The Last Rogue

“Was Raleigh very unhappy?” she asked, remembering the usually carefree viscount’s glum countenance.

“He will soon discover his good fortune,” Max said, and Charlotte could not help but note that her husband had avoided answering her directly. Before she could protest, he added, “Jane is a lovely girl, well-mannered and kindhearted.”

Charlotte nodded. “I know, but she is so accustomed to being the plain one that she cannot see she has grown into an attractive young woman.”

“Anyone would suffer being compared to you,” Max said loyally as he put his arm around her.

Charlotte smiled, but her heart remained heavy. “And so much was made of how I resembled Mama that I fear Jane cannot recognize any other type of beauty.”

“Raleigh has no such prejudices, and he will soon have her decked out in the latest of gowns, if he can manage it,” Max said.

The viscount was definitely a tulip of fashion, Charlotte silently agreed, but she was not sure whether he could bring Jane around to his viewpoint. Still, Jane could hardly go about in society without more—and better—clothing. “Surely you do not think Jane will refuse to dress appropriately?” she asked with some concern.

“No,” Max said wryly. “I mean that our Raleigh is never very flush in the pocket.”

Charlotte felt a chill despite the warm breeze. “But he always has fine garments and horses, that town house…” Her words trailed off as her uneasiness grew.

“The town house belongs to his father, who has always kept Raleigh on very tight purse strings. Of course, the family seat is entailed, so it will someday be Raleigh’s, but I have no idea how much money is tied up with the estate itself.”

Charlotte straightened, disliking the turn of the conversation. “What are you saying?” she asked.

Max frowned as he gazed off into the distance. “As far as I know, Raleigh hasn’t a feather to fly with.”

Charlotte groaned. “Oh, Max! How could you let them marry?”

“His situation is not that uncommon, Charlotte. And he’s not in a bad way…yet.”

Charlotte was afraid to look at him, fearful of the serious tone of his voice, and the nagging feeling she had known all day blossomed into full-blown alarm. “Yet?” she whispered.

Max drew her close, and Charlotte braced herself for what could only be ill news. “The earl is a bit of a stickler, as is his wife.” Max paused. “Although I pray it won’t come to that, if Raleigh’s parents are displeased with Jane, there is always the possibility that he may be cut off without a cent.”

With a low gasp, Charlotte leaned against her husband’s chest, heedless of the eyes of any guests who lingered on the grounds. Although she had grown up in a loving household, she had learned the vagaries of the London elite, and in her experience most of the ton were vultures waiting to feed off their next victim. And poor Jane, fresh from the country, would be ripe for the pecking. Turning wide eyes on her husband, Charlotte cried aloud in guilt and panic. “Oh, Max, what have we done?”

Raleigh leaned back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes, relishing the return of something akin to reasonable health. Ever since casting up his accounts this morning, he had begun to feel better. Charlotte had filled him with some odious tea to get him through the ceremony, and he had hoped to recover fully after a nap in the coach. But now that his head and stomach were improved, Raleigh found himself more keenly aware of his situation, so much so that sleep eluded him.

This time he had really done it.

He had been in scrapes before—running up debts, gambling and even overturning a mail coach that he had driven on a dare in his youth. Yet all other incidents paled in comparison to his current predicament. How the devil had he got himself into it? Raleigh groaned.

One too many bottles, he suspected. Odd that the more one consumed, the more one had to drink to reach the same level of blissful ignorance. And the longer it took to recover from a bad bout. His head had been pounding so hard this morning that he would have agreed to anything just to stop Wycliffe from shouting. And Wycliffe never raised his voice. Feeling wretched and vaguely guilty, Raleigh had gone along with it all, but now that he was not so ill, he felt something else entirely.

Resentment, a rather alien emotion, simmered in Raleigh’s breast. It was hard to blame Wycliffe and Charlotte, whom he knew and liked, for his present circumstances—far easier to blame Jane, whom he barely knew and didn’t like. Lifting his head, Raleigh dared a glance at the female across from him. She was sitting rigidly straight upon the seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap and her face resolutely turned toward the window in a deliberate effort to avoid him even within the close confines of the vehicle. Raleigh was not surprised. She had not looked at him with any equanimity all day, or indeed, for as long as he could remember.

He had seen her before, of course, having been to Casterleigh many times since Wycliffe’s marriage. He had always been vastly entertained by Charlotte’s numerous siblings, but Jane tended to fade into the background among the more lively brothers and sisters. A grubby urchin, she was always digging in the garden or buried in a book. Quiet, serious and bespectacled, she was the type who either bored him to tears with her lack of animation or irritated him by scolding the little ones.

Lud, he had known her since she was but a child herself! Indeed, he hadn’t even realized that she had grown up—to the advanced age of eighteen, no less. Lifting his quizzing glass, Raleigh studied her more closely. She was wearing a hideous bonnet sadly out of fashion and a drab little traveling dress with matching spencer. Although her skin was clear, her nondescript hair was pulled so tightly from her face that he wondered it did not pain her. Maybe it did, for her lips appeared to be locked into a perpetual frown.

Dropping his gaze, Raleigh decided that she possessed some curves, though certainly nothing like her sister’s voluptuous form. The exact details were difficult to determine beneath the loose jacket. Intent upon his visual assessment of his bride’s endowments, Raleigh did not even realize she had moved until he was startled by a sudden, loud sniff that drew his attention to her face. In the wake of the withering glance that settled upon him with alarming contempt, his quizzing glance almost fell from his fingers.

“Will you please cease ogling my person?” Her voice was soft, low and pleasantly pitched, but so full of venom that Raleigh could not immediately think of an appropriate retort. He simply watched in amazement as she drew herself up even more stiffly and turned toward the window, as if giving him the cut direct in his own equipage. Well, truth to tell, this was not exactly his own carriage, but still…

Raleigh frowned, certain he had never met a more disagreeable female. He had expected the creature to be plain and dull, but certainly not so annoying! Were not the plain and dull women also more likely to be mild and obedient? Lud, but it was his great misfortune to be saddled with the one wretched creature who was not! Seized by a wholly unnatural temper, Raleigh silently railed at his bride, his situation, his parents and fate in general.

The paroxysm, though cathartic, was not like him, for normally he was the most amiable of men—fun-loving Raleigh, everyone’s boon companion, always ready to laugh. Yet his so-called good nature was becoming sorely tried of late. What had seemed so entertaining ten years ago was more of a dead bore as he approached his thirtieth birthday. London’s endless round of parties and gambling and drinking, racing curricles, preening in the latest fashions and flirting with the ladies had begun to pall. But what other life was available to him?

His best friends had all married and rarely came to town, and although he very much enjoyed his visits to their country homes, Raleigh felt the interloper when viewing their close familiarity. Conversely, he detested his own family seat, where his parents ruled humorlessly and a passel of female relatives picked at him to provide an heir for the future.

He longed for his own home, be it no bigger than Casterleigh. Even something much smaller but more personal might very well suit his needs, but he hadn’t the blunt. Indeed, he had little more than his monthly allowance, and it seemed he was always struggling to make it last.

Regretfully, Raleigh wished he had followed Wycliffe’s advice years ago and invested some of it. The earl was always increasing his huge fortune with some clever venture and urging his friends to join him, but Raleigh’s allowance never stretched that far. He had his tailor to pay and his gambling debts, his horses and their upkeep. It all seemed a waste now, he thought, his mind more focused than it had been in years. Perhaps this recent debacle had awakened him to the truth—or the massive dose of liquor had cleared his brain.

Whatever the cause, Raleigh rued the free-spending habits that kept him dependent upon his tightfisted father, but he had effectively burned his bridges behind him. His parents had been urging him to marry an heiress for years, and he had feared the recent summons was an order to wed some hatchet-faced female. The notion, so unpalatable only a day ago, now seemed a sensible solution to his monetary woes.

Unfortunately, that course was no longer open to him, for instead of a fresh infusion of wealth, he brought a penniless girl into the family. And not only was she bereft of fortune, but of lineage, as well. A simple vicar’s daughter, Plain Jane ought to send his parents into apoplexy! Would they cut him off entirely? Surely not, Raleigh thought, but the idea was enough to make him groan.

Another loud sniff made him open one eye and contemplate his bride in abject misery. But rather than offer him sympathy or inquire as to his troubles, she gave him a quelling look that reminded him of his great-aunt Hephzibah. Raleigh shuddered. Lowering his lashes once more, he groaned again in deliberate disregard for his companion’s contempt. His only comfort was that he had surely reached the absolute depths of misfortune and could hardly be supposed to sink any lower.

Unless, of course, his parents, upon taking one look at his unsuitable bride, disowned him.

Jane awoke with a start, shocked to have drifted off in the coach, but then, she had proved herself capable of dozing whenever and wherever, had she not? Frowning, she looked over at Raleigh and was relieved to find him resting as well. There was something unnerving about sleeping in front of another person. It bespoke a vulnerability that she did not care to expose to the man she had married. Last night they had both been oblivious in the yellow room’s big bed, but now…Jane shivered. She did not like people looking at her, judging and comparing her, and she was grateful for his inattention.

Although mindful of her own dislike for staring, Jane could not help but take the opportunity to consider her husband. He was sprawled along the seat in complete abandon, careless even when unawares, Jane thought disdainfully. One arm rested beneath his head, while one long leg lay across the cushions in a most unseemly manner.

Dandy. Although she had rarely been to London, Jane had seen such men before. Of course, Wycliffe was a study in elegance, too refined to be one, but not Raleigh. Raleigh had always looked too well groomed to be anything except one of those young bucks who put devotion to fashion above all else, constantly preening and posturing with his quizzing glass! His gloves had always been unsoiled, his handkerchief spotless, his boots immaculate. To a young girl often filthy from gardening, it had been intimidating, and Jane keenly recalled her youthful resentment at his constant perfection.

He had changed little in the ensuing years. While Jane had learned to indulge her love for flowers with more care, she was still sometimes dusty from digging in the earth. Raleigh, on the other hand, was impossibly clean, his hair never out of place, his garments never wrinkled. And although other visitors to Casterleigh usually reeked of the stables, Raleigh even smelled clean, a combination of soap and cologne and his own special scent.

Lack of industriousness, Jane thought piously. From his frequent, lengthy stays, it was apparent that the viscount had no real duties with which to occupy himself. Better that a man carry the odor of honest labor, Jane told herself, than be such a sad layabout.

It appeared that the extent of Raleigh’s exertions involved standing still for his tailor, or perhaps not even that, for his clothes could hardly said to be of a proper fit. His discreetly patterned waistcoat looked so snug, Jane was surprised the man could draw a decent breath. And his doeskin pantaloons were definitely too tight, clinging like another skin to his muscled thighs before disappearing into his gleaming hessians.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Jane focused her attention back upon his face, framed by his absurdly high, stiff collar, and she paused to silently decry his elaborately tied cravat. It was the only loose item of apparel he wore, for even his scarlet coat threatened to burst at the seams of shoulders Jane had never before noticed as being quite so broad.

After taking another quick breath, Jane gazed again at his face, composed even in sleep. Naturally, the man could be counted upon not to do anything so mundane as to snore or drool. Nor did his countenance grow slack, for it was nearly dusk and the golden glow inside the couch positively kissed his features, even and appealing.

But not to her. Never to her, she vowed. With a sniff of disgust, Jane looked out the window only to swallow a gasp, for coming into view was a vast building, a huge Palladian edifice that she knew with sickening dread could only be Raleigh’s home, Westfield Park. A vast face of stone rose upward three stories—four in the severe, square towers that marked the building’s corners—its innumerable windows capturing the setting sun, blinding her so that she had to blink back tears.

She was to serve as mistress of this huge, cold place someday? Jane must have made a sound of distress at the thought, for Raleigh stirred, righting himself gracefully. Without meeting his gaze, she turned to stare resolutely out the window, while trying to marshal her courage. Somehow, because of his careless manner, Raleigh had always seemed less of a nobleman than Wycliffe, but now she was forcibly reminded that the viscount would inherit an earldom when his father died. And an estate larger than she had ever dreamed.

Jane felt sick.

“How do I look?” The absurd question made her glance toward Raleigh, who was smoothing his scarlet coat and running a hand over his carefully arranged hair.

“Like a man obsessed with his appearance!” Jane snapped.

“Good!” he answered, flashing her an unrepentant grin that would have melted the heart of a lesser woman. Jane did not flinch. She had opened her mouth to utter a scathing set-down when the coach rolled to a stop, and she clung uncertainly to the cushions as Raleigh swept past her.

“Try to look as mild and unassuming as you always did at Casterleigh,” the viscount muttered as he dropped to the ground and reached for her. “Agree with whatever they say, smile and nod, and maybe we can escape without losing everything.”