Too Hot For A Rake (8 page)

She toyed with her food, feeling like a homeless waif abandoned on the streets of London, left to fend for herself. She looked up in surprise when the door opened to reveal Waverley.

“Morning, sweet Helena. How are you feeling?” He removed his riding coat, his gloves and his whip and took a seat opposite her. “I could eat a horse this morning.” He beckoned to the waiter at the sideboard. “Eggs, ham, toast and coffee, please.”

“If your appetite’s returned, it’s a sign you are well again, I suppose,” she said with considerable asperity.

He looked at her in surprise. “What have I done to put you out of sorts, fair Helena? I merely went for my customary morning ride.”

“You shouldn’t have done it. You aren’t well enough,” she said primly, as if she were his nurse.

His lips quivered, yet he managed not to laugh. “I thank you for your concern, but the truth is, I tend to recover quickly from ailments. Besides, my injury was nothing more than a bump on the head.”

“Where’s Rabu?”

“He’s packing. We’ll have good weather until we hit the fog on the moors.”

“How fortunate.”

He put his cup down and sat back. “Don’t be angry with me, sweet Helena. Can you forgive me?”

“You might have had the courtesy of leaving word that you were merely off for a morning ride!”

He picked up his cup to hide his grin.
She worries over me, poor lass. No one’s done that for years. How nice.
“My apologies, especially since you saved me from certain death. I should have left word for you, sweet—”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Are you not sweet? You’re wrong, you know.”

“I must see to the packing, sir.” She stormed out of the room.

She’s magnificent when she’s angry. I cannot imagine how she managed to hoax two seasoned London footpads into believing she knew how to handle a rifle. She has such a lively spirit.
He cleaned his plate and rose, a happy grin creasing his face.

Once under way, Waverley rode beside the carriage with mixed thoughts of Helena on his mind. His fingers tingled at the recollection of his hands stroking her breasts. Or was he a fool ten times over to let himself be beguiled by a beautiful face and a luscious body? He couldn’t answer that question. At the same time, he couldn’t stop thinking about sweet Helena.

It was a fine April morning, warm and sun filled. The marquis was eager to reach Waverley Castle in Land’s End. He rode slightly ahead of Helena’s carriage and came upon a familiar boulder. It was shaped like a bald eagle’s head poised for flight. At this juncture, the road narrowed. On the north side, a forest of trees, on the south, the English Channel. The sound of the sea pulsed inside his ear. In spite of all the years he’d spent on foreign soil, there was no sound quite like the surf pounding the rocks on the magnificent Cornish coast.

Helena leaned back against her seat while Amy squirmed, trying to find a comfortable spot. She reached behind her for the hard object jabbing into her and picked up the black leather-bound journal. “Look here. I’ve found it, milady.” She held up the tooled volume. “It was here all the time. Just stuck way down in the folds of my seat, see?”

Helena seized the diary from Amy’s fingers and began to leaf through it. All the pages were accounted for, to her relief. “Thank you, dear. I can be easy again.”

They stopped in Truro for refreshments as well as for a final change of horses.

It was past three in the afternoon when they were ready to leave Truro for Land’s End. Rabu climbed up to sit next to Casper after Helena and Amy were settled. The marquis led the way along the narrow road that ran parallel to the sea.

Helena inhaled the sharp tang of the brisk sea air and listened to the seagulls squawking. She was as eager for the journey to end as the rest of their party. How nice it would be not to have to be jounced in a carriage for hours on end, she thought.

At Waverley’s command, Casper turned the chaise in the direction of the castle. They made their way along the main road, one much frequented by mail coaches.

The view of the sea to the south and the moors to the north enchanted Helena. She took out her quill and opened the journal to a clean page and began to describe the beauty of the rugged coast of Cornwall that met her eyes.

London

The duchess entered the breakfast parlor clutching a letter in her hand.

“Good morning, dear. Up early, I see,” said the duke, wiping his mouth.

She took the seat held for her by a footman while another brought her tea and toast, her customary breakfast. “I need a word, your grace.” She glanced at the servants.

The duke nodded to the head footman, who understood the silent command well. He cleared the room of servants and followed the last one out of the swinging door that connected the kitchen to the dining room.

“What is it, my dear?”

“I’ve had a letter from Helena. Posted at Turks Head Inn in Exeter.”

“How is she getting on?”

“She doesn’t say, Tony. All she writes is she has been asked to tell you that the landlord wishes to be remembered to you.”

The duke chuckled. “I don’t doubt that I will meet with his humblest thanks in the enormous bill he’ll send for his services.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Have we done the right thing, Ellen? Sending her so far away from us?”

“What else could we do to protect her from the gossipmongers? Besides, it’s only for a short time. She’ll be back in June for Georgiana’s ball. By then the scandal will be old news and the gossips will have gone on to another
on dit.

“If Georgie doesn’t break her foolish neck before then,” the duke said with asperity.

The duchess sighed. “What has she done now to vex you so?”

“The stable master informs me that she rode out yesterday morning with my best racer and tore through Richmond Park hell for leather. She rides without heed to danger for herself as well as for my horses, Ellen. You must speak to her about her wild conduct.”

Instead of laughing at the duke’s attempt to fob off his parental responsibility on her—it was
his
racer after all—the duchess covered her face with her napkin, as if in the process of wiping her lips. “Certainly, dear, but I shall need the benefit of your wisdom to do it. What would you suggest I say to her?”

The duke pursed his lips. “I suppose you think it my place to give her a good talking to,” he grumbled.

“Not at all. I’ll talk to her. It’s just that I look to you for…direction in such a delicate matter.”

“No. You’re right, Ellen. I ought to be the one to talk to her. No. No. Don’t protest. My mind is made up. She needs a father’s sternness rather than a mother’s soft reprimand in this instance.”

“Whatever you say, dear. You always know best.” She paused. “There is something else.”

“What? Has that brat done something else to plague us?”

“It’s not Georgiana. It’s Mary.”

The duke’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Mary? You can’t mean our most obedient child? All she ever does is practice the pianoforte. What can she possibly have done to distress you?”

Sunday, the Twelfth of April, 1818
Land’s End

“We’re almost there, milady!” shrieked Amy, startling Helena out of her reveries. “Waverley Castle is just beyond that bend in the road.”

Helena rolled her window down and leaned out. “Casper, stop a moment.” She flew out of the coach before he could climb down from his perch. The fog lifted as if on some ethereal command and her heart skipped a beat. The scent of wild verbena filled the air, its lavender blossoms crowding the roadside and swaying in the slight breeze. But the short flower spikes did nothing to obstruct the magnificent view of the sea beyond.

Waverley came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Takes my breath away. I’d almost forgotten the sound of the sea. There’s something holy about its power.”

“Indeed,” she said, wishing the moment would last—especially the feelings he aroused with his touch. “Oh, yes. It overwhelms me.”

Amy sidled up to them and said, “Just as I told you, milady.”

“Yes, Amy. It fairly robs me of speech.” Waverley and Helena exchanged glances of amusement at Amy’s determined enforcement of proper behavior between them.

“Right pretty,” agreed Casper, who had handed the reins to Rabu and climbed down to stretch his legs.

Helena smiled to herself, for Casper’s eyes were trained not on the coastline but on her abigail.

Amy shook a warning finger in his face. “Don’t be standin’ there, you lout. Help milady up so’s we can go on to the castle.”

“I know me duty, lass. Don’t be thinking you have the right to order me about.”

“Why you, you…”

“Enough. It’s late and Lady Fairchild is weary,” said Waverley in a voice meant to brook no nonsense.

Casper handed Amy in first, unable to resist squeezing her waist. She pushed his hand away and rewarded him with an indignant glare, which pleased him no end.

“Allow me, ma’am,” said Waverley, helping Helena into the coach. “Though our long journey ends shortly, a new chapter begins. As always, I remain your servant.”

“I can take care of myself, sir,” she murmured in embarrassment.

He leaned into the coach and ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “You’ve already taught me that, haven’t you? I shan’t forget how you saved my life. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome, my lord.”

“Why so formal?”

She smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Desmond.”

“That’s better, sweet Helena.” He mounted his horse and led the way to the home he had not seen in years. What would he find waiting for him there, he wondered.

Helena ignored the jolt on the road as the carriage rattled on, for her mind was on Waverley. It dawned on her that she was in danger of losing her heart to a rake.
Or is it that I need to feel loved once more? With Darlington, it was one-sided. I know that now, to my regret. Is it the same with Waverley? Am I reading too much into his attentions?

When the coach turned the bend, Waverley castle came into Helena’s view. Gun ports and musket slits facing the sea ran unevenly across its crown. Below them were mullioned windows. At one end she noted a round tower and at the other, a square structure where the original keep may have been. Behind the castle rose a taller structure. From its modern design, Helena correctly assumed it had been more recently added. The whole stood sentinel above the sea, as if meant to protect the land from marauders.

When they reached the entryway, its large open gate listed like a sinking ship sorely in need of rescue. The coach bumped and swayed down an uneven drive lined with trees and shrubs. These had been neglected, Helena noted. She wondered why.

The marquis was first to dismount. His eyes swept the facade, despair writ large on his face. He surveyed the visible damage to his beloved Waverley and swallowed bile.

Casper climbed down at the entrance and lowered the steps. He offered his hand to his mistress. When he did the same for Amy, she glared at him and brushed it aside.

The sound of the sea crashing against the wall of craggy rocks below the old castle offered Waverley momentary relief from his misery. “I haven’t heard anything quite like that lovely sound since I was a boy.”

Helena ignored the anguish he was trying to mask, unwilling to add to his grief. “It is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Ring for the butler, Casper,” the marquis said.

Amy proceeded to fuss over her mistress, straightening her bonnet, tucking a stray curl in, smoothing her skirt. Helena caught Amy’s hand, knowing if she didn’t stop her, the abigail would waste whatever daylight was left in the grooming process.

Waverley offered his arm and led Helena to the landing in front of the huge oak door. Casper raised the knocker and banged it on the door. He was forced to repeat this several times more before the door creaked open.

“Whatcher want?” said a gruff voice. The slovenly dressed man at the door scowled at Casper.

“Where is the butler?” demanded Waverley.

“We ain’t got any butler.”

“And who might you be?”

“Who wants t’know?”

Desmond drew himself up and said with all the pomp he could summon, “I am the Marquis of Waverley. This is my home.”

The information did not appear to faze the man. “You ’is wife?” he asked Helena.

Desmond raked his eyes over him as if he were confronting an ugly toad. “Lady Fairchild is the daughter of the Duke of Heatham. She is my guest, come to visit my grandmother, the dowager marchioness. I trust her ladyship is well?”

The man scratched the stubble on his chin and thought, a rare occurrence for a man of his intelligence. “Wait here.” Before he could clank the door shut, Casper put his foot in it to prevent him from doing just that.

The marquis turned to Helena and muttered, “This doesn’t bode well.”

“No, indeed.” She summoned a smile in spite of her uneasiness. “You shall sort it out, I’m sure.”

He patted her hand, comforted by her sympathy. “Depend upon it.”

The door swung open to reveal a white-haired woman dressed in a soiled gown, a large ring of keys hanging from a chain around her ample waist. She squinted at them with faded brown eyes keen enough to note the servants as well as the carriage filled to the brim with baggage. Her bulbous red nose bespoke a tippler of whiskey and ale. She was short and squat, as if carved from a block of rough wood. Her hands were on her hips in a belligerent stance while the man who had summoned her stood by her side as if ready to attack if only she would give the command.

The woman said, “I’m Mrs. Trasker. I don’t know what faradiddle you’re tryin’ to fob off on my son Harry, but it won’t work. Everyone knows that the marquis’ son died at sea years ago.”

Helena raised her hand to warn Waverley not to speak. She said in a soothing voice, “You were misinformed, ma’am. This is indeed the marquis, and I am Lady Fairchild. My mother, the Duchess of Heatham, is goddaughter to the marchioness. The dear lady was kind enough to invite me to visit her. And the marquis was kind enough to escort me here. You received my mother’s letter informing you of my arrival, I’m sure.”

Her words took the woman by surprise but she recovered at once and barked, “Never saw such. Got lost, mayhap.”

Helena shook her head in mock disbelief. “Lost? But how can that be when it was delivered by special messenger and signed for?”

“Come in, then. But not this…imposter,” she said, trying to maintain her advantage.

Waverley stepped forward and flashed his most winning smile at the odious woman. He held out his hand to her—his signet ring staring her in the face. “Beg pardon, ma’am,” he began as if taking her into his confidence. “After my investiture by the Prince Regent, I set off for Waverley at once, for I was most anxious to meet my family. You and your son are Banningtons, I have been told. Therefore, ma’am, we are cousins. It should be obvious that rumors of my death were exaggerated. As you see, I am very much alive.”

The ring glistened in the waning sunlight. “When news of my father’s death reached me, I returned to England at once to take possession of my estate and care for my grandmother.”

“Ring is a fake, mayhap. Any jeweler might make a copy from one o’ them books.”

“Good God! Do you think it a fake? The Regent will be distressed when he hears of this forgery.”

Emboldened, Mrs. Trasker added, “That’s right. So I’ll need more proof you’re the marquis.”

Waverley pretended to think on this bizarre request. “I suppose I might apply to Magistrate Wyndham. He was a close friend of my father’s. He’s known me all my life.” He reached into his vest pocket and drew out his watch. “At this time, the magistrate is likely to be enjoying his dinner with his family. I would hate to disturb him, especially since the result will be in my favor, I assure you.”

The woman stuck out her chin in a final attempt at defiance, though her eyes signaled defeat. She glanced over the entire group. “Din’t ’spect so many of you. Rooms ain’t ready.”

“We’ll make do,” said Waverley with more cheerfulness than he felt. In truth, his hands itched to strangle the woman. “Bring our baggage in, Rabu. Casper will assist you.” He turned to Mrs. Trasker and added, “I shall occupy my father’s quarters in the east wing, cousin. Would you be so kind as to escort Lady Fairchild to the chamber opposite my grandmother’s?”

Amy cleared her throat to gain his lordship’s attention.

“Yes? What is it, Amy?”

“The men are hungry, milord.”

“Thank you for reminding me, lass.” He turned to Casper and said, “The kitchen’s below stairs, just opposite the stables. After you unload our baggage, stable the horses and inform Cook of our arrival.”

Not to be left out, Amy added, “Ask for Cook Wells. She’s my aunt and she knows we’re expected, ’cause I wrote to my mum. She’s told her, I’m sure. And don’t forget to remind her to prepare some supper for the marquis and her ladyship.”

“Yes, lass.” Casper winked at her.

“Stubble it, Casper,” Amy growled. She turned away to follow her mistress.

But Helena stopped her. “Go along with Casper and Rabu and tell your aunt not to fuss over dinner for us. Something simple will do.”

“But milady…”

“Do as I say, dear,” Helena ordered.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Waverley said at once, “I must make our arrival known to my grandmother. Will you excuse me?” Without waiting for answer, he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor where he knew he would find his grandmother’s chamber.

Helena remained behind and took stock of her surroundings, astonished at what met her eyes. Dust motes floated in the air like soiled snowflakes. Her senses were assaulted by a stale odor so foul as to offend the heartiest soul. There were wilted flowers in the decorative bowl adorning a grimy table in the center of the hall. The floors felt like sand beneath her feet. It was obvious they hadn’t been swept in some time.

She heard the voices of two under maids chatting idly to one another drifting from somewhere nearby. Had they nothing better to do than gossip to pass the time? A cold chill seeped into her bones and she shuddered, for there was no fire in the grate. Two armored statues white with dust stood sentinel on either side of the grand staircase, its banisters sadly in need of polish.

Helena turned to face the woman who had tried so hard to prevent their entry. “Mrs. Trasker? I would be most indebted to you if you would lead me to my chamber.”

“How long you gonna stay?”

Helena ignored her belligerence. “I cannot say. A month? Two? Perhaps three.” She spoke casually, knowing her words would irritate. “Inform my abigail to join me as soon as she may. She can unpack my things while I rest. I’ll meet the dowager marchioness at dinner.”

“Her ladyship doesn’t come down to dinner. She eats in her chamber and sleeps a lot, her bein’ sick and all.”

Helena understood that she was engaged in battling a formidable enemy. Here was a challenge she was determined to win. “Then I have my work cut out for me, Mrs. Trasker. I mean to relieve you of the burden of caring for his lordship’s grandmother. The Duchess of Heatham, my mother, charged me with the task of seeing to her ladyship’s well-being. I hope that will relieve your mind.”

“That chamber opposite her ladyship ain’t been used for years. You might be more comfortable if you stayed in Ship Inn. It’s in Sennen Cove, not far from here.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine here. There’s no need to trouble your servants, Mrs. Trasker. My abigail will put the chamber to rights.”

“How is it you got a Cornish lass for your maid? I heard her accent.”

Another battle, Helena thought grimly. Taller than her adversary, she drew herself up and glanced down at the woman in haughty disdain. It took but a moment for the woman to lower her eyes. “For your information, Amy Wells grew up in Sennen Cove. Her mother and her uncle are the owners of Ship Inn. I would be most welcome if I wanted to stay there, for their hospitality is well known. But I am here and here is where I shall stay. Do I make myself clear?”

Trying for intelligence, Harry interrupted, “I knows the place. Been there a time or…” His mother’s icy stare silenced him at once.

Helena stifled the wicked grin threatening to disarrange her lips. She ignored the son, turned to the mother and said, “Would you be so kind as to lead the way to my chamber, ma’am?”

In a desperate effort to regain the upper hand, Mrs. Trasker invented what she hoped was a further obstacle to the unwanted invasion of what she had come to think of as her castle. “Coachman has to sleep over the stable. Your maid and milord’s valet sleep in the servants’ quarters in the attic.”

Helena smiled indulgently, though it cost her. “That will suit us very well. Allow me to thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Trasker. You’re too kind.” Helena strode to the grand staircase and waited, astonished at her unaccustomed audacity. Had her sarcasm found its mark? She couldn’t be sure.

“This chamber ain’t fit for pigs!” exploded Amy when she joined her mistress.

Helena put a finger to her lips and whispered, “Hush, Amy. Someone might be listening at our door. We can’t let on how we feel just yet. Let’s explore our surroundings first. What’s behind that door?”