Read Candles in the Storm Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction
Candles in the Storm (25 page)
‘A dainty little thing like you having the strength to rescue my nephew from the cruel sea,’ Francis drawled mockingly by way of explanation.
He hadn’t meant that at all. He’d been being nasty, suggestive, Daisy thought, dropping her gaze so she didn’t have to look at the dark, somewhat rheumy eyes that were sliding over her face. The way he was staring was horrible.
Wilhelmina must have thought so too because her voice was abrupt when she said, ‘Daisy, child, perhaps you would serve us all a fresh cup of tea?’
Francis Fraser was five years younger than his brother but now, at forty-five years of age, appeared twenty years older than Augustus, the penalties of a lifetime of debauchery evident in both face and body. Utterly self-centred and opinionated, he had been an unpleasant child and had grown into an even more unpleasant man, excelling only in his capacity for the wide variety of sexual perversions he so relished. Now, as he considered the slip of a girl who had caused so much trouble in various ways in his brother’s household, and who had even got Kirby seething with resentment, he admitted to feeling a slight sense of disappointment.
From all that Augustus’s womenfolk had intimated, and certainly from the little chat he had had with his brother’s valet, he had expected to see a bold, brazen hussy who would be more than ready to meet him halfway in a lusty romp once his sister’s back was turned. But that was obviously not the way this piece played it. Francis sighed inwardly. He had long since lost any inclination to cajole or inveigle, having found from experience that the type who demanded such treatment wasn’t worth the trouble or the money, and rarely submitted easily to the more . . . unusual practices he forced upon them.
Still, this chit was comely enough, if a little thin for his taste these days. He allowed his eyes to wander over the slender waist and firm young breasts beneath the muslin dress. He liked his boys svelte and narrow; his females, whether young or old, he preferred with meat on their bones. Then again, the exceptions to the rule were what made life interesting . . .
‘Do you like milk or lemon in your tea, sir?’ Daisy had to force herself to look into the moist, high-coloured face which, although bearing the same unmistakable stamp as his siblings, seemed like a caricature of theirs. She didn’t like Sir Augustus Fraser - Miss Wilhelmina’s brother was cold and unfeeling and rarely acknowledged her presence - but there was no doubt he was a fine figure of a man and carried himself with authority, whereas Francis Fraser resembled nothing so much as a giant slug.
‘Lemon.’ He abhorred tea, in fact the last time he had drunk the obnoxious stuff must have been in this very room on his previous visit the year before, but Wilhelmina was always very chary of offering him anything stronger. As though a brief abstinence here would make any difference to the state of his liver! Augustus was the same; in fact they had had quite an altercation about his consumption of wine at dinner a year or two back, if he remembered rightly. Augustus had told him, in his usual icy manner, that if he wished to drink himself to death he was quite at liberty to do so but not at Greyfriar Hall. Damn it but he loathed the pair of them, and it was galling to have to tread so carefully. But he must, he must. Those gambling debts wouldn’t wait and he needed Augustus’s co-operation.
He watched Wilhelmina’s protégée deftly using the lemon squeezer, his mouth twisting slightly. His sister was teaching her well, you’d think the baggage had been born to it instead of coming from the gutter.
Without a word of thanks he took the cup offered to him but in doing so managed surreptitiously to stroke Daisy’s hand for a moment, feeling the recoil of the young flesh with a sense of amusement and resignation. She was going to insist he importune her, this one, solicit her attention before she consented to some sport. According to Kirby she had been at it from when she could walk, but now she had landed in clover with his sister maybe she thought she would assume the airs and graces of a lady? Well, he had nothing else to do in this dismal backwater, Francis decided, so he didn’t mind playing along a little. But he could only be pushed so far.
It was almost half an hour before the two men took their leave of their sister, and Daisy wasn’t the only one who found their visit trying. Wilhelmina had always seen Augustus as an inordinately proud and fastidious individual, and knew the only way the older brother could stomach the younger was to pay little attention to him, but it irritated her the way he had removed himself from the conversation that evening. She had no illusions about Francis either but had chosen not to probe into his life, sensing that besides his immoderate gambling and drinking there were other vices he indulged in that she would rather not know about. This evening, however, she had been forced to acknowledge that she really didn’t want Francis within a hundred miles of Daisy, and had found this realisation disturbing. The girl was an innocent, Wilhelmina was absolutely sure of that, and the thought of her brother laying his hands on her . . .
As the sound of the men’s departure faded, Wilhelmina cleared her throat. The more she had got to know Daisy, the more she had begun to think that if things had been different and she had been blessed with a husband and a daughter, the child she’d have wished for would have been very like the one sitting beside her now, in spirit and in nature. She had a duty to make things plain to the girl though of course it wouldn’t do to refer to Francis directly, he was her brother after all.
She thought for a moment, reaching for her teacup and taking a sip of the tea which was now quite cold, before she said, ‘It is a sad state of affairs but some gentlemen have come to think that the pursuit of respectability and moral purity in a girl is something to be overcome for their own gratification. Such individuals, of course, cannot be trusted.’ She raised her head and stared into the grey eyes watching her.
Daisy’s reply was without embellishment, probably because the skin on her hand was still crawling from Francis’s touch. ‘Perhaps such men are to be pitied, ma’am, but whatever their position I really couldn’t refer to them as gentlemen.’
Wilhelmina blinked. ‘Quite.’
And after that there was nothing further to be said on the subject.
Chapter Eleven
His aunt had hit the nail on the head when she had likened these occasions to cattle shows. William glanced round the stately, shining dining table surrounded by glittering guests. The resplendent formality of the carefully displayed silver, crystal and fine china was only outdone by the brilliance of the jewels some of the women present were wearing.
William was very careful not to catch the eye of either of the Wynford sisters who had giggled their way through the ten courses presented to date, consisting of soup, fish, two hors d’oeuvres, two
rélèves
and four
entrées
. The girls were now partaking of the sorbets the footmen were serving to refresh the guests’ appetite before they turned to the six roasts and accompaniments, which would be followed by a variety of puddings, ices and savouries, followed in due course by dessert, coffee and liqueurs.
rélèves
and four
entrées
. The girls were now partaking of the sorbets the footmen were serving to refresh the guests’ appetite before they turned to the six roasts and accompaniments, which would be followed by a variety of puddings, ices and savouries, followed in due course by dessert, coffee and liqueurs.
The guests had been seated according both to the strict protocol their titles and wealth demanded, and - in the case of girls like the Wynfords sisters - their suitability to become the wife of the heir to Greyfriar Hall. The seating plan had accorded his mother sleepless nights William understood from his father, who had told him in no uncertain terms hours before that he was an ungrateful pup who didn’t know how lucky he was.
This might be so, William acknowledged, his gaze drifting over Camilla Routledge who resembled the horses she loved so much but whose father was a lord, and Priscilla McKenzie who was as pretty as the Wynford sisters and just as empty-headed, but came with a higher pedigree. However, this was the third elaborate dinner party seating over thirty guests in as many months, and he was tired of them.
His eyes finally came to rest on Francis whom Gwendoline had seated opposite her son, much as she would have liked to banish her brother-in-law to the less important end of the table. But Francis
was
a Fraser.
was
a Fraser.
His uncle was slobbering over a sorbet, his heavily embroidered waistcoat already stained with food. Not for the first time in the last few days William felt his stomach clench in protest that he was related to this pig of a man. It was unfortunate that Francis chose that precise moment to raise his head. The older man looked at the younger from under his heavy eyelids, reading the disgust etched on the handsome features before his gaze returned to his plate.
Insolent pup
. Francis continued eating but he had ceased to taste the sorbet. William might not look like a Fraser but he was a chip off the old block all right, looking down his holier-than-thou nose at all and sundry just like Augustus, damn his eyes. Francis swore in his mind, the basest of oaths, but it afforded him no release. His nephew could justify playing the grand gentleman, couldn’t he; William was going to be extremely wealthy one day, and through what? Purely an accident of birth.
. Francis continued eating but he had ceased to taste the sorbet. William might not look like a Fraser but he was a chip off the old block all right, looking down his holier-than-thou nose at all and sundry just like Augustus, damn his eyes. Francis swore in his mind, the basest of oaths, but it afforded him no release. His nephew could justify playing the grand gentleman, couldn’t he; William was going to be extremely wealthy one day, and through what? Purely an accident of birth.
Francis pushed his plate away, settling back in his chair as he drained his glass. He gestured to the footman standing behind him to refill his glass, and when the man hesitated for a moment before doing so, Francis ground his strong and surprisingly white teeth. So orders had been given to the servants to limit his intake? Damn it but he’d see his day with Augustus, with the lot of them.
He belched loudly, draining the glass again and indicating to the footman once more who this time obeyed instantly. So the man thought he might cause a scene, did he? Spoil his master’s dinner party? Well, he might have at that. Although . . . Francis’s eyes narrowed. If he went about this the right way he could teach them all a lesson they’d never forget without jeopardising his own position in the process. Kirby seemed to think that his master’s son was taken with the fishergirl but that she was playing him for a fool, along with the parson fellow and plenty more greenhorns besides he didn’t doubt. But exactly how far did William’s interest in the chit go? Far enough to set her up in her own place so he had exclusive rights? He was still young enough to be idealistic, was William, and the fishergirl seemed wily enough to make the most of any opportunity, from what Francis had seen of her.
He sipped at the wine now, his mind - slightly befuddled by the numerous glasses he had consumed with his dinner to date, and not least the brandy from his hip flask which had been refilled twice during the day - struggling with half-formed thoughts. The first thing was to gauge how badly William was smitten, he’d find some opportunity to do that or contrive one. And he might get Kirby in on this, under the guise of being concerned for the young master’s well-being of course. It wouldn’t do to overplay his hand with the valet. If nothing else Augustus’s man was devoted to his master and the family, although that was a weakness he might well be able to use to his advantage in this matter.
Francis smiled, feeling suddenly much more satisfied with life. He had an interest to keep him occupied in this wretched backwater, and one with the potential to provide him with some entertainment at that.
It had turned midnight. Daisy had just left her mistress’s quarters after reading to the old lady until Wilhelmina had fallen asleep. The windows had been closed in both bedroom and sitting room and the suite had been stifling. Now, as Daisy crossed the hall, she suddenly rebelled against the thought of going straight upstairs.
On a night like this at home she’d often sat outside the cottage door and let the sea breeze tease her hair and skin once the chores were finished and her granny settled. Although the gardens of Evenley House were scented with the perfume of flowers and had no remnant of saltiness in the air, she needed to be out of doors again.
Her mind made up, without stopping to fetch a shawl from her bedroom, Daisy slipped quietly along the corridor towards the kitchen. She left the house by the back door, locking it after her and slipping the key into the pocket of her skirt.
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