The Rake's Handbook (18 page)

Blushing wildly, she could not look him in the eye.

He stilled for what felt like hours, then his countenance softened. “I understand you are having difficulties with some of the townsfolk in the village. Even though my handbook is closed…I never meant it to end in this manner.” He turned toward the carriage to leave. “I want you to believe that. Farewell.”

She grabbed his elbow. “Ross.”

With a slow turn of his head, he peered down at her.

“I—I do not want our handbook to end,” she whispered.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, let me explain.” Her stomach performed somersaults. He could tease her or read her any imaginary chapters he wished. All she wanted was his friendship—a simple request.

“Well?”

“I—I…our friendship…” With her mind muddled, how could she explain? “Please return soon.”

His stiff posture loosened, and he grinned. “I do not have time to chat now.” He bent to bestow a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

“Ross, please.”

He gave a carefree chuckle. “Later, sweetheart.” He barked instructions to his groom and climbed into the dark green carriage.

She watched the chaise disappear down the road. The reflection of the early morning's sun obscured the view through the back window, thus preventing any final glimpse of the carriage's occupants. She stood in the drive for several long minutes after it had disappeared from sight. The intense sunlight burned her cheeks, and today's clear blue sky irritated her. Today was an awful day.

Would
she
see
either
of
them
anytime
soon?

Several feet away, she noticed a glove amongst the pebbles in the drive. She picked up the gray glove, too large to be one of Berdy's gloves, and realized Ross must have dropped one of his. The soft kid glove had a ruffled nap, so she smoothed it back into place. She then held the glove to her nose, and the scent began a wave of fond memories. Ross's broad shoulders providing comfort just by standing nearby, his smile outshining every light in the room, and the warm taste of brandy-tainted kisses. She slipped the glove down her fingers and cradled it in her other hand. The warm glow this gesture created she ascribed to friendship. However, her actions might also be described as those of a lover, a frightening conclusion she dismissed as a mere fantasy created by low spirits.

“Madam, I hope you are well.”

Elinor stood in the study, reading the first sentence of a letter that had just arrived. Her glance raced down to the salutation and noticed the strong
R
in the word “Ross.”
Why
had
Ross
written
her
from
London?
Seconds earlier, when the letter had been placed into her hands by Mrs. Richards, her spirits soared. Here was her promised letter from Berdy—her first since he left for London a month ago. But Berdy did not write the letter, so her hopes suffered a Phaëthon-like death and spiraled down to Earth. The letter dropped from her hands and landed on the desk in front of Nelson's inkwell, almost directly under the paws of the weeping lion. Then aware of her desire to hear from Ross, she snatched up the letter, moved to her favorite chair, and began to read.

Madam,

I hope you are well. You will be pleased to hear your nephew arrived safely in London. I heard his name mentioned in my club and decided to make a morning call. I found him in rooms off Harley Street under his father's care. While I cannot say Mr. Ralph Deane was delighted with the arrival of the young man, the expression on young Deane's face indicated he was truly happy and was where he wished to be. So happy in fact, I took this liberty to inform you of his safe arrival lest he forgot. The last words I heard from Mr. Ralph Deane in regard to his son were, “Tell Mrs. Colton I will teach him everything he needs to know.” So Deane is in the hands of his father, who will undoubtedly see that the young man comes to no harm. I have reminded Deane to write you as soon as possible. He assured me he would do so.

You have my constant hope for your continued health and happiness.

Ross Thornbury

Males.
So Berdy resided with his father, after all. Perhaps her opposition to this plan was the reason Berdy failed to write of his arrival in a timely fashion. She admitted she expected changes from her original plan, but she could do nothing now except be resigned to the situation. Paternal affection and responsibility must ensure Berdy came to no harm.

She read the letter again to find any hints about Ross's well-being, or what he thought of her, but she found none. For some unknown reason, she held the letter to her nose and inhaled the sweet smell of the lavender mixed into the writing sand used to blot the ink. Even though the letter was not as long as she wished, she knew Ross had done her a great kindness by writing. After perusing his words a third time, she decided his hearing was satisfactory, as he was able to remember Mr. Ralph Deane's words upon parting. Also, his intellect remained sound, as he correctly predicted Berdy's neglect in writing her. Other than a preoccupation with her health, it was a considerate letter overall.

She smoothed the paper flat on the polished top of the large desk, carefully rolled the letter, and tied it with a piece of blue silk. She picked up her traveling desk kept on a bookshelf behind her, lifted the baize-covered top, and carefully placed the letter on top of the gray glove. Letting her imagination run free, she pleasantly daydreamed about the meeting in London between Berdy and Ross.

***

A full month after the arrival of Ross's letter, she was tying up her roses to protect them from the wind and cold weather, when Mrs. Richards ran outside and handed her a letter from Berdy. Dropping her twine and grabbing the letter, Elinor hurried toward the house and opened the letter immediately upon reaching the protection of the flagstone loggia.

My dear Elinor,

I just arrived safely in London and have been occupied with experiencing all that London has to offer. What does that Dr. Johnson fellow say, “Tire of London, tire of life, because London has affordable life”? That might not be the exact words, but very like. Did you know that people don't really polish their boots with champagne? I must admit disappointment, but you will be pleased to hear that my cravat knot, The Circumbendibus, is a great success. I receive many admiring glances and gestures as I stroll London's streets. Father has taken me to a few of the clubs and establishments he frequents, and you will not be surprised to hear that I have been successful at cards. In fact, my luck has been so exceptional, many have remarked upon it. I am confident I shall win ten thousand and return home a wealthy man. It is regrettable you cannot be here to witness my success.

With great affection,

Berdmore

Males.
If the letter from Ross bordered on tolerable, Elinor could think of no words to describe this one other than “absolute disaster.” In her mind, a coiled serpent of trouble lurked in every sentence, ready to strike upon the last word. If Ross's letter revealed his intellect remained sound, this letter indicated Berdy's cravat knot had strangled his wits, and the vacant carcass paraded through the streets of London. If she were a man, she'd be off to London this instant. But if she were a man, she might also laugh it off as just a youthful indiscretion. Instead, she harbored a feminine foreboding, telling her something was amiss.

She took a deep breath and stared at the roses thrashing against one another in the wind. For the tenth time that minute, she reminded herself Berdy's father would care for him. His father would see no harm befell him—guide him. Well, not exactly guide him as she would, he was a man after all, and therefore, certain tolerances must be granted.

She dashed into the study to write her reply. She congratulated Berdy upon his good fortune and implored him to keep the connection with Mr. Thornbury. Putting her pen down, she felt remarkably better. Somehow she knew, even if Berdy forgot the connection, Ross would not.

She returned to the garden and tied up the roses tight.

The following week, Elinor was surprised to receive another letter from Ross.
So
soon?
Her heartbeat careened as she broke the wafer. She took a deep breath and collapsed into her favorite chair.

Dear Madam,

I hope this letter finds you well. Please do not be alarmed that it contains bad news, young Deane is well. I write merely to inform you that your nephew has experienced a change in residence and a change in heart. He is no longer living with his father and is residing with me. I can only say London was not up to Deane's expectations, and his father desires he returns to Cheshire soon. Unfortunately, his circumstance is much reduced, so Deane requests to remain here at present. I will endeavor to bring him home when my business requires I return to the neighborhood in two weeks. We both send you our best wishes for your happiness.

Your servant,

Ross Thornbury

Should she laugh or cry? Run to London or stay at Pinnacles? Berdy split with his father—in reduced circumstance—what did it all mean? From past experience, she knew Mr. Deane had never desired Berdy to reside with him in London, yet how could he abandon his son? Perhaps he even had a hand in Berdy's difficulties? No, that behavior was unthinkable for any parent.

After an hour of contemplating myriad questions, she was more confused about what happened to Berdy than after her first read of the letter. Finally, she realized Ross must have gone through considerable trouble and expense to save Berdy. She knew the two men had become friends, but… She forced herself to concentrate on arranging the flowers in a vase next to her. She refused to think about a possible motivation for Ross's actions, other than saving his young friend. Especially a reason that might involve her.

Now she had to wait two weeks until her mind was set at ease by their safe return. Of course, she must remember to reimburse Ross for any expenses he may have incurred on Berdy's behalf. Taking up her pen, she started a letter to him, requesting the sum of money required to pay off Berdy's debts.

After she affixed the wafer to the letter, she heard the crunch of gravel from outside, announcing the arrival of a visitor. The housemaid informed her Henry called and was waiting for her in the drawing room. Being late in the day, it wasn't his usual hour to call. So what event caused him to alter his routine?

Upon entering the room, she found Henry still struggling out of his many-caped greatcoat. “My dear,” Henry intoned, followed by a deep bow. His straw-colored hair was windblown from his ride, but he made no effort to check it in the glass. He sat across from her and scooted to the edge of his chair, his green eyes alight, while he rapidly spoke. “I've just heard the news about Deane. I can't say I'm surprised. I always knew—”

“What do you know?” How did Henry hear about Berdy's plight so soon?

“Deane
ruined
himself with bad company. While I'm ignorant of the details, other than he was found naked in the bowels of Covent Garden. I am unsure if he was truly without clothes or metaphorically naked. Still, I rushed over to hear the story from you. The entire neighborhood is tattling on about the scandal.”

She too leaned forward in her chair, eager to learn more details about Berdy's fate. “How can the neighborhood know of Berdy's situation, when I have just received the news from Mr. Thornbury myself? Pray, how did you hear of it, and what do you know?”

Henry shook his head in small defense shakes. “Mrs. Thornbury wrote her friend, Mrs. Norton, who, of course and rightly so, immediately brought the matter to my attention. I am here today to offer my sympathies and assistance.”

“Wonderful,” she said, grateful for his kind offer. “I'm pleased you would consider helping Berdy in his moment of distress.”

“You misunderstand me, my dear. I've come to help
you
, not young Deane.”

“I don't understand.” Upon hearing his qualification to assist only her, a lead knot settled low in her stomach. “I assumed you would offer to fetch Berdy from London.”

He stood and set his hair to rights in the mirrored glass over the fire. “That is all very well had we been betrothed. Since we're not engaged, I have no right to meddle in Deane's concerns. Surely you can imagine what people would think?”

She dropped her head a little. “Yes, I understand. Could you assist me by making sure Mr. Thornbury is reimbursed for his troubles?”

Once more he glanced at himself in the glass. “But I would have to travel all the way to London.”

Her lead knot spread upward, making her heart feel heavy too. “What sort of assistance and sympathies did you have in mind?” She retreated deep into the cushions of her chair and had to restrain herself from complaining about the sour-apple smell of his excessive pomade.

“Why, I can supply the assistance of sound masculine advice.”

She bit her tongue. “And the sympathies?”

“The same, my dear, the sympathy inherent in all masculine advice. Well, not
all
gentlemen. I would never trust Thornbury's advice, for example.”

She possessed little tolerance for Henry's opinions at the moment, and strode to the door. “And that advice is?”

“You must insist Deane remain in London. Even if it means never seeing him again.”

“What?” Now this was too ridiculous. Henry's lack of support for Berdy's situation did not surprise her, but his lack of empathy for a fellow human in distress troubled her deeply. “Your hair is too… You should check your hair in the glass before you leave.” She reached for the door's catch. “Please excuse me, Henry, but I must make plans for Berdy's return.” She exited the room and shut the door, leaving him to escort himself out.

***

Ross collapsed onto his sofa and watched Henry Browne exit his London rooms at Long's Hotel. The front door closed with a bang, and Ross heard Browne's footsteps descend to the flagstone pathway outside. As the sound faded, he heard another set of quicker footsteps approach.

Seconds later, Lord Boyce Parker burst into the parlor without waiting to be announced. “Hallo, hallo.”

Ross saluted his friend with a wave of his hand. “Hallo.” He nodded toward the sideboard. “Help yourself, but keep it down. Young Deane's nerves have not recovered quite yet.”

Parker tiptoed over to the cut-glass decanter and poured himself a sherry. Then he tiptoed back to sit in the chair next to the sofa. “Right ho, mum's the word. What did that Browne fellow want?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

Parker leaned back and crossed his long legs. “He's a lawyer, right? My father told me they are always up to mischief. Didn't that Shakespeare fellow say we should shoot all the lawyers?” Parker took a long gulp of sherry. “Was is shoot or drown? I mean, there must be plenty of ways to kill a fellow. I wonder which one Shakespeare used?”

“I think his comment was hypothetical.”

“By the frown on your face,” Parker said, “Browne must have threatened you. Continued problems over that foundry business?”

“Always. Seems a railroad will be too expensive, so I'll need to get that lease signed.”

“Browne knows about the cost of a railroad?”

Ross rose and helped himself to his fourth glass of sherry. He must remember to get some brandy; the sherry's sweetness irritated him today. “No, he offered to pay my expenses for Deane's recovery on behalf of Mrs. Colton. Unfortunately, she is having a rough time at the present and wants the boy home. Browne's officious, but I'm now convinced he means well.” In fact, Ross had probably made a fool of himself by seeking Browne's promise to look after Elinor. He even went so far as to suggest his investment group could use Browne's legal assistance in the future.

Parker put down his glass and studied him.

Ross felt like he was under a microscope. “What?”

“So Mater is fending off the irate locals, and your widow is…what exactly is a rough time?”

“None of your business.”

“Ha, ha. You know in your heart you will eventually have to take my advice and use the Smedley girls. So we must return to Cheshire and let loose the hounds of war.” He waved his arm. “Well, not hounds of war exactly, more like the hounds of foolishness. The squire's too busy with his hunters to provide adequate paternal oversight.”