The Midnight Rake

After an hour of similar failure, Phin conceded. He’d had no success and snapped his fishing rod when it caught on an unexpected quagmire. In a darker mood than earlier, he sunk into the leather squabs of his carriage and signaled to the driver with a sharp rap to the ceiling. He wished for nothing more than the sweet solitude he’d find upon arriving home. His mother remained at their country estate, Betcham Manor. His father had embarked on a grand tour months before and would continue his travels indefinitely. The allure of absolute quiet, a late supper and the respite to be found in his large bed, tempted with idyllic suggestion. He eased back against the cushions and relaxed, anticipating the peacefulness awaiting him at home.

Restlessness became his enemy and at last he arrived. Too anxious for the footman’s arrival, Phin’s boots hit the pavement before the carriage stopped in the drive. He bounded up the stone steps leading to the main entrance and barely reached the brass knob before the door flew wide, his butler present on the other side. The servant’s perturbed expression gave Phineas immediate pause.

“What is it, Jenkins?” The man’s usual conviviality appeared absent.

“Your mother, my lord.”

Phineas pushed into the marble-laid foyer, his eyes sweeping from wall to wall in uncertainty. “Is everything alright?” His voice was laced with concern. “Has a message arrived? Is there news of which I need to be made aware?”

The butler cleared his throat and leaned forward a fraction. “Your mother is here. She is currently upstairs. The household did not expect Her Grace’s arrival and I am afraid the sudden visit has upended the staff.”

“Jenkins, you alarmed me. Have a care.” Phineas relaxed, shrugging out of his waistcoat to hand to the servant. Then brushing a palm down his face, he exhaled fully. “Surely my mother’s unexpected arrival should not discomfort the staff. The house has been kept aright and I’ve only been gone a fortnight. What seems to be the trouble?”

“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 fingers 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 (#ulink_fe06d6ff-8b21-59e2-837f-212a3c90e9f9)

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.