The Ton's Most Notorious Rake Read online

  ‘Very well, Mr Russington.’

  ‘If we are truly friends you should call me Russ, but perhaps that would raise a few eyebrows.’

  ‘It certainly would! Out of the question, sir.’

  ‘Quite.’ He released her hand, but their eyes remained locked for a moment longer, then he stepped away. ‘Off you go, then, Mrs Morgan. I hope you reach home without further mishap.’

  She set the gig rolling, urging the horse on until they were trotting away along the drive. She did not look back, but her heart felt lighter than it had done for weeks.

  She had just made friends with a rake.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Of course, one cannot really be friends with a rake.’

  Molly uttered the words to the darkness. She had pushed the thought to the back of her mind during the day while she attended to her usual household tasks but now, lying alone in her bed, her mind had returned to her conversation with Russ earlier that day. It was not the same sort of friendship she shared with Fleur and Nancy, and even Agnes, although they had not known each other for very long. But now that she and Russ had cleared the air she believed they could be comfortable together. He would no longer try to flirt with her and cause her heart to beat so erratically. Nor would he fix his eyes upon her and smile in a way that made her stomach swoop with pleasurable anticipation and set her body aching with desire.

  She stirred restlessly. She had not felt that for years. Since she had been seventeen, in fact, when she had fallen in love with the handsome Irish soldier who promised to love her to eternity and beyond. Sadly, eternity had lasted only a few months. Since that idyllic summer seven years ago Molly had never experienced that same rush of pleasure, until Beau Russington had arrived with his engaging smile, his flashing eyes and dark looks.

  Turning on her side, she snuggled her hand against her cheek and smiled sleepily. It was not Russ’s physical presence that attracted her, it was his quick mind, the way they could talk together, laugh together. As long as he behaved himself, she could relax and enjoy his company.

  And on this pleasing thought, she finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning brought a brief note from Prospect House written in Fleur’s elegant, flowing hand. Molly put down her breakfast cup with a little cry of surprise that had Edwin looking up from his newspaper.

  ‘Fleur tells me she has engaged another manservant.’

  ‘She is perfectly entitled to do so,’ remarked Edwin, ‘as long as the costs can be covered by the farm’s income.’

  ‘Easily, so there is no need to apply to the committee. I am very pleased, for I was going to suggest it, but it seems she has taken the initiative.’

  ‘Who is the man? Does she say?’

  Molly studied the note again. ‘No, but she says she discussed the matter thoroughly with Nancy and, since he comes with excellent references, she has taken him on immediately. He is to sleep in the gatehouse.’ She smiled across the table. ‘It seems an ideal solution. He was most likely recommended to Fleur by Lady Currick or one of the other local families, but I shall find out all the details when I see Fleur this morning.’

  ‘Oh, are you going to the market? I shall walk with you then, as far as the town square, for I have calls to make.’

  Molly folded her napkin and set it down on the table. ‘Very well, Edwin. I shall go and put on my pelisse and meet you in the hall when you have finished your breakfast.’

  * * *

  It was a crisp autumn morning and the town square was very busy. Molly parted from Edwin and made her way to where Fleur was busy selling a pot of honey to a customer. She was dressed in a sober gown and modest bonnet that covered most of her golden curls, but Molly thought she still looked exceedingly pretty. A shadow of anxiety dimmed her spirits for a moment until she saw that Daisy and Billy were also in attendance.

  Fleur waved to Molly and left Daisy serving more customers while she moved to one side.

  ‘You look busy,’ Molly remarked, coming up. Fleur nodded.

  ‘Business has been brisk. We have sold the last of the honey and most of the spare apples have gone, as well.’

  ‘That is capital news!’

  ‘Aye, ma’am,’ said Daisy, taking advantage of the lull in customers to rearrange what was left of their produce. ‘If this carries on, we shall be able to pack up and go home early today.’

  Molly nodded. ‘Tell me about your new manservant, Fleur. Is he a local man? Do I know him?’

  ‘It is Jem Bailey, the brother of Mr Thomas’s mill manager.’

  ‘I thought he was working at Newlands.’ Molly caught a look passing between Fleur and Daisy. ‘Has he been turned off? Or...heavens, Fleur, have you offered him higher wages to entice him away?’

  ‘No, no, he is to get the same wage he is on now.’

  The blush on Fleur’s cheek deepened and Daisy said brusquely, ‘You had best tell her, Miss Fleur.’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘Sir Gerald brought him to us yesterday.’

  Fleur stopped and, following her glance, Molly saw Sir Gerald striding towards them. It was clear his gaze was fixed upon Fleur, but as he drew closer he saw Molly. He missed a step, then came over to her.

  ‘Mrs Morgan.’ He touched his hat.

  Molly acknowledged him warily. ‘I understand Prospect House is in your debt, sir.’

  He glanced at Fleur. ‘Mrs Dellafield has told you? Perhaps I should have spoken to you or some other member of the committee first, but I wanted to get matters settled as soon as possible. Jem is a good worker and very reliable. You may be sure I made thorough enquiries into his character before recommending him. Mrs Dellafield was reluctant to take him at first, but after the other night—’ He shook his head, looking unusually solemn. ‘I cannot tell you how sorry I am for what happened, Mrs Morgan. I was most put out to think that any guests of mine could behave so outrageously. I acted as soon as I learned of it from Russ—’

  ‘Mr Russington told you what had happened?’

  ‘Yes. On Monday, after you had dropped him off. I could see it was more than the fall from his horse that was troubling him and when I pressed him he told me about Aikers and Flemington’s disgraceful behaviour.’ A faint twinkle returned to his eyes. ‘He also told me how the ladies dealt with the disturbance. It was well deserved, if you ask me. But you need not fear a recurrence of the incident, I sent them packing that very day and rode over to Prospect House to tell Mrs Dellafield. Not that I made any attempt to enter the house,’ he added quickly. ‘I am well aware that you have very strict rules about that.’

  ‘He gave me tuppence to hold his horse while he went to find Miss Fleur in the orchard,’ piped up Billy, ducking as his mother aimed a swipe at him and told him to hold his peace.

  ‘Sir Gerald made a very handsome apology,’ Fleur put in hastily.

  Molly frowned at him. ‘Are we to believe you had no suspicion of what your friends meant to do?’

  ‘They are no longer friends of mine, Mrs Morgan. I explained to Fl—Mrs Dellafield that I have not known them that long, although I had seen them about in London. It is true that we kicked up a spree or two together in town, but only harmless fun. Nothing like the outrage they perpetrated the other night. And feeling somewhat responsible, I thought it my duty to do something about it.’

  Molly was not wholly convinced, but, judging by the way Fleur was smiling warmly at Sir Gerald and telling him how obliged they were to him, it was clear that she was satisfied. The conversation went on, Sir Gerald declaring that he would not have had it happen for the world, Fleur responding with shy gratitude, until at last Molly interrupted them, bringing to Fleur’s attention that the stall was now bare of produce and they could go home.

  Molly quite pointedly dismissed Sir Gerald, then waited only to ascertain that they did not require her help to pa
ck up their baskets before making her way back to the vicarage. Whatever she thought of Sir Gerald, there was no doubting his generosity in sending a reliable man to Prospect House. She was also grateful to Russ for informing Sir Gerald of his guests’ nocturnal activities. She had not expected that. If he disapproved so much of their behaviour, perhaps he was not quite as rakish as his reputation painted him.

  ‘I am sure his reputation is well deserved,’ she argued with herself, ‘but he knows the value of not upsetting one’s neighbours in a small town like Compton Parva.’

  * * *

  For the rest of the day she found herself wavering between wanting to see Russ and thank him for his intervention, and the thought that if Sir Gerald had set his sights on Fleur, he might want to rid himself of potential rivals. She discussed it with Edwin after dinner, but although he told her Sir Gerald was a splendid fellow and had acted just as he should, Molly knew that Edwin’s views were coloured by his growing affection for Agnes Kilburn.

  ‘I see you are still troubled,’ he said, when it was time to retire. ‘My dear, all you can do is to warn Fleur to be careful. She is a grown woman and is well aware of the risks posed by men like Sir Gerald.’ He took her hands. ‘Fleur is not you, Molly. You have decided not to trust any man again—’

  ‘And with good reason!’

  He squeezed her fingers. ‘True, but Fleur must make her own choice.’

  He was right, of course, but as Molly prepared for bed that evening she determined that she must spend more time at Prospect House and keep an eye on things for herself.

  * * *

  Molly had no opportunity to visit Fleur for the next couple of days because she was busy helping Edwin with his parish work and making charitable visits in the town, including a call upon Cissy’s mother, who was still very weak from her recent illness. Knowing that her maid would like to spend a little more time with her ailing parent, Molly decided to give her the rest of the day off and walk back to the vicarage alone.

  ‘I have only to call at the post office on my way home and I shall not need you until after dinner this evening, Cissy,’ she said, gathering up her empty basket. ‘But do be home before dark.’

  ‘I will, ma’am, thank you.’

  Molly set off from the little cottage, thinking that the day reflected her sunny spirits, which had been lifted still further by the pleasure she had seen in the old woman’s face when she realised her daughter would be able to spend a few more hours at home. Molly felt a bubble of laughter welling up in her. If Edwin asked her to help with a subject for his sermon, she would suggest that this week it should be about the rewards to be gained from such little gestures of kindness.

  The idea occupied her until she reached the centre of the town, when she spotted Mr Russington on the far side of the square. He was talking with several local gentlemen, but he excused himself and came across to greet her. When he turned to accompany her, Molly felt obliged to tell him there was no need.

  ‘But I insist,’ he replied. ‘Unless you think it will do you harm to be seen walking with such a one as me.’

  She laughed at that. ‘I think my character will survive a short walk in your company, Mr Russington. In fact, I am pleased we have met.’ She became serious. ‘I wanted to thank you. For telling Sir Gerald what went on at Prospect House the other night.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I mentioned it, yes. I did not expect Kilburn to be quite so angry about it. He is usually the most placid of men, but he ordered Aikers and Flemington to leave immediately.’

  ‘Perhaps he is removing potential rivals.’

  ‘That is a very cynical point of view, madam.’

  ‘Experience has taught me to be cautious where men are concerned.’

  ‘You are very world-weary, for one so young.’

  ‘I am four-and-twenty.’

  ‘You look younger.’

  She disguised her blushes with another laugh. ‘Do not be offering me Spanish coin, Mr Russington. There is nothing to gain by it.’

  They had reached the post office and she stopped. He was looking down at her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Now, why should you think I am trying to flatter you?’

  ‘Because you are a rake, perhaps?’ She could not help smiling back at him, surprised she could talk to him so easily.

  ‘Even rakes should tell the truth to their friends, madam.’

  He touched his hat and strolled away, leaving her to stare after him and remind herself yet again that one could never truly be friends with a rake.

  * * *

  The news that Marjorie had given birth to a lusty baby girl gave Molly the excuse she needed to visit Prospect House regularly over the next couple of weeks, and it soon became clear that Sir Gerald rode to the house almost every day, stopping to talk to Fleur if she should be out of doors. Little Billy spoke of him as a great gun and told Molly that Sir Gerald always let him look after his horse. When Molly teased Fleur about the number of tasks requiring her attention in the gardens, Fleur flushed, but Molly could not order her to remain indoors. When she mentioned it to Nancy, the cook was philosophical.

  ‘You are not running a prison, after all,’ she told Molly. ‘And you cannot prevent Fleur from talking to Sir Gerald if she so wishes.’

  Molly agreed and in the end all she could do was to warn Fleur to take care and beg Nancy and the others to look out for her. She felt a little guilty, cautioning Fleur against Sir Gerald when she herself was seeing much more of Russ and growing more at ease in his company. It was inevitable they should meet, she supposed, given the good weather. She was out of doors every day, taking the gig to Prospect House or walking in the town visiting her brother’s sick or poverty-stricken parishioners. Once she met him when she was on her way to Raikes Farm with another basket of provisions and he dismounted and carried her basket for her.

  ‘Shall I wait to escort you back?’ he asked, when they reached her destination. ‘I know your propensity for injury.’

  She was no longer embarrassed by his reference to her turning her ankle and merely laughed at him.

  ‘But it is not in the least muddy today. No, you must go on with your birdwatching, I do not need you.’ She hesitated, giving him a speculative look and his brows went up.

  ‘Well, Mrs Morgan?’

  ‘I wondered if you would be free on Friday morning.’

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Why?’

  ‘I plan to go to Hobbs Lane that day. I want to find greenery from the hedgerows to decorate the church in readiness for Marjorie’s baby to be baptised there. I was going to take Cissy, but she is even shorter than I am. Whereas you...’

  He laughed. ‘You think I might be useful? Very well, madam, I shall be there to help you!’

  They parted, Molly feeling only a trifle guilty for issuing the invitation.

  * * *

  Friday dawned bright and when Molly informed Cissy of her plans for the morning, the maid suggested Molly’s old primrose dimity would be most suitable.

  ‘You don’t want to risk spoiling one of your newer gowns if you are scrambling around the hedgerows, ma’am.’

  It was a very sensible idea and Molly agreed, but she voiced a protest when Cissy brought out the russet spencer of fine wool that Edwin had given her last summer. There was a matching hat to go with the little jacket, a frivolous little cap that allowed her dusky curls to cluster around her face and Molly objected that it was far too fine to wear upon such an outing.

  ‘But you never wear it on any occasion,’ Cissy argued. ‘If it sits in the cupboard much longer, it will be quite out of fashion.’

  Molly allowed herself to be persuaded and some twenty minutes later she sallied forth. Hobbs Lane was only a stone’s throw from the church and she found Russ waiting for her as she turned off the main road. The si
ght of him in his blue coat and buckskins made her mouth go dry and she wondered if she should have brought Cissy after all, but only for a moment. They were well within sight of the busy road and besides, at this time of year, there was much to do in the house and Cook had asked if Cissy could help her in the kitchen, preserving fruits for the winter.

  Russ touched his hat to her as she came up to him. ‘Mrs Morgan.’ He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a stubby knife with a curving blade. ‘I borrowed this from the gardener at Newlands. Shall we begin?’

  ‘I commend your foresight,’ she said, the flutter of her nerves subsiding. ‘By all means, let us make a start.’

  They worked companionably and Molly was grateful for his help, the beau’s height and long arms giving her more choice of greenery. He cut heavy bunches of scarlet rowan berries and long tendrils of ivy, before they moved on to a thick, late-flowering gorse, its vivid yellow flowers making a striking contrast to the dock, with its vibrant green leaves and red-brown seeds. They had almost finished when Molly became aware that the clouds were gathering and the threat of rain hung in the air. Russ filled her large basket until it was overflowing, then piled more ivy and dock leaves into her arms, saying he would carry the basket.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, glancing up at the lowering sky. ‘We must hurry if we are not to be caught in a shower.’

  They were in sight of the church when the first drops of rain began to fall and they ran the last few yards to the lychgate and up the path into the church, laughing and giggling like children. Molly dropped her burden on the empty table just inside the door, leaving space for Russ to put down the basket.

  ‘Thank you,’ she turned to him, still smiling. ‘I could never have achieved so much without you.’ She pulled off her gloves, the better to brush her damp curls from her face.

  ‘You are missing most of them.’ He pushed her hands away and she stood passively while he gently tucked the stray curls beneath her cap.

  ‘There. That is better. Now, let me look at you.’

  He turned her to face the great west window, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Until that moment she had felt comfortable, at ease, but suddenly it was impossible to move. He had his back to the light yet his dark eyes glowed, drawing her in. She wanted him. She recognised the feeling, but this was stronger, more overwhelming than anything she had ever known before. It would be so good to surrender, to give in, but she fought it, reminding herself of what she had to lose.