Lord Carnall and Miss Innocent (The Friendhip Series Book 7)

by Julia Donner

  “Rave,” the countess calmly said.

  The earl stilled, while Wrexall’s face continued to darken. Carnall glanced at Bainbridge and Freddy. Neither looked ready to intervene. Their wary expressions attested to their hesitancy to approach their friend while he was irritated. There was also an element of astonishment. Ravenswold’s mild temperament was rarely provoked to action. At the moment, the earl looked twice his size and eager to do murder.

  With his nose pressed to Wrexall’s, Ravenswold said through his teeth, “Cass, this worm used unseemly language in your presence.”

  Lady Ravenswold poured steaming tea into a fragile cup. “What nonsense, Rave. I’ve lived my life in the stables. Heard and used worse. Your tea is cooling.”

  Ravenswold flung Wrexall into the wall and devolved into the quiet giant. He waved the footmen back to their positions by the door and went to the couch where his wife sat. He paused behind her. His long fingers trembled slightly when they grasped her bare shoulder, his tanned hand dark against the paleness of her skin. He was a man of the outdoors, constantly working and tramping over his lands, endlessly interested in agriculture management. Urbane on the surface, he proved that wasn’t the case underneath. His friends understood that city life did not agree with Rave, nor invasion of his house and dealing his wife an insult.

  Cassandra showed no distress, no outward concern over the incident. She reached up and briefly trailed her fingertips over the back of her husband’s hand before he returned to the seat he’d so suddenly vacated. The tense atmosphere in the room subsided to normal. The countess handed around cups, while Ravenswold placidly drank his tea as if nothing had happened, as if he had not moments before come close to strangling a man to death.

  Wrexall straightened his clothes and gathered what he could of his dignity. He lifted his chin. “We are not through here. You purposely ruined me. I know what’s been done to me. I’m not an idiot.”

  Freddy blew out a stream of smoke and said with a smirk, “I would encourage you not to give credence to that supposition with your actions.”

  His outrage back in place, Wrexall snapped, “I am not at fault here. You’ve tarnished my name. I’ve been made a laughingstock at all the clubs. I shall take all of you to court for this infamous duplicity.”

  Freddy mildly asked, “On what charge? Involvement with a man lacking all semblance of honor?”

  Wrexall paled but stood his ground when Bainbridge took a step forward. “We know your character, muckworm. You’re the sort who thinks he may take what he wants and then cast it aside.”

  The revulsion in Bainbridge’s remark caused Wrexall’s brow to momentarily furrow. He righted his expression to answer back with a sneer. “Shifting blame with an insult to my honor does not remit you of perfidious practices, and I have no idea what gibberish you’re spouting. I’ve done no disservice to any of you.”

  “Would have done, if you’d had the chance,” Freddy said, swirling the amber liquid in the glass he held and lifting it to his mouth to finish off.

  When Wrexall attempted a rejoinder, Ravenswold interrupted. “You were quick enough off the mark to make use of something I told to a friend in confidence. Now you whine because your own trick didn’t come about as you liked. We are not responsible for your stupidity and lack of fair play.”

  “Fair play!” Wrexall sputtered, flustered and visibly struggling for control of his high emotions.

  Freddy exhaled a sigh of boredom. “You wrote down the bets, Wrexall, in every betting book you could lay hands on. You believed that you had a sure thing and expected a windfall. You acted on a comment made in confidence to someone else. No one in this room put a pistol to your head to make those wagers. Greed, hubris and living on expectation sent you to your ruin.”

  Wrexall wrestled with those truths for a moment then directed his fury at Carnall, who recalling how his friends had insisted he not be a part of the plot, had forced himself to remain silent. Since Wrexall had received no satisfaction from the others, he shifted his ire on another target.

  “And you, Carnall, I’m not surprised that you’re a part of this. You’re dunning poor Sir Jasper to the poorhouse door over a racing bet. Did you and your friends play the same ruse on him? Nothing to say, Carnall? Then I suppose I must content myself with the comparison that Sir Jasper is only looking at a few thousand. My losses will take up everything I own and more.”

  Ravenswold calmly said, “Again, you made the wagers. You were not coerced.”

  “You duped me into believing your wife’s horse was unfit for racing. I demand satisfaction, sirs.”

  Freddy laughed, an ugly rendition of mirth. He set down his empty glass and turned to Wrexall, now looking every inch of his title, Viscount Grieves. “Expect nothing from us. We only accept challenges from gentlemen of honor, and certainly not rot issued from the mouth of a rapist.”

  Tension silenced the room and its occupants. Wrexall demanded in a tight voice, “What are you suggesting?”

  Lady Ravenswold, who had remained quietly uninvolved, finally responded. She rose to her elegant height and confronted Wrexall. “We suggest nothing. You have laid violent hands on a helpless girl. I doubt that she is the only unfortunate in your sordid history, but she found the courage to speak of it to another and name you specifically. If my friends and husband will not give you satisfaction, I will.”

  While Wrexall gaped, she said to Freddy, “Lord Grieves, I apologize for the use of a superior weapon for so foul a task, but I believe that I must use your most excellent wedding gift to shoot this cur to the ground.”

  Freddy bowed. “And I shall load it for you, my lady.”

  Astounded, Wrexall said, “Servant girls beg for the attention of their betters. They have no reason to think themselves fit for our condescension.”

  When Lady Ravenswold narrowed her gaze and whispered, her husband stood. “Condescension? You associate rape with condescension?”

  Wrexall shouted, “What does it matter! She was a servant. You’re mad, all of you! Why all this fuss over a common slattern?”

  Carnall had held himself in check by the thinnest thread of restraint. When he heard his sister called a slattern, he lunged. Ravenswold’s strong arms clasped him, pulling him back.

  Bainbridge did what the horrified footmen standing by the door could not. He grabbed Wrexall by the back of his coat collar and yanked him off his feet.

  Lady Ravenswold called as Bainbridge hauled Wrexall from the room, “The mews, Geoffrey. Take the lout to the mews! And don’t kill him.”

  Carnall shivered from unspent rage in the aftermath. Ravenswold slowly released his hold. Pinching pressure on his shoulder held him in place. The steadying grip helped to calm the fury.

  When he’d gained control of his temper, he asked, “Why did you let him live, Cass?”

  Lady Ravenswold resumed her place on the couch, adjusted the skirts of her gown out of the way of the refreshment tray, and picked up her cup. “Bainbridge and I have been friends since childhood. I shouldn’t like to think of what his wife would say if I encouraged Geoff to perform an act that would send him away from her. They are quite inseparable. And that swine Wrexall is not worth another moment of our time. That being said, I will conclude that one should punish a villain, not kill it. Let it live in misery. We must content ourselves with the fact that Wrexall is utterly ruined, socially and financially. He will never recover because we will not allow it. That is an end to it. Rave, go see that Geoffrey hasn’t dismembered the lout. Carnall, come sit by me. Freddy, get him a glass of brandy. A full glass. Carnall, do as I say and sit with me.”

  He sat and did his best to calm the beast rampaging inside. He took a moment to admire how unaffected his hostess was of all that recently transpired in her drawing room and remembered his manners.

  “Lady Ravenswold, I must apologize for being the cause of this unpleasant interlude.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You are not responsible for Wrexall’s lack of ton an
d failing as a gentleman. No matter how sordid the visit, I am quite pleased that we have brought that ghastly man to justice. I know that you didn’t want the Asterlys involved, but I had Elizabeth see to the release of the two lads who assisted your sister. Since they’re in Ireland, she will handle it with discretion. No one will ever know and the lads will find themselves with funds and new positions. She does so admire the heroic types. Freddy, I believe I should like to try one of your cigarillos.”

  Freddy approached the couch with a lit straw, while withdrawing a hammered-silver case from his pocket. One-handed, he flipped open the case to offer Lady Ravenswold her choice. After lighting the cigarillo, he shook out the straw and returned to the fireplace to drop it on the flames. After doing so, he turned to thoughtfully murmur, “Carnall, I’m curious. What was Wrexall bleating about, something regarding a racing debt?”

  “I’d forgotten about it, actually. Turned the issue over to my agents to handle months ago. Apparently they got more aggressive for some reason with Moorpath.”

  Bainbridge came through. He flicked Lady Ravenswold’s ear as he went by her to the liquor tray. “All tidied up, Cass. The manure cart hadn’t been taken away yet, so I threw him on top of a fresh pile of droppings.”

  She clucked and scowled. “Geoff, you know I hate it when you do that.”

  Bainbridge waggled his auburn eyebrows, “What? Flick your ear?”

  “That, too, but I’m sure your bit of fun made more of a mess for the stable lads to sweep up. Why do you grin at me like a stupid bear?”

  He lifted his glass to her before giving an answer. “You’re wrong. They laughed and caught the coins I tossed to them. What were you talking about as I came in? I thought I heard Moorpath’s name.”

  Freddy had been making his way around the room to offer the contents of his silver case. “After all the effort we expended to keep Carnall’s name unassociated with our scheme, Wrexall made a connection. He and Sir Jasper must have been commiserating over their gambling debts.”

  A frown creased Bainbridge’s brow as he picked up and swirled the unfinished whisky in his glass. “Are we speaking of Sir Jasper Moorpath, Ana Worth’s brother?”

  A fist reached into Carnall’s chest and clenched his heart. He marveled that his voice sounded normal when he asked, “You mean the headmistress of Worth Academy? Sir Jasper is her brother?”

  Bainbridge took a swig of whisky, smiled, and looked up from his glass. “Half brother. Lady Moorpath remarried before Ana was out of leading strings. For some reason, there is an estrangement between mother and daughter, but Sir Jasper has kept the connection.”

  “What happened to her father?”

  “Long dead. Ran off with a mistress to make his fortune in India and drowned at sea. Mrs. Worth remarried well, an old suitor. Ana didn’t much care for him but doted on baby Jasper. Letty gave up trying to talk Ana into having nothing to do with her greedy brother. Fortunately, the mother lives in Wales and never leaves her late husband’s house. I probably shouldn’t say this—”

  “Then don’t,” Lady Ravenswold inserted and dropped her barely smoked cigarillo in an unfinished cup of tea. “Conversations that begin with that disclaimer are better left unsaid.”

  Carnall spoke up. “Sorry, but I must ask that you go on with what you were about to say.”

  Bainbridge sent Lady Ravenswold a crooked smile and reached out to flick her ear again, avoiding the angry swipe of her hand. “Wrexall and Sir Jasper are both rolled up. Ana hasn’t been explicit in her letters, but Letty has said that Worth House was mortgaged to cover Sir Jasper’s debts and the fellow continues to badger Ana for money. She’s beggared herself for the ungrateful swine.”

  Carnall drank coffee, unable to pay attention when the conversation changed to politics. He couldn’t set aside the memory of Ravenswold’s possessive caress of his wife’s pearly skin, the tenderness and subtle veneration.

  A bittersweet yearning swelled just under his heart. He craved that quiet, unbreakable bond with Ana, the steadiness of her character, the comfort of knowing her body and mind. He already knew her soul. Now all that was left to do was to claim her, wed her, and relieve her of the misery of the life she’d made for herself out of obligation. He would make her problems his concern and not hers. Convincing her of that might not be as easy a thing to accomplish as his want to do it for her.

  Visions bloomed inside his head—of what Ana would say and do if she discovered that he was one of her brother’s debt-holders. Honoria Throckmorton had been a deep well of information and had been in no way hesitant to pour out every resentment she harbored directly down on his head. Her motives didn’t worry him. Mistress Throckmorton was a bit of a tyrant but fiercely loyal to her niece. She had unintentionally provided him with information he needed for her own reasons, and he’d happily taken whatever she deigned to supply.

  From all that the aunt divulged, he’d been able to construct a clearer picture of conditions at the academy. They’d been living on air and patched up financial devices brought on by Ana’s insistence on helping her profligate brother.

  Whether or not the man was unfeeling, unsavory or grossly selfish, Sir Jasper was one of Ana’s direst difficulties and must be dealt with quickly. The tactic of forgiving the vowels owed and paying off whatever debt remained might soften her strong streak of protectiveness. Having been witness to Ana’s devotion to her family, he had no doubt that her brother—an individual willing to devastate his sister financially to achieve his own comforts—would see her marriage to a rich man as a route to good fortune. Carnall would disabuse him of that dream later. First, there was a betrothal to salvage.

  Chapter 14

  Torquil used his nose to nudge Ana’s knee. She’d been staring at a blank sheet of paper and lost track of what she wanted to write. Her original idea had been a brief message to Carnal listing why they shouldn’t marry. There weren’t any, other than her own bourn of her insecurity. She was the daughter of a gentleman and connected to distinguished families, although none as elevated as a marquis. She had been employed as a headmistress, but that was not the trade, and Carnall had been a secretary before assuming his title. She had no money, but he didn’t care, having plenty of his own. She came with family dependants, but many other marriages came with the same. Therefore, what was the root of her resistance to a solution that was the answer to her nightly prayers?

  Torquil prodded her knee again. She cupped his chin and gave it a playful wag. “Very well, outside you go.”

  He answered with a happy yip as she got up from the secretariat and went to the door. Leaves crackled underfoot as they crossed the garden to the sheep field beyond. Torquil looked for wooly-white bodies to herd. Finding none, he did what was needed and trotted back to her, dancing around her skirt hem as they walked back to the academy. They’d left by way of the kitchen. Anna had it in mind to check the flower borders on the terrace walk. If she had time, she would uproot the withered annual plants. Torquil was in dog heaven chasing windblown leaves and sniffing along the ground for interesting smells. She inhaled a lungful of crisp air and the faint scent of decaying foliage as she strode along the paved pathway.

  After a quick assessment of the flowerbed, she realized the amount of time needed to neaten it was more than she had for today. Clouds gathered overhead. A cold, if not freezing, rain would soon fall. A chill breeze penetrated her cloak and riffled through her hair. She hurried up the terrace steps to the glass-paned door.

  Torquil dashed inside ahead of her, then halted after crossing the threshold. He sank down on to his belly with a soft whine. He stared at the girl hunched over in a wing chair, hands covering her face to muffle sobs. When Ana carefully approached, the girl lifted her head with a gasp. Mary Kathleen used the handkerchief on her lap to hastily wipe her face. She stood, curtsied and kept her head bowed.

  Whenever Ana was in the company of the St. Claire sisters, she never failed to appreciate the wholesome sweetness of their beauty. Distress o
r sadness on faces like theirs, so glowing with kindness and health, looked sacrilegious.

  Holding her concern at bay, Ana modulated her voice to ensure calm. “Mary Kathleen, I hope that you shall allow me to be of service.”

  She nodded, while exhibiting a visible struggle to settle her nerves. Ana gently added, “Please, do take all the time you need. Perhaps we should be seated while you compose the violence of your sentiment.”

  Mary Kathleen lifted a staying hand. “No, ma’am, please. There’s no time. I am exceedingly grateful that you’ve come. An answer to prayer, you are.”

  “How may I be of service?” When Mary Kathleen stared in silent panic, Ana used a firmer tone. “You must tell me why you are distressed.”

  “Wrexall, he came to see his sister. He’s gone looking for Charlotte.”

  “The man who attacked her when you lived in Ireland?”

  She jerkily nodded. “When he found me, he said one sister is as good as another, but I struck him with that statuette, the one fallen beside the sofa. That made him back away and say he’d find the more compliant sister. Madam, he means to hurt Charlotte again!”

  Ana wished she knew curse words in a foreign language. It was at times like this that a truly foul word relieved the stress of the moment. Epithets in English would not do with an innocent girl gazing up, her eyes imploring, begging for a savior.

  “Torquil.” Her dog immediately stood. “Take care of her.” When her dog trotted across the carpet and stood by Mary Kathleen’s side, Ana took a firm grip on Mary Kathleen’s arms and looked into the girl’s pleading gaze. “Where is your sister now?”

  “If she sees him coming and can keep her wits about her, she’d find a place to hide.”

  “Do you know where that would be?”

  New tears filled Mary Kathleen’s eyes. “At home, yes, but not here.”

  Ana swiftly left the room and went up stairs. Ten bedrooms, endless closets, an attic, three receiving rooms turned into classrooms. That is where she should go, into the company of others, and where to start the search—if Wrexall hadn’t already found her. If he had her cornered somewhere, her task would have been made easier. Pulling him off the child would be her pleasure, and dealing him a hurt he wouldn’t soon forget.