Nothing But a Rakehell (A Series of Unconventional Courtships Book 2)

by Deb Marlowe

  “We were deciphering how it could be that so many of the gentlemen here could be such nodcocks,” Keswick said easily.

  “I may have inadvertently invited a number of nodcocks,” Hope told him, “but I am happy not to count you among their number.”

  Miss Ruddock called for the room’s attention and introduced her friend and her choice of music. Everyone stilled to listen, but Glory heard not a note. Keswick’s sharp tone still rang in her ears.

  When Miss Parscate had finished, Keswick leaned in and said to Hope, “You certainly made no mistakes in inviting the young ladies. They are all of the highest caliber.”

  Glory was still smarting. “If rumor is to be believed, they are certainly a different caliber than you pursue in Town.”

  He regarded her steadily. “Fortunately, I know you are too sensible to lend credence to rumor.”

  “I am sensible enough to recognize what I see with my own eyes.” She let her gaze wander over to the corner of the room, where Lady Tresham stood listening to a group of ladies—and watching their group avidly.

  “Oh, but you cannot chastise him for that,” Hope interjected. “Going in pursuit and being pursued are two very different matters.”

  The truth of that struck her hard and Glory paled. “You are right,” she whispered. She stared at Keswick and he gave as good as he got, returning her measure with unblinking blue eyes. And she flushed, suddenly and horribly aware that from his perspective, she might be seen as pursuing him. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out.

  He shot her a twist of a grin. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Don’t waste a moment on regret.” And now his smile definitely reached his eyes. “I certainly do not.”

  In desperation, Glory turned her attention to where the next young lady was making preparations at the pianoforte, but she felt the charged weight of his gaze upon her. It felt considerably heavier than the butterfly touch of those opening kisses.

  “So much talent,” Keswick mused. He leaned toward Hope. “I admit, though, that I long to see Lady Glory’s theatrical piece. If you asked her, do you think she would change her mind and perform it for us?”

  “No. I don’t.” Hope turned to her, blinking. “You told him about it?”

  “I told him only that it happened. Once. And never again,” she said firmly.

  “Ah, well. I had to try.” Keswick stood and bowed to them both. He took Glory’s hand. “Never say never, Lady Glory.”

  He left them, heading back toward where Tensford still held court near the windows.

  Mr. Sterne and Miss Munroe were still huddled and were discussing different types of larvae. Hope just sat and looked at her, brows raised.

  Glory held silent.

  “Very well. I believe I shall make the rounds and play hostess once more.” She leaned in so that her voice would not carry. “But do you know, I believe that Lord Keswick also relaxes in your presence, Glory darling?”

  Glory stilled, barely noticing Hope’s departure. Her sister’s words rang in her head like a bell, mixing with Keswick’s and starting off a chain reaction in her brain. Quips and confessions, smiles and darted looks, frowns and touches experienced in the last few days were blowing apart and remaking themselves . . . into an idea.

  A dramatic, risky idea.

  A thrilling idea.

  An idea that would be difficult to bring to fruition.

  She stood, determined and brimming with excitement. She’d never let that stop her before.

  Chapter 8

  “It’s a relief to see Tensford happy at last,” Keswick said in an aside to Sterne.

  His friend grinned. “I am beyond glad to see his difficulties behind him. And I’m glad for Hope, as well. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more deserving couple.”

  The company—consisting of most of the house party guests—was gathered along the riverbank, where a wide, stone-covered strip of shore left the water and led up to a cliff of varying heights. They had gathered around their host—except for Lady Glory. Keswick kept glancing back at her, where she sat on a camp stool in the shade of several large boulders and the woods that had encroached on the area beyond them.

  “Step carefully, all of you,” Tensford called. “Leave no stone unturned. The rapid erosion at this spot means that there is always something new to find.” He held up a rock that wasn’t quite a rock. “This is an ammonite. It’s the most commonly found specimen at this spot. Note the coiled, spiral design and watch for that. That’s not to say you couldn’t find other types of fossilized remains. We’ve seen bones, plants and even some fish scales. Keep your eyes sharp and call out if you need help identifying anything!”

  The guests scattered, some examining the scree covering the beach and others approaching the cliff face.

  “Be careful of falling slabs, there,” Tensford called. He grinned as he approached and slapped Sterne on the back. “It’s not as quiet as it usually is when you join me, Sterne, but who knows, with so many eyes, maybe we’ll find a serious specimen, yet.”

  Sterne looked doubtful. “I don’t know, Tensford. As often as we’ve looked, it seems as if we would have found it by now. And you came out here often with your father while he lived, did you not?”

  “Many, many times.”

  “And did you not once think you’d found a significant specimen? When you were younger?” Sterne frowned, trying to remember.

  “A partial specimen,” Tensford said, sighing at the memory. “I swear I did find it. Just over on that cliff face. It was the back end of some kind of large fish. The tail fin was over twelve inches high. I’ve often wondered what the rest of the thing must have looked like.”

  “Do you not have it in your workshop?” Keswick asked.

  “No. I was young, only ten years, at the time. I went running back to the house to tell my father. I had to wait, as he was closeted with Mr. Stillwater, one of the neighbors.”

  “Wait, isn’t that the name of the elderly gentleman, over there? Sterne introduced me.”

  “Indeed, that is he. He’s an enthusiast, too. He’s made some decent discoveries on his own land. I invited him because he doesn’t get out much these days, and I knew he would enjoy it.”

  “Well, what happened to your fish tail?”

  “That’s the joke, isn’t it? I was wild with impatience by the time the men had finished their business. I was practically jumping out of my skin, wanting my father to come and see it. Stillwater looked at me as if he’d slap me sideways if I was his son, but Father was tolerant. He finished their business and made me wait while he briefed the land agent, then we went to the kitchens and collected a basket to bring with us and we came down to inspect it.” He sighed. “It was gone. As if it had never been there. But I swear, I did see it. Father used to tease me and call it my Fish Tale. We never found a sign of it, not crumbled pieces, not the rest of the creature, nothing.”

  He sighed again. “I came down even more often after Father died.” He gave Keswick a sheepish look. “When I discovered the true extent of the condition of the estate and the worse shape of the account books, I used to come out here, hoping and praying to find something spectacular. I dreamed of a new type of creature or at least a whole, intact one. If sold to the right buyer, it could have brought a lump of cash that might have meant seed for a field or a winter’s grain or a new roof for some of my tenants. Now, thanks to Hope, I don’t have to look for those reasons, but I still enjoy it.”

  “You didn’t know your treasure was awaiting you in London,” Sterne laughed.

  “I send up thanks for her every day,” Tensford said. “And I don’t mean for the money. I would be still be happy, even if she had come with only the small dowry I thought she had.”

  “You wouldn’t be throwing a house party,” Keswick said wryly. “And I don’t know whether to be thankful for that or not.”

  A cry of surprise and triumph rang out. “I think I’ve found one, my lord!” Miss Ruddock waved her fist in the air.


  “Let us see it, then,” he called and set out for her.

  “He’s in his element,” Sterne said. “I’m going to investigate the cliff. You?”

  Keswick shrugged. “I’ll stay here and look. You go on.”

  He was definitely not in his element.

  Circling, he tried not to look toward Lady Glory. She’d done something to him, that wicked girl. He couldn’t settle. He, a man of appetites, found them all dried up. He wasn’t hungry. Tensford’s best cheroots held no appeal. He wasn’t even drinking. Last night he’d taken a tumbler of brandy in the billiards room and stared at it for hours instead of tossing it back. He’d barely slept last night, waking again and again, feeling hot and on edge while his blood pounded for . . . what he wouldn’t give it.

  And he cursed her through it all, for he was supposed to be done with feeling such things, and with longing for things that could not be his.

  And she? Lady Cool as a Cucumber Glory hadn’t glanced his way all morning. He’d thought she might stay back at the house with her sister and with those who could not summon up enthusiasm for Tensford’s hobby, but no. Here she sat, talking contentedly with Miss Munroe while he moved among the searchers and tried to avoid Lady Tresham, who trailed after him like a cat on the hunt.

  He could scarcely believe he was the only one sneaking looks at Lady Glory. Surely not every man here was a blind fool? The sunlight swam in auburn eddies amongst her curls and she practically glowed in a simple white gown, covered with an overdress of spring-green linen.

  He dragged his eyes away and thought he should go and join Tensford as both protection and distraction, but paused when he heard his name.

  Narrowing his eyes, he moved toward the cliff. Mr. Lycett stood there with another gentleman, and it was he who had spoken.

  Keswick bent down, as if examining and following a vein of rock, and listened.

  “He’ll never offer for her.” Lycett was faced away from Glory, speaking to his friend, but he looked over his shoulder and Keswick quickly reached out to pull at a ridge of rock.

  Just another fool prowling among the rocks. Nothing to see here.

  “She’s pretty enough,” Lycett admitted. “And her portion is reputed to be quite respectable. But I don’t know. They say she can ride. Yet she doesn’t dance at all.”

  “Yes, such a disaster,” his friend agreed in a tone of exaggeration. “Because so many men I know are always pining to dance with their wives.”

  “She would never be able to chase after the children.”

  “That’s what nursemaids are for.”

  “In all honesty, a thought keeps running through my head.” Lycett lowered his tone and Keswick had to strain to hear him. “If a horse had suffered such an injury, it would have been shot. I’m not sure I can keep that from running about my mind.”

  Keswick straightened. He turned, outrage flaring high and running hot through all of his limbs, but Sterne was passing the pair and heading straight for him. He tried to step around his friend, but Sterne clamped a hand on his shoulder.

  “Did you hear what that worm just said?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” his friend said tightly. “But drawing attention to it will not help the lady.” He held up a bucket he’d picked up. “Let’s take a big scoop of this debris over to Lady Glory,” he said clearly.

  “I’d like to dump a bucket over that arse’s head,” he grumbled.

  “Come along, she’s alone now. Let’s be sure she doesn’t stay that way.”

  “You go.” Keswick turned away. “It’s better if I stay away.”

  “Why?”

  He just looked at his friend.

  “Surely not,” Sterne scoffed. “You’re a legend, Kes. I’ve seen you juggle three women in one evening. What could this slip of a girl do to you?”

  “None of them were like this slip of a girl,” he growled.

  “True enough.” But Sterne still looked skeptical.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Ah.” Sterne’s expression cleared and nodded in unexpected approval. “Good. I think it’s time you tried complicated.”

  “No. No, it’s not time. There never will be a time. That’s the last thing I need—and you know it.” Keswick groaned. “Perhaps I should just go back to Town. I could always hole up in some dive down by the docks.”

  “You could avoid the Vernon chit that way, but I know you’ve heard your father is in Town. How long do you think you could hide from him?”

  He slumped. “Chester wrote you, too?”

  “Whiddon did. Your father cornered him at the club and grilled him about your women, your habits, and why you came to the country.”

  Keswick paled and cursed under his breath, long and with feeling.

  “You know Whiddon wouldn’t tell him anything.”

  “Which will only make him more determined. Hell and damnation, what’s set the old man off, this time?”

  “I haven’t the faintest notion—but you are better off here. So, let’s go make nice with Lady Glory. At least we can be of use to her while we are here.”

  He’d already done more than he should with regard to Lady Glory, but he looked over Sterne’s shoulder and saw the worry in her face as she watched Lycett and his friends watching her. He stiffened. “Fine. Damn it all.”

  She focused on the pair of them as they approached. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  Sterne bowed and held up his offering. “We did not wish you to miss the fossil frenzy.”

  She smiled her thanks. “Don’t worry about me. I sometimes come out here with Tensford. I can navigate the shore line if I am careful, but I thought it best to steer clear of all of the activity today.” She held up her hands. Her lap was full of long vines and small wildflowers. “But as you can see, Miss Munroe has set me a task, and I am keeping occupied.”

  Sterne poured the debris next to her stool. Overturning the bucket, he perched upon it. “I’ll sort it, then.”

  Keswick settled on the ground before her. “What are you making?”

  “Oh, just a couple of flower garlands. Miss Munroe and I might wear them in our hair tonight. Or I might just send them along to the children in the nursery.”

  He imagined the tiny white flowers sprinkled amongst her curls. “You should wear them.”

  “We’ll see how they turn out.”

  “You seem deft enough at it,” Sterne remarked. He was tossing rocks away, toward the water.

  “I should be. I had plenty of practice making garlands last Christmas.”

  “Did you spend it here?” Sterne looked up.

  “Yes. It was our first, here in Gloucestershire. Hope’s and mine, I mean. It was lovely, too. Even the holidays have been somber at our home in Sussex for the last few years, but it was quite an exuberant celebration here. I swear, I must have woven together miles of greenery. It was all over Greystone.”

  She had piqued Sterne’s interest. “Did you learn of any local or unusual traditions? It’s an area of interest for me,” he explained.

  She tilted her head to think about it. Her lips pursed and Keswick felt it, a hook and a tug at the base of his spine, pulling him nearer.

  “There was the greenery and the Christmas pudding. A yule log. But the wassailing was the thing that was mostly different.”

  “In what way?” Sterne asked.

  “The farmers were very serious about it. It was lovely, too. You could tell they had practiced. They visited everywhere and then ended by going out to the orchards to sing to the fruit trees. They believe it wakes them and ensures a good harvest.”

  “Fascinating.” Sterne was staring down at the stone in his hand. “Oh, I say, you’re the expert in this group. Is this what we’re looking for?”

  “Let me see.” She leaned down to take the rock and Keswick froze. This was by far the lowest décolletage he’d seen her wear, and it strained as she bent over. “Oh, yes. It’s a partial ammonite, I believe.” She handed it back and straightened, and Kesw
ick heaved a great breath of relief.

  It caught her attention. “What about you, my lord? Your mother was Irish, you said. Did she introduce any interesting and different traditions to your holidays?”

  He didn’t answer. She had bent down again and was searching among the greens piled at her feet. The green over-gown dipped low to cup her breasts. The pretty little gold clasps that held the bodice together labored to contain her.

  Could Lycett see her from his vantage point? Was Sterne watching her bosom swell over, too? His blood rose to an instant boil at the thought, and he turned to his friend—to find him staring at him, not her.

  “Kes?”

  “What? Yes?”

  “Irish holiday traditions?” Lady Glory prompted.

  “Oh. Yes.” He tried to pull his thoughts together. He had to look away from the bounty before him. “Yes, my mother was a great one for placing candles in all of the windows on the eve before Christmas. She insisted that the weary travelers must know they had a welcome, should they need one.”

  “That is very sweet.” She sat up. “You know, Mr. Sterne, there is another tradition I heard about, in this part of the country. It takes place in the spring, though, not at the Christmas holidays. At the church in St. Briavels, I believe.” Frowning, she searched the crowd beyond them. “It has something to do with tossing and catching bread and cheese. The morsels become . . . lucky talismans, perhaps? You should ask Miss Munroe about it. She is likely to know all of the particulars.”

  “Is she?” Sterne stood. “Well, I’ve searched through all of these, in any case. I’ll go and ask her.”

  Keswick climbed to his feet, as well. “No, you stay and I’ll go and fetch her.”

  “I’m already up,” Sterne said with a devilish grin. “Lady Glory, I leave you in Keswick’s capable hands. Don’t hesitate to make him fetch and carry for you.”

  Sterne strode off, the traitor. Keswick looked down at the chit watching him thoughtfully, her cognac-tinted eyes shining. “Don’t look so worried, Keswick. I’m not going to send you on a forced march.”