Regency Betrayal: The Rake to Ruin Her / The Rake to Redeem Her

‘As long as living independently doesn’t involve wedlock, I can drink to that,’ Max said and raised his glass.

Chapter Two (#u9fd4fb25-6826-5a76-86c9-8d23bc3d619f)

‘No, no, you foolish creature, shake out the folds before you hang it!’

Caroline Denby looked up from her comfortable seat on the sofa in one of Barton Abbey’s elegant guest bedchambers to see her stepmother snatch a spangled evening gown from the hapless maid and give it a practised shake.

‘Like this,’ Lady Denby said, handing the garment back before turning to her stepdaughter. ‘Caroline, dear, won’t you put that book away and supervise Dulcie with that trunk while I make sure this girl doesn’t get our evening dresses hopelessly wrinkled?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Caroline replied, setting down her book with regret. Already she was counting the hours until the end of this dreary house party so she might return to Denby Lodge and her horses. She hated to lose almost ten days’ training with the winter sales approaching. The Denby line her father had bred had earned a peerless reputation among the racing and army set, and she wasn’t about to let her stepmama’s single-minded efforts to marry her off get in the way of maintaining her father’s high standards.

Besides, while working in the fields and stables in a daily regimen as comfortable and familiar as her father’s old riding boots, she could still feel the late Sir Martin’s kindly presence, watching over her and the horses that had been his life. How she still missed him!

Sighing, she closed her book and dutifully cast her gaze over at Dulcie, who was currently lifting a layer of chemises, stays and stockings out of a silken rustle of tissue paper. She should be thankful she’d been delegated to supervise the undergarments and leave the gowns to her stepmother. At least she wouldn’t have to cast her eyes on them again until she was forced to wear one.

Better to appear in some hideously over-trimmed confection of unflattering colour, she reminded herself, than to end up engaged.

‘I’ll help with the unpacking, but afterwards, I intend to ride Sultan before the light fades.’ As her stepmother opened her lips, probably to argue, Caroline added, ‘Remember, you agreed that if I consented to come to Mrs Ransleigh’s cattle auction, I’d be allowed to ride every day.’

‘Caroline, please!’ Lady Denby protested, her face flushing. Leaning closer and lowering her voice, she said, ‘You mustn’t refer to the gathering in such terms! Especially …’ She angled her head toward the maids.

Caroline shrugged. ‘But that’s what it is. A few gentlemen in search of rich wives gathering to look over the candidates, evaluate their appearance and pedigree, and try to strike a bargain. Just as they do at cattle fairs, or when they come to buy Papa’s horses, though I suppose the females here will be spared an inspection of their teeth and limbs.’

‘Really, Caroline,’ her stepmother said reprovingly, ‘I must deplore your using such a vulgar analogy. Just as the ladies wish to ascertain the character of prospective suitors, gentlemen want to assure themselves that any lady to whom they offer matrimony possesses suitable background and breeding.’

‘And dowry,’ Caroline added.

Ignoring that comment, Lady Denby said, ‘Couldn’t you, for once, allow yourself to enjoy the attentions of some handsome young men? I know you don’t want to spend another Season in London!’

‘You also know I’m not interested in getting married,’ Caroline said with the weariness of long repetition. ‘Why don’t you forget about trying to lure me into wedlock and concentrate on making a match for Eugenia? My stepsister is beautiful and wealthy enough to snare any suitor she fancies, and she’s eager enough for both of us. Only think how much blunt you’d save, if you didn’t have to take her to town in the spring!’

‘Unlike you, Eugenia is eagerly anticipating her London Season. Besides which, though I don’t wish to be indelicate, you are … getting on in years. If you don’t marry soon, you will be considered quite on the shelf.’

‘Which would be quite all right with me,’ Caroline retorted. ‘Harry won’t care a fig for that, when he comes back.’

‘But, Caroline, India is such an unhealthy, heathenish place! Marauding maharajas and fevers and all manner of dangers. Difficult as it is to consider, you must acknowledge the possibility that Lieutenant Tremaine might not return.’ Lady Denby’s eyes widened, as if the notion had only just occurred to her. ‘Surely he wasn’t so heedless of propriety as to ask you to wait for him!’

‘No,’ Caroline admitted. ‘We have no formal understanding.’

‘I should think not! It would have been most improper, with him leaving for Calcutta while everything was still in such an uproar after your papa’s … demise. Now, I understand you’ve known Harry Tremaine for ever and are comfortable with him, but if you would but give the notion a chance, I’m sure you could find some other gentleman equally … accommodating.’

Of her odd preferences for horses and hounds rather than gowns and needlework, Caroline silently filled in the unstated words. With Harry she’d had no need to conceal her unconventional and mannish interests, nor did she have to pretend a maidenly deference to his masculine opinions and decisions.

For her dearest childhood friend she might consider marrying and braving the Curse—though just thinking about the prospect sent an involuntary shudder through her. But she certainly wasn’t willing to risk her life for some lisping dandy who had his eyes on her dowry … or the Denby stud.

Unfortunately, she was wealthy enough that, despite her unconventional ways, there’d been no lack of aspirants to her hand during her aborted Season, before news of her father’s sudden illness had called them home. Caroline remained sceptical of how ‘accommodating’ any prospective husband might be, however, once he gained legal control over her person, property—and beloved horses. With the example of her now much-wiser and much-poorer widowed cousin Elizabeth to caution her, she had no intention of letting herself become dazzled by some rogue with designs on her wealth and property.

If she must marry, she’d wait to wed Harry, who knew her down to the ground and for whom she felt the same sort of deep, companionable love she’d felt for her father. Another pang of loss reverberated through her.

Gritting her teeth against it, she said, ‘In the five years since Harry joined the army, I’ve not found anyone I like as well.’

‘Well, you certainly can’t claim to have seriously looked! Not when you managed to talk your dear father, God rest his soul, out of taking you to London, or even attending the local assemblies, until I managed to convince him of the necessity last year. It’s just not … natural for a young lady to have no interest in marriage!’ Lady Denby burst out, not for the first time.

Before Caro could argue that point, her stepmother’s expression turned cajoling. ‘Come now, my dear, why not allow Mrs Ransleigh’s guests to become acquainted with you? It’s always possible you might meet a gentleman you could like well enough to marry. You know I have only your best interests at heart!’

The devil of it was Caroline knew the tenderhearted Lady Denby did want only the best for her, though what her stepmother considered ‘best’ bore little resemblance to what Caroline wanted for herself.

Her resolve weakening in the face of that lady’s genuine concern, Caroline gave her a hug. ‘I know you want me to be happy. But can you truly see me mistress of some ton gentleman’s town house or nursery? Striding about in breeches and boots rather than gowns and dancing slippers, stable straw in my braids and barn muck on my shoes? Nor do I possess your sweetness of character, which allows you to listen with every appearance of interest even to the most idiotic of gentlemen. I’m more likely to pronounce him a lackwit to his face, right in the middle of the drawing room.’

‘Fiddle,’ her stepmother replied, returning the hug. ‘You’re often a trifle … impatient with those who don’t possess your quickness of wit, but you’ve a kind heart for all that and would never be so rag-mannered. Besides, it was your papa’s dying wish that I see you married.’

When Caroline raised her eyebrows sceptically, Lady Denby said, ‘Truly, it was! Though I suppose it’s only natural of you to doubt it, since he made so little effort to push you towards matrimony while he was still with us. But I promise you, as he breathed his last, he urged me to help you find a good man who’d make you happy.’

Caroline smiled at her stepmother. ‘You brightened what turned out to be his last two years. Knowing how much you did, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that, at the end, he urged you to cajole me into wedlock.’

Lady Denby sighed. ‘We were very happy. I’ve always appreciated, by the way, how unselfish you were in not resenting me for marrying him, after it had been just the two of you for so long.’

Caroline laughed. ‘Oh, I resented you fiercely! I wished to be sullen and distant and spiteful, but your sweet nature and obvious concern for us both quite overwhelmed my ill humour.’

‘You’re not still concerned about that silly notion you call ‘the Curse’?’ Lady Denby enquired. ‘I grant you, childbirth poses a danger to every woman. But when one holds one’s first child in one’s arms, one knows the risk was well worth it! I want you to experience that joy, Caroline.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Caro said, refraining from pointing out again just how many of her female relations, including her own mama, had died trying to taste that bliss. Her stepmother, ever optimistic, chose to see their deaths as unfortunate chance. Caro did not believe it to be mere coincidence, but there was no point continuing to argue the matter with Lady Denby.

Her stepmother’s genuine concern for her future usually kept Caroline from resenting—too much—Lady Denby’s increasingly determined efforts to push her towards matrimony … as long as the discussion didn’t drag on too long. Time to end this now, before her patience, always in rather short supply when discussing this disagreeable topic, ran out altogether.

‘Enough, then. I promise I will view the company with an open mind. Now, I must change if I am to get that ride in before dinner.’ She gave Lady Denby an impish grin. ‘At least I’ll don a habit, instead of my usual breeches and boots.’

Caroline was chuckling at her stepmother’s shudder when suddenly the chamber door was thrown open. Caro’s stepsister, Eugenia, rushed in, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink and her golden curls tumbled.

‘Mama, I’ve heard the most alarming news! Indeed, I fear we may have to repack the trunks and depart immediately!’

‘Depart?’ Lady Denby echoed. With a warning look at Eugenia, she turned to the maids. ‘Thank you, girls; you may go now.’

After the servants filed out, she faced her daughter. ‘What calamity has befallen that would require us to leave when we’ve only just arrived? Has Mrs Ransleigh fallen ill?’

‘Oh, nothing of that sort! It seems that her son, Mr Alastair Ransleigh, just arrived here unexpectedly. Oh, Mama, he has the most dreadful reputation! Miss Claringdon says he always has an actress or high-flyer in keeping, or is carrying on a highly publicised affair with some scandalous matron! Sometimes both at once!’

‘And what would you know of high-flyers and scandalous matrons, Eugenia?’ Caro asked with a grin.

‘Well, nothing, of course,’ her stepsister replied, flushing. ‘Except what I learned from the gossip at school. I’m just relating what Miss Claringdon said. Her family is very well connected and she spent the entire Season in town last spring.’

‘Poor Mrs Ransleigh!’ Lady Denby said. ‘What an embarrassing development! She can hardly forbid her son to enter his own home.’

‘Yes, it’s quite a dilemma! She cannot send him away, but if any of us should encounter him … why, Miss Claringdon said merely being seen conversing with him is enough for a girl to be declared fast. How enormously vexing! I was so looking forward to becoming acquainted with some of the ladies and gentlemen that I shall meet again next Season in London. But I don’t want to remain and have my reputation tarnished before I’ve even begun.’ She sighed, a frown marring her perfect brow. ‘And that’s not all!’

‘Goodness, more bad news?’ Lady Denby asked.

‘I’m afraid so. Accompanying Mr Ransleigh is his cousin, the Honourable Mr Maximillian Ransleigh.’