The Midnight Rake

by Anabelle Bryant

  “She has arrived with houseguests, my lord. And…” Jenkins swallowed with palpable hesitation.

  “Out with it.” Phin’s patience evaporated along with his envisioned tranquility. He wanted nothing more than the solitude of his bedchamber, and now the option had been taken from him. He’d be forced to show for dinner with his mother in house. She would desire a full accounting of his trip to Brighton. He could only conclude her sudden decision to journey into London had been prompted by her need for company while Julia remained on holiday.

  But wait, didn’t Jenkins mention she’d arrived with companions? Phin released a disappointed groan. The only thing making a long dinner worse was forcing a mood of congeniality when all he desired was a good night’s rest.

  A high pitched squawk from above stairs interrupted his dismal conclusions.

  “No.” Phineas’ eyes flared with the realization. “Jenkins?”

  “Yes, my lord,” The butler shook his head in forbiddance, confirming his master’s assumption. “Her Grace brought the parrot.”

  Phin didn’t trust a reply. His mother’s pet parrot was a veritable nuisance. Not only did the bird’s incessant screeching guarantee all household decorum would be lost, but the pest had taken an unnatural dislike to him. The feelings were mutual. One look at the red macaw guaranteed the onset of a severe megrim.

  He placed a hand on the butler’s shoulder in reassurance, unable to suppress the slight smile curling the edge of his mouth at the gravity in which Jenkins relayed the news. “It won’t be so terrible, I promise you.” He spoke the placating words in hope of setting the man at ease then paused as two maids rushed past, piles of freshly folded linen in their arms. His eyes followed them as they hurried up the far staircase. “Our home will not be turned topsy-turvy so easily.”

  When the older servant made no reply, Phin repeated his vow. “You will see. I will not allow it.”

  Determined to discover what his mother was about, he set a brisk pace across the hall, his eyes noting every detail of his home remained in order. Velvet curtains were drawn allowing daylight in, the tiles gleamed with fresh polish, and not a speck of dust could be found on the disciplined carvings of the satinwood furnishings. He rounded the corner of the corridor nearest the drawing room, only to pull up abruptly, unable to stop as he collided with a stranger who exited the same room. Their bodies bumped together with enough force to momentarily stun him. As he retreated, his chin brushed the hair swept across the lady’s forehead, his entire body confused by the unexpected collision and the instantaneous reaction of each of his senses.

  She smelled like vanilla, sweet and tempting, and his stomach may have growled at the observation. One thing remained certain, the accidental caress against her person more than convinced him this stranger in his house felt warm and wonderfully soft in all the right places. He recovered manners with a shake of his head, and moved aside with reluctance.

  Sunlight streamed through the drawing room windows and washed over the lady motionless in the doorway. By damn, her eyes were unusual, flecks of gold dancing in startling green. With effort he forced out a coherent string of words.

  “Pardon me.” His gaze followed hers as it dipped to the floor where a pair of ivory gloves lay on the cerulean carpet. “If I may?”

  His voice held a note of confusion he could not explain. Bending at the waist, part purposeful bow, he lifted the gloves with care. The silk appeared worn, and he noted the top glove was missing two of its four pearl buttons.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Her small hand snatched the gloves from his grasp before he could consider them further, her fingertips sweeping against his palm in a smooth, silky caress, so delicate he wondered if he’d imagined it. But no, the sudden shot of awareness that jarred his heartbeat proved it occurred.

  “I am Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst. This is my home. And you are…?”

  A flash of surprise flickered in her deep green eyes and a smile made a fleeting appearance before the lady caught her bottom lip in indecision. Again, a peculiar feeling rushed through him. Perhaps the long carriage ride and the heat of the day had affected his stomach after all.

  “My name is Penelope Rosebery. I’m a guest of the Countess.”

  Her voice, melodic and calming, banished all thoughts of the intrusive parrot, inviting him to consider her fine features. Her bonnet fell backwards, the yellow ribbon circling her neck as if she’d just made entrance to the house. The delicate hat lay underneath a single long braid, the color of fresh baked scones. Her eyes, a mossy shade he’d never seen previously, sparkled, crystalline and intriguing; and her nose, pert and quick turned, was spattered with a handful of freckles likely gained by not wearing the bonnet. Were her cheeks flushed from their near collision or the circumstances of the situation? He could not know. All in all she presented a fetching picture; an utterly refreshing surprise during an inordinately difficult day.

  Despite his curious silence, Miss Rosebery flashed a brilliant smile and Phin returned it in kind, a warm feeling replacing all others, more akin to the streaming light reflected through the windows.

  “Please forgive my confusion. It would appear I’m the last one to be made aware of your visit; but then I’ve been out of house on a fishing trip,” he muttered, his mind busy contemplating how her name certainly fit, loveliness and sweetness combined.

  “Of course.”

  Her gaze fell on him as she replied and an unexpected flicker of emotion inspired his chest. He disliked the disturbance and dismissed it with a deep exhale. They might have remained stalled were they not interrupted by his mother, her enthusiastic exclamation as startling as the parrot’s incessant squawking earlier.

  “Phineas! Très bien. At last, you’re home. Your father extended his travels to include Egypt. I daresay I’ve no idea when he’ll return and I’ve been so lonely. I want to hear every detail of your trip to Brighton. Has your sister’s countenance improved? Her heartache keeps me awake at night.”

  Phineas grimaced as his mother embraced him; her histrionic outpouring as exaggerated as her tight hold.

  “I’m happy to see you as well, Maman. I hope you’re not as terribly desolate as you wish me to believe.” He knew well her tendency to lean on the melodramatic.

  With the same vigor the Countess affected in every area of her life, she inclined her head toward Penelope, an affectionate smile sliding into place.

  “Have you met our guest? Miss Rosebery will be staying with us here in London.”

  Before he could respond, his mother turned to the young lady and continued as if he took no part in the conversation.

  “Your sister is settled upstairs. Aubry seemed so tired from the carriage ride, I advised her to take a nap. I’m sure she’ll feel refreshed once she rests a spell. In the meantime I’ve instructed Cook to prepare a picnic. After traveling for hours confined to the stuffy coach I’d like nothing more than a light repast in the garden. Will you join me?”

  “Excuse me, Maman.” Phineas steeled his patience and interrupted his mother’s rapid planning. If he did not exert some control over the situation, he’d find his afternoon and evening arranged without a say as was his mother’s tendency.

  “Mais oui. Of course you will join us. It would be impolite for you not to welcome our new houseguests. Besides, you must be hungry from your travels. How delightful we all arrived at the same time. We’ll picnic in one hour.”

  Her forthright directive brought him up quicker than a wasp sting. It would do little to object as propriety dictated he be present no matter he desired a quiet meal and a night’s rest. At least the outing would present an opportunity to uncover the reason for Miss Rosebery’s visit and her sudden relationship with Maman. He had no desire for complicated company, most especially female guests, yet despite his misgivings, serving as reluctant escort was the gentlemanly thing to do.

  He excused himself and retreated down the hall to his chambers. As he climbed the stairs, his finger
s worked the knot of his cravat. Perhaps he could get a bit of peace before joining the ladies in the garden. Removing the linen from around his neck, he pushed it into his trouser pocket, his fingers brushing against the coin there. Lucky penny indeed.

  Chapter Two

  Penelope drew the brush to the ends of her hair and satisfied with her effort, replaced it beside the comb on the vanity. She’d released the maid who had shown at the door, deeming it unnecessary to have someone arrange her hair when she’d become adept at the task. Considering the turns her life experienced of late, she marveled at her good fortune. Lady Fenhurst’s actions spoke of an innate kindness and Penelope knew she would never be able to repay her debt of gratitude.

  She rose from the vanity and walked to the lace-draped window gracing the lush guestroom where her meager belongings appeared out of place. A vibrant flower garden sprawled below, extending to a white gazebo in the farthest corner of the property. For a city-placed townhouse, this presented a grand lifestyle. How very different than the indigent rented cottage she and her sister had called home since their father’s death left them heartbroken and penniless. Without a doubt, Penelope shouldered blame for every problem chasing at their heels since she had brought about the ruin of her family. What a mess their lives had become, all because she’d foolishly believed herself in love.

  A light knock on the door adjoining her bedchamber with her sister’s roused Penelope from her melancholic thoughts. At the sound of Aubry’s call, she gladly bade her to enter.

  Aubry, younger by five years, looked almost her twin. Slight feminine women by design, they’d lost weight since falling into their penurious situation. Laying their father to rest and relinquishing their childhood home to bankers, diminished Penelope’s usual enthusiastic approach to eating. It had yet to return. Instead, regret and guilt gnawed at her conscience. Penelope gave her head a purposeful shake.

  “Are you rested? Lady Fenhurst said you were taking a nap. If you’d slept when I did in the carriage earlier, you might not have−”

  “Solved one of our biggest problems?” Aubry slipped into the room, a tentative expression on her face. “You aren’t angry with me, are you? I know I did an unexpected amount of talking and may have got carried away revealing things we decided to keep private, but ultimately by my sharing a small piece of our plans, I gained this excellent opportunity to pursue our goal. Not to mention, the security of Lady Fenhurst’s protection. You cannot argue with that.”

  “Had the Countess not proved so kind and generous, I would be angry. You must remember to be more prudent in the future.” Penelope softened the stern reprimand with a smile. Having had to surrender so much control since her father’s passing, any unexpected change in plans unsettled her. “I’ve rung for tea if you’d like to join me.” She forced a cheerful tone while Aubry settled on a corner of the bed. She watched in mild amusement as her sister stretched with languid enjoyment.

  “It is amazing. I will be forever grateful to Lady Fenhurst if by allowing us to accompany her to social events, she enables me to find Simon. Her assistance is more than I ever hoped for. More than I deserve.” She muttered the latter comment under her breath, a lugubrious admittance meant to punish.

  “For the one hundredth time, it is not your fault.”

  “Oh, you will defend me without end, when I alone am responsible for leading our family into ruin and our father to his death.” Despite Penelope’s immediate objection, Aubry’s voice held such conviction she was terribly tempted to accept her sister’s words. The tea arrived and she set about pouring two cups, forcing herself to change the subject. “I met Viscount Fenhurst below stairs.”

  Aubry’s eyes flared as she accepted her tea. “Did you? Is he handsome? Charming? Is he a sharp dresser? Whenever Lady Fenhurst spoke of him during the carriage ride, he sounded more than wonderful. Is it all true?”

  Aubry’s persistent questions dispersed Penelope’s thoughts of regret. She stirred her tea with vigor while considering how her sister tendentiously romanticized every situation. “You can get that twinkle out of your eye. And why, good heavens, would you wish to know if he is a sharp dresser?” Her words came out in a rush of sisterly protectiveness. “You are only seventeen years old. Let’s not forget the image of a comely gentleman led me to believe Simon would invest our entire savings, my dowry, and father’s accounts in a successful venture that turned out to be nothing more than a self-interested escapade to line his own pockets.” She sipped her tea as if to wash away the taste of bitter medicine. “How I ever agreed to marry such a blackguard without seeing his true character is an insult to my intelligence.”

  Penelope’s voice softened throughout the flow of her discourse, and she lowered her eyes to the bottom of her teacup wishing she could read the few leaves settled there. If only she could turn back time and remedy her decisions.

  “You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Aubry’s voice was all concerned whisper. “Neither one of us could have predicted Father would fall into sharp decline.” She paused for a long moment. “And truly it was wrong of Father to aspire to elevate his own status through our upward marriage. That alone explains his forthright enthusiasm in accepting Simon’s offer for your hand.”

  Again, the familiar temptation to forgive herself and accept Aubry’s words as truth wriggled to the surface. Her sister was indeed insightful, but then she’d been forced from her gilded world into reality by Penelope’s fateful mistake.

  As a baron by tenure with no life interest entailed to his property, their father viewed Simon’s attention as an immediate vault into higher circles and Penny was too naïve and too entranced with the image Simon presented to suspect he played her false. While well-meaning, her father’s aristocratic focus placed happiness as second to title. Penelope didn’t agree with that order, believing true love the most honest emotion.

  If his theft hadn’t proved scandalous enough, her duplicitous bridegroom left her standing at the altar in utter embarrassment, the laughing stock of the Cotswolds, not only wronged in love but pushed into a penurious state by the end of her wedding day. Gossip of their ruin spread like wildfire stoking her father’s depression to a crippling state. The realization that she brought about his end, when she only wished to make him proud, created a well of despair buried so deep, Penelope dared not consider it or else she’d never stop crying.

  Her contemplative silence fueled her sister’s loyal defense.

  “And those heartless bankers, how dare they demand immediate payment? Their relentless attempts to collect funds nipped at the heels of our tragedy. It is no wonder Father was devastated by the social scandal and sudden threat of poverty. His loss of the barony was a crushing blow, his hope for the future, and entire lifesavings gone in one swoop due to the greed of unscrupulous investors.”

  Penelope refused to consider how modestly they’d laid their father to rest. They’d eschewed black gowns and worn mourning ribbons as a pitiful compromise, with not one penny to spend. In little over a year, everything had fallen apart quicker than a house of cards because she believed the lies of one dishonest man.

  “Only I can shoulder the blame.” Penelope released a disheartened sigh and replaced her cup on the tray. “I accepted every lie Simon Maddock told.”

  “Simon swore his love to you. We all thought him true,” Aubry continued with pique. “We had no idea he’d lied about his finances, station, and influence.”

  Her sister’s rationalizations did little to soothe Penelope’s regret. On a good day she regarded Simon with angry disdain for what he’d stolen was worse than her heart, he’d destroyed their future. On most other days, she wondered if he’d ever harbored feelings for her and if she’d ever trust affection again or forever be alone with her regrets. Unable to formulate a suitable response to her sister’s argument, the silence in the room became deafening.

  “When we find him, we will report him to the authorities. We will see the devil punished for his deceit.”

  Pene
lope remained silent, her sister’s words nothing more than a child’s innocence although at present they had no choice.

  “It will be no easy task, but I vow to see it done.” Penelope’s answer hardly disguised her promise full of doubt. How could two gently bred ladies, two impoverished gently bred ladies, somehow locate, ensnare and report the blackguard when few resources and little proof of his deception existed aside from a collection of false promissory notes and a few poorly written love letters? The tightly bound pile of papers caused her distress whenever she glanced in their direction. She only kept them for the far chance they could somehow prove Simon’s malicious intentions.

  “One thing is certain. We’ll need some way to connect Simon to the theft otherwise even if we do find him it will all be for naught.” They sat in pensive silence until Penelope placed her hand atop her sister’s and offered a gentle squeeze. “Mother’s cameo. If Simon has it, there will be no denying his crimes. No one could feign ignorance or mistaken possession if the uniquely carved brooch were found.”

  Their mother’s heirloom cameo, meant to be a gift upon Penelope’s wedding day, would be the single truth needed to prove Simon’s guilt. What type of man leaves his bride waiting at the altar while he burglarizes her parents’ home?

  “He really is a horrible man.” Aubry exhaled a despairing sigh.

  Penny nodded agreement. Much to her unease, she harbored some undecipherable sentiment for the man. The wretched inability to extinguish her misplaced emotions ate at her sensibility. Anger, resentment, sadness and affection, intermingled with restless confusion to cloud her judgment and swamp her with self-doubt.

  “I’m sure he traveled to London. He spoke of it often. At the time he meant to impress me with his mention of high society, but it would be easier to get lost in a large city. How else could he spend our savings and move about undetected? I dare to think the Rosebery name is remembered as the most laughed about name among the ton.” Penelope shuddered with the admittance, her eyes flitting to the bed’s coverlet where she idly traced the floral embroidery with her fingertip. “Still here we are, left with no other option but to welcome the scandalous embarrassment if we’re discovered.”