Snowbound With the Notorious Rake (7 page)

‘You are up betimes.’ He crossed the room in a couple of strides and reached for her. She stepped away from him.

‘I have a long ride ahead of me.’

‘You are going, then.’

‘Yes. Evans has already ventured out this morning and says the pack ponies have been on the move. We have only to make our way to the lane…’

She reached for her gloves, but Lawrence stepped in her way, catching her hands.

‘Can we not talk, first? About last night…’ She would not meet his eyes and he squeezed her fingers, saying sharply, ‘It is customary to observe the civilities, you know, even with your lover.’

A faint shake of her head sent her curls dancing.

‘We are not lovers. It was one night.’

‘But a very special night, would you not agree?’ The faint blush on her cheek gave him his answer. ‘When will I see you again?’

‘You will not.’

‘But—’

She lifted one hand and placed her fingers against his mouth.

‘It is better this way. I have to go back to Mersecombe, to my son. There is no place for you in my life.’

Lawrence frowned. Her words were calm, reasoned, but it made no sense to him.

‘I want to be part of your life,’ he said. ‘After last night I want to know you better—’

‘No!’ She stepped away from him. ‘There can only be pain that way.’

‘Because of my past? Believe me, Rose—’

‘Are you going to promise me you will change? It will not happen.’

‘Hell and damnation, woman, how can you—?’ Again that tiny shake of her head accompanied by such a sad smile that he bit back his fury. ‘Tell me, Rose. Tell me why you are so sure.’

Her blue-grey eyes rested upon him for a long moment, then she turned and walked back to the window. Her eyes were fixed on the snowy scene, but her thoughts were very far away.

‘Once a rake, always a rake. I was married to such a man. I met Harry when I was still at school in Barnstaple. He charmed me from the first. Everyone knew his reputation, but he told me it would be different when we were married. I believed him. I was just seventeen when I became his wife, Harry was five and twenty. For a few months I think, believe, he was faithful to me, but then I was with child and he…he began to stay away. Whenever I taxed him with it he would deny it; if I caught him out in his philandering then he would come back to me, repentant, promising he would reform. It was after one such incident that he
bought the property at Exford. He said we would make a fresh start, but whenever there was a pretty woman…’ She crossed her arms, hugging herself. ‘His death was something of a relief. I could continue to love him, but he could no longer hurt me.’ She turned back to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘So you see why I will not allow that to happen to me again?’

‘But I am not like your husband, Rose. I will prove it to you.’

She shook her head, taking out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes. When she spoke again her tone was brisk.

‘You can only prove it by living a respectable and chaste life for…I do not know…years. I can see by your horrified look that the idea does not appeal.’

Lawrence watched in silence as she put on her bonnet and gloves. She was going. If he could not come up with some argument within the next few minutes, she would walk out of his life for ever. He tried to think, but his brain refused to work. Mechanically he picked up her cloak and placed it around her. He noted the way her fingers paused in tying the strings when he allowed his hands to rest for a moment on her shoulders.

‘So there is nothing I can say.’

‘Nothing.’

‘What if…’ his hands tightened and he turned her to face him ‘…what if there is a child? I would have a right to know.’

She paled, her eyes dilating, and he braced himself to hold her, should she faint.

‘You would, of course,’ she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘But there will be no child.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

She gently pushed his hands away.

‘I can be absolutely sure. That is all you need to know.’

With that she turned and swept out of the room.

Evans was waiting with the horses at the door. He stepped forwards to help Rose to mount, but a word from Lawrence forestalled him. She did not object as Lawrence threw her up into the saddle. He checked the girth, made sure her foot was secure in the stirrup, anything to delay her departure.

‘Goodbye.’ She leaned down to him, holding out her hand. ‘It was very good of you to take us in. I am very grateful. For everything.’

They might have been parting after an innocuous morning call, save for the haunted look in her eyes, from which all the blue had disappeared. He took her gloved fingers, felt them tremble in his grasp.

‘If ever you need me—’

She nodded.

‘That is kind, thank you, but I have everything I need at Mersecombe.’

‘At least say I may call on you—’

‘No.’ Her fingers gripped his hand and she bent her serious gaze upon him. ‘Promise me, promise me you will not come looking for me.’ Her grip tightened. ‘Please, Lawrence.’

Her eyes demanded an answer. He nodded.

‘I give you my word.’

‘Thank you.’ She released his hand and straightened in the saddle.

It was a dismissal. There was nothing for it but to step back.

‘Very well. I wish you Godspeed, madam.’

‘And I wish you every happiness.’

A final smile, a final look from those slate-grey eyes, then she turned away, to ride out of his life for ever.

Lawrence knew that if the pack ponies were moving it would not be long before his servants returned to Knightscote. The scullery boy arrived first, followed by the stable lads. The short winter day was drawing to a close when his butler and housekeeper finally trooped into the house. By supper time the lodge had returned to normal, lights burning in the passages and servants on hand to attend to their master’s slightest whim.

‘Lord bless us, but why are you sitting in the dark, Sir Lawrence?’ Mrs Brendon bustled in, carrying her master’s supper on a tray. ‘I do hope you haven’t been too uncomfortable while we’s been away, sir; I see you finished up all the ham, and someone’s been using my kitchen, too…’

‘Yes—how was your journey?’ he asked the question to deflect her attention.

‘Well, it could have been worse. Brendon and me got a ride on the carrier’s cart as far as the crossroads, and the track was pretty well trodden from there on.’ She put her tray down and began to go round the room, lighting candles from a taper. ‘Now, sir, that’s a game
pie I brought back with me from Exford, so I hope it will do until I can get cooking again in the morning!’

‘Excellent, thank you.’

‘But there’s hoof marks leading right up to the door, sir. Have you had visitors?’

‘Yes. A traveller on the way to Mersecombe arrived here Christmas Eve. The weather was too bad to go further.’

‘Ah, that explains the pots and pans that’s been moved in my kitchen.’ She nodded sagely. ‘I was fair certain it weren’t you that had taken to cooking!’

‘No. Tell me, Mrs Brendon. You come from Exford way, do you not? Do you recall a gentleman who used to live there, name of Westerhill?’

‘Harry Westerhill? Aye, I do. Gennleman, you say? Nothin’ but a lecher I’d call ’n. The good Lord carried ’im off a few years back, and a good thing, too. No woman was safe!’

Lawrence pulled a chair to the table and sat down to his supper.

‘He had a wife, I believe?’ He hoped he sounded uninterested.

‘Ah, that he did. Poor little thing. Led her a merry dance he did, what with his women and his gambling. And they say he used to beat her, when he was in his cups.’

Lawrence’s hand tightened around his knife. ‘Indeed?’

‘Oh, he could charm the birds from the trees, could Harry Westerhill, but when he had had a few to drink…’ She shook her head, tutting. ‘Well, good riddance, that’s
what I’d say. The poor lady’s better off without ’n. Better off without any man, if you ask me. Beggin yer pardon, sir!’

‘No, you are right, Mrs Brendon.’ Lawrence gazed down at the plate, his appetite quite gone. ‘She is better off without any man.’

‘V
ery well, children, that is all for today. Put your slates on the shelf, please, before you leave.’

A scraping of benches and sudden explosion of chatter announced the end of the school day. Rose began to tidy her desk while the room gradually emptied around her.

‘Mama, Mama, Jem wants me to go to the farm with him, to see his pointer’s new litter!’

Sam was tugging at her skirts, looking up at her with such a look of hope and trust in his eyes that her heart turned over. She put a hand on his unruly fair hair.

‘I am not sure you should. Mrs Wooler will have chores for Jem to do…’

‘Nothing very much tonight, Mrs Westerhill, and Sam can help me with those.’ Jem twisted his cap between his hands and said haltingly, ‘Me mam says she likes it when Sam comes to see us—she likes to hear us laughing…’

Rose imagined Mrs Wooler, only a few months widowed, and she nodded.

‘Then of course Sam may go with you, as long as he is home before dark.’ Sam’s mouth opened to argue and she lifted her finger. ‘Before dark, Sam. Promise me.’

With an audible sigh he nodded. The next moment the boys had disappeared and she heard them whooping and laughing as they ran down the steps and off through the village. She stood for a moment, enjoying the silence. She never worried when the two boys were together. Jem was a little older than Sam and built on sturdier lines. He had always protected Sam from the older boys in the village, who tended to bully him, and since Jem had lost his father the boys had become even closer, united in their common plight.

The little schoolroom was situated above the north porch of the parish church, and when Rose was alone the peace of the building settled around her like an old but comfortable cloak. However, it was not enough to keep out the cold and she shivered. With winter approaching it would soon be time to bring out the old brazier to heat the schoolroom. She must remember to speak to the churchwarden about it.

Rose locked the schoolroom door and descended the stone steps built at the side of the porch. She walked slowly through the graveyard, but at the gate she stopped. She should go home, Mama would be expecting her, but to her left the track wound upwards through the ancient woods and on to the moor. Surely there was time for a short walk? A carriage rattled along the high
street, distracting her. She quickly turned back, but it was only Farmer Ansell’s son in his new gig.

Who else should it be
? Rose asked herself. Restlessly she set off up the hill into the woods. She declined to answer her own question. It was nearly ten months since she had seen Sir Lawrence Daunton, but there was not a day that she had not thought of him, nor a morning that she did not wake up and wonder if today he might travel to Mersecombe to find her.

Her short sojourn at Knightscote haunted her dreams. It did no good to tell herself that it was for the best. Upon her return to Mersecombe she had given her family and friends to understand that she had been stranded at some remote farmhouse. It had taken all her tact and skill to persuade Evans to corroborate her tale and for some time she had been torn between hope and dread that Sir Lawrence might turn up and give the lie to her story. When the snows had cleared two weeks later and Evans reassured her that he had made enquiries and learned that Knightscote was now empty once more, she was surprised at the depth of her disappointment. She tried to be glad there was now no possibility of meeting up with Sir Lawrence again, but sometimes, when the children were being particularly troublesome or she was yawning behind her fan at some tedious party, she longed for him to arrive and carry her off.

‘Romantic nonsense!’

She uttered the words aloud as she strode along, her skirts dragging on the long grass. Sir Lawrence was not some fairy-tale prince who would carry her off to live happily ever after. He was a rake. A libertine. He
might well run off with her; he might even make her forget the world for a short while, but then there would be nights of uncertainty when he did not come home, tears and recriminations and the certain knowledge that she would have to share him with every other female who caught his eye.

‘Never!’

She stopped. She had reached the edge of the wood and she could see the moors ahead of her, the bracken glowing reddish-orange in the sunlight. She dared not go further. The sun was already low in the sky and her mother would be worried, just as she worried about little Sam.

Rose turned back.

By the time she reached the church again the sun had gone down and the air was filled with a faint haze and the scent of wood smoke. She saw a figure at the church gate, a stocky, thickset man in a brown riding jacket and tall hat. He was standing at the entrance to the churchyard, feet spread, hands behind him, as if waiting for someone.

Rose stifled a cowardly impulse to dive into the bushes and wait for him to go. Instead she fixed her smile and said brightly, ‘Magnus! Have you been waiting for me?’

He swept off his hat, displaying ordered brown curls.

‘I had business in Minehead which took longer than anticipated, so I was too late to catch you in the schoolroom, but since I had come from the high street I knew I could not have missed you. However, if you had not
appeared in the next five minutes I would have gone home.’

If only she had walked a little further up the track! Rose chided herself for the thought and, to make up for her churlishness, tucked her hand into his arm.

‘Well, I am here now, so you may walk me back to Bluebell Cottage.’

‘Have you thought what you will wear for the Assembly?’

‘Good heavens, Magnus, that is weeks away! I have not given it a thought.’

He gave a ponderous little laugh. ‘I would like to be prepared; I want to present you with a corsage to match your gown and you know how difficult it is to find flowers in the dead of winter.’

She had a sudden unreasoning urge to announce she was going to wear the brightest, most vivid scarlet gown she could find. Instead she said, ‘How kind you are, Magnus. It will most likely be my midnight blue.’

‘What, are you not having a new gown? My sister Althea has ordered another, I saw it this morning. I thought it was the usual practice for all you ladies to have a new gown for every occasion.’

‘I am sure it is, if one has unlimited funds!’ She immediately regretted her snappish retort and squeezed his arm. ‘I beg your pardon, Magnus. I know you were only funning.’

‘And you know I would buy you a dozen gowns, if you would let me.’ He stopped. ‘Let us put an end to this dilly-dallying, Rose. Even without a special licence we could be wed before Christmas.’

‘Magnus, I have explained to you why I cannot marry you yet.’

‘You are concerned for young Samuel, I know that, and I understand why you cried off in the spring, but to postpone it for a whole year—’

‘You have been very patient, Magnus. It is only a few more months.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if you have changed your mind, what with the losses I suffered when the
Sealark
went down…’

‘That is unjust,’ she cried. ‘My decision to postpone the wedding was taken months before you lost the
Sealark
. And besides, I would never allow such a misfortune to weigh with me!’

‘Of course, and I beg your pardon.’ He stopped to press a kiss upon her fingers. ‘Forgive me, the whole affair is preying upon my mind—until the insurers pay out for the loss of the ship and the cargo I cannot honour my promissory notes to the crew!’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I fear it is making me very bad company.’

‘Not at all, I understand your concerns. I am only thankful that more lives were not lost in the accident. But that has nothing to do with my decision that we should delay our marriage.’

‘Then it is solely to do with your son.’

‘Yes.’ Rose was relieved that he did not notice the heartbeat’s hesitation before she responded.

He said heavily, ‘In my opinion you refine too much upon the wishes of that young man! Once we are married he will soon learn to respect me.’

‘But I do not want him to do so out of fear! Be patient, Magnus, please.’

‘Well, if you will not agree to our marriage, then at least let me help you open up the mine at Hades Cove. I am sure it is not so unprofitable as you have been led to believe.’

She put up her hand.

‘My dear, we have been over this before. My late husband poured a vast amount of our money into the mine. I will not allow you to do the same.’

‘But once we are wed it will become my property.’

Rose smiled up at him mischievously. ‘Ah, yes, well,
then
you will be master of everything and may do as you please!’ She sighed. ‘Let us not argue. Tell me instead about your sister’s new gown. Is she having it made up in Minehead?’

‘No, there is an excellent modiste in Dunster who has all the latest London pattern books. She showed me a drawing. Too many frills and flounces for my taste, but there you are, Althea says it is the latest thing. And you know Althea likes to keep up with fashion.’ He chuckled. ‘As my sister she knows she must set the standard, even at a little local gathering such as the Mersecombe Assembly!’

Rose smiled absently, her mind wandering to more anxious matters.

‘I wonder if Sam is home yet,’ she murmured, almost to herself. ‘I gave him permission to go to the Woolers Farm, but told him he must come home before dark.’

They had reached the little bridge that led across the
stream to Bluebell Cottage and Magnus stood back to allow Rose to precede him.

‘Then I have no expectation of seeing the boy before midnight.’

She shook her head, saying over her shoulder, ‘You know that generally he minds me very well, Magnus.’

She had reached the cottage, but stopped as she al ways did to admire the little rosemary bush growing beside the door before she stepped into the hall.

She allowed Magnus to take her cloak, then turned to smile at him. ‘I hear voices. You see, he is home before me.’

Rose walked across and opened the sitting-room door, her smile freezing on her face when she found herself looking into the intensely blue eyes of Sir Lawrence Daunton.

‘Sir Lawrence!’ Magnus followed Rose into the room, his hearty tone quite at odds with the paralysing shock she was suffering. ‘Good heavens, man, what are you doing here?’

‘You know each other?’ asked Mrs Molland, who was standing with her arm on Sam’s shoulder and beaming at Sir Lawrence, delighted to have such a charming gentleman in her house.

‘Aye, ma’am. We met at the Pullens’ ball.’

Three weeks ago! Rose put a hand on the back of a nearby chair to steady herself. He had been at Knightscote for three weeks and she had not known!

Magnus turned to Rose, saying in a slightly aggrieved tone, ‘You may recall, my dear, that upon my persua
sion Lady Pullen sent you an invitation, but you chose not to go.’

‘And
you
may recall that it fell upon a week-night and I was obliged to be up betimes to open the schoolhouse,’ Rose answered coolly. ‘If I had accompanied you, it would have meant you returning home at an unseasonably early hour and Althea would not have liked that.’

‘No, no, you are right there,’ he conceded, pursing his lips and looking a little thoughtful before turning back to Sir Lawrence. ‘But what brings you to Mersecombe, sir?’

Rose was acutely conscious that Sir Lawrence’s gaze had been fixed on her, but now he shifted his attention to the questioner.

‘I heard about the pointer puppies for sale at Woolers Farm.’ His eyes flickered across Rose again as he moved his gaze to Sam. ‘This young man was there and helped me make my choice. Then, as it was growing dark, I asked him to show me the way back to the Ship.’

‘Sir Lawrence allowed me to ride on his horse with him,’ declared Sam, his eyes shining.

‘It was the least I could do, since you were good enough to guide me. And once we had stabled the horse I thought I should come along and explain why Sam was late…’

‘You—you are staying in Mersecombe?’ stuttered Rose.

The blue eyes once more rested on her face.

‘Yes. I have more business here tomorrow, Mrs…’

‘Oh, heavens, where are my wits?’ cried Mrs
Molland. ‘This is my daughter, sir. Mrs Westerhill. Samuel’s mother.’

Should she admit they had met before? Would he say anything? He was bowing, no sign of recognition in his face. Rose tried to think clearly. Perhaps it was coincidence. No. Even her befuddled brain could not believe that. He would not have forgotten her in ten months—would he?

‘Sir Lawrence is having first pick of the litter,’ Sam piped up. ‘Of course they are too young yet and will not be taken from their mother until they are weaned, but Jem says they don’t have buyers for them all. Could
we
have a puppy, Mama?’

Sam was looking up at her. She tried to concentrate on what he had said, tried to put out of her mind the fact that Lawrence was here, in her home, filling her sitting room and her senses with his presence.

‘Please, Mama…it would be company for Grandmama!’

The childish logic caused a ripple of amusement.

‘I have plenty to occupy me without adding a dog to the family, Sam,’ laughed Mrs Molland, ruffling his hair.

‘It is out of the question,’ declared Magnus. ‘If Mrs Molland truly requires a pet, she should consider a little lapdog. You do not have room here for a pointer.’

‘We have plenty of room,’ put in Rose, angered by his calm assumption of authority. ‘But I’m afraid we cannot have a puppy just at the moment.’

The look of disappointment on Sam’s face tugged
at her heart and she dropped down beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

‘This is a bad time of year to bring home a puppy that needs so much exercise, my dear,’ she said gently. ‘Perhaps next time, when the weather is a little better and you are older.’

His lip trembled, but before he could reply Mrs Molland held out her hand to him.

‘We can talk about this more in the morning. Come along now, Sam; bid your mama and our guests goodnight and I will take you up to bed.’