoped she would ask no more. Laying his misdeeds before her was deeply painful.
There was a bustle in the passage. Mrs. Inniskip entered the library without even a knock. "My lord," her normally expressionless face was excited. "'Tis Mr. Charles come, sir." She ushered in the frost-rimed rector.
Rupert leapt to his feet and hurried to his brother's side. "Good God, Charles, you look dangerously chilled. Come to the fire."
"Would you care if I was frozen to death?" Charles snapped.
Rupert's face congealed to a deep frown.
Delia thought how alike they were in their anger. She rose deliberately and embraced Charles. "Of course he would care, Charles. How can you say so? It is good to see you. Is all well with you?"
"Miss Tyninghame." The rector returned her hug clumsily, then managed a stiff bow. "Indeed, all is not well!" He turned on his older brother. "Rupert how could you? You know I love Susannah. Would you deny me the only contact with her that I can contrive?"
Delia stared from one brother to the other, uncomprehendingly. Torgreave seemed unsurprised by the verbal attack, though he was obviously taken aback by Charles' vehemence. He had taken a wary step backward.
"I do not understand," Delia interrupted. Charles' distress and anger was palpable. His fists knotted and unknotted and his usually mild blue eyes flashed.
"I forgot earlier to tell you, Delia." Rupert's voice was cool and calm. "Mr. Dougherty came to advise me that he had executed my instructions to give Sir Thomas his notice to quit Manningford."
"Thereby destroying my future. Sir Thomas has determined to depart immediately," Charles moaned, collapsing into the chair Delia had vacated.
Rupert lifted a dark brow. "Surely this is rather melodramatic for a man of the cloth, Charles?"
His brother leapt up again. "Is it? Well, tell me why you did it. I thought we had renewed our affection, apologized, made amends. This was a stab in the back."
"There must be an explanation," Delia endeavoured to keep Charles calm. "Charles, you are allowing tattle to colour your view of your brother again. Rupert, please explain."
He appeared to resent her peremptory request, but said, "I had merely a desire to live in my home again." He made no effort to mollify his brother.
"Very nice," Charles managed a sneer. "And damn the consequences for others, as usual." He slammed a fisted hand into the opposite palm.
"No! Though by God, I am regretting the desire now." Torgreave kicked aside a footstool that impeded his progress to the far end of the chamber.
"Rupert! You cannot mean that," Delia declared to his back.
"No, I don't." He whirled and stalked back to stare at Charles. "I want my home back. But also I had a thought that if Sir Thomas could witness my reformation, and Charles could meet Miss Slimbridge in a new circumstance, there might be some prospect for his attachment."
Delia was overjoyed with the news that Rupert was to take over Manningford Tower, assume his rightful place, and his responsibilities.
But he was continuing. "I have no wish to hurt you, Charles, ever."
"Oh." Charles sagged, the anger seeping from him. "I have been quite wild since I heard of the Slimbridges' proposed withdrawal. A letter seemed an inadequate forum to discuss the matter with you." He managed a smile at Delia for the first time. "I regret you are become so entwined in our affairs."
"I cannot regret it," Delia declared and admitted to herself that she could not now imagine life without the Manningford brothers. Happiness flooded her at the thought of Rupert, reformed.
Charles seated himself again, close to the fire. Torgreave stalked to the frosted window, tension apparent in evey muscle. Delia, torn by their misery despite her happiness, stared from one to the other.
Mrs. Inniskip returned with tea. Without speaking, Delia moved to pour out for the gentlemen.
"You will sojourn here?" Rupert asked his brother. His voice was gruff, and Delia divined that he feared a rebuff.
Charles hesitated. "I did not intend to."
"Please." Torgreave was almost humble.
"Very well."
Delia expelled a breath she did not realize she had withheld. Mentally she urged Rupert to return to his brother's side. She was surprised when he did, and rested his hand on his younger brother's shoulder.
"It is very good to have you under my roof," Torgreave said.
"I did not think to be here. It was for a week too cold to travel. Then the frost alleviated and I undertook to ride."
"Ride!" Delia exclaimed, horror replacing her pleasure at their reconciliation.
"I would not wait for the stage," Charles frowned again. "It was not so very bad. Only today did it seem colder."
"Anger kept you warm." Torgreave's laughter was sardonic. "Too well I know that feeling. But you risked your life."
"Without Susannah, my life has no meaning." Charles spoke with simple sincerity.
Torgreave was silent in the face of his brother's devotion.
Delia smiled and took a sip of her tea. Then she set down her fragile cup with a sudden clatter. "I must go and see Morag, and ensure Inniskip has a chamber prepared for Charles," she exclaimed. She slipped away before Rupert could say a word to prevent her.
"How do you go on together?" queried Charles. He picked up a cake and stared at it.
Rupert was relieved to see him looking less frozen and emotional, and more normal. "Very well," he responded non-committally. He was unwilling to confide the contentment that was beginning to pervade his home, and to some extent his being.
"And have you discovered anything which will solve this mystery of your resemblance?"
"Nothing," Torgreave said. "I have spoken I think with everyone that ever knew my father. It appears from all I can discover that he was as moral as he portrayed himself. Which puts me at point non plus."
"I believe he was a moral man," said Charles. "Yet it seems to me that only with a parent in common could two people appear so similar."
"So it seems to me also," Rupert said with a bleakness he knew Charles did not comprehend.
"Have you thought of Uncle Augustus? He may know something of my father's activities," Charles ate his cake with sudden hunger and devoured two more in the aftermath of strong emotion.
"Augustus is on the continent. When I can locate him, I wi
ll indeed question him." Rupert repeated what he had told Gideon Rhyle. "He travelled as soon as the peace made it possible." He would have said more but was interrupted by Delia's return.
She had a plate full of biscuits in her hands, with which Charles rose to assist her.
"Mrs. Inniskip has a chamber all prepared," she announced, looking from one to the other anxiously to determine their mood.
"Thank you for the biscuits. I have not eaten well of late, but now find myself ravenous."
Delia allowed herself a smile. "I am glad of it."
"She makes a excellent sister," Charles approved of Delia, speaking around a mouthful.
"She does," said Rupert, studying Delia and wishing with all his heart that she might not be his sister.
She turned her back on his stare.
***
"The rector makes a welcome addition to the household," Morag Lochmaddy affirmed one morning two days after Charles' arrival. She followed her mistress down the stairs, carrying a sapphire-blue kerseymere pelisse and the fur tippet and immense muff the earl had insisted Delia purchase.
"We are certainly become a family gathering," Delia acknowledged. She could not admit to regretting lost privacy with the earl, but had to allow that Charles' presence was also a pleasure.
"You will enjoy walking out with him," Morag insisted. She did not understand her mistress's mood of late.
"I enjoy a walk out with anyone," Delia said pettishly. "I only wish it might be without this veil. I begin to feel like an odalisque!"
The earl was in the hall considering a letter he held. From his amused look as Delia descended the last flight of stairs, he had obviously heard her words.
"An odalisque is allowed, I believe, to reveal her eyes," he commented.
Morag silently laid muff and tippet on the table and assisted Delia into her pelisse.
"You would know of course," Delia retorted.
He laughed at that, dissipating her irritation.
Before she could respond, Charles clattered down the stairs.
"What is your destination?" the earl queried.
Charles shrugged into his greatcoat which was being held by Bowland. "We have none. We shall simply walk. I have not been in London for nearly four years, and would see it all again."
The Rake's Reflection Page 8
