The Repentant Rake (9 page)

    'An
invasion of my privacy.'

    'You
should have been more discreet.'

    'I
was. Most of the time, anyway. Heavens!' Henry protested, snatching the letter
back. 'How can any of us remember to look over our shoulders when the wine is
rich and the company enticing? A man is entitled to his pleasures without being
spied on by some evil little blackmailer.' He thrust the letter back into his
pocket and looked more dejected than ever. 'What am I to
do?'

    Christopher
took pity on him. Some of the revelations in the letter had shocked him even
though he was aware of Henry's love of revelry. The affair with Lady Amelia
Ulvercombe was both foolhardy and dangerous, and she was not the only married
woman with whom his brother's name was linked. Christopher imagined how their
father, the moralistic Dean of Gloucester, would react if the information fell
into his hands and he vowed to do all he could to prevent that from occurring.

    'Make
a list of your intimates,' he advised.

    'Why?'
said Henry. 'No true friend would betray me.'

    'Someone
did. If I'm to help, I need to be more familiar with your circle, Henry. I know
that Arthur Lunn is a crony of yours. Peter Wickens, too, and Gilbert Sparkish,
if memory serves me. Who else? Sir Marcus Kemp?'

    'Sir
Marcus would die to save my reputation.'

    'Let
me be the judge of that,' said Christopher. 'I'll not badger you now but I must
have a list of names so that I can begin my enquiries. Take heart, brother. It
may not be as bad as you envisage.'

    Henry
shuddered. 'Oh, it is. Believe me.'

    'Meanwhile,
carry on as if nothing had happened.'

    'But something
has
happened,' complained Henry, close to hysteria. 'My whole future is in
the balance. I can hardly pretend that I'm not concerned about the threat.'

    'That's
exactly what you must do,' urged Christopher. 'Don't give this rogue the
pleasure of seeing you suffer, Henry. Fight back. Put on a brave face and show
him that you're not so easily discomfited.'

    'But
I'm terror-stricken!'

    Christopher
was moved. Even allowing for his brother's tendency to dramatise and exaggerate,
he could see how shaken

    Henry
was. The warning letter had left him thoroughly dazed. If and when the crisis
blew over, it was possible that Henry might even start to mend his ways. That
was another reason to come to his aid.

    'Do
as I suggest,' said Christopher, 'then leave the rest to me. I'll not discuss
this with anyone so your shame will not be noised abroad. Whatever you do, you
must not give in to blackmail. It's a despicable crime and we'll catch the
villain behind it.' He patted his brother's shoulder. 'Bear up. We'll come
through this somehow.'

    'Will
we?'

    'Of
course.'

    Henry
managed a pale smile of gratitude. Having shared his grim secret, he felt as if
his load had been marginally lightened. Christopher was a younger brother who
seemed, in many ways, much older than him. Where Henry was impetuous,
Christopher was cool and objective. He was also an extremely resolute man. In
the circumstances in which Henry now found himself, his brother was the ideal
ally. Henry softened.

    'Forgive
this whining self-concern,' he said with a gesture of apology.

    'I
heard no whining.'

    'You
have news of your own and all I can do is bury you up to the neck in my
affairs. It's reprehensible on my part. What's this about a new commission?'
His interest was genuine. 'In Northamptonshire, you say?'

    'Yes,
Henry.'

    'How
did you come by it?'

    'I
was recommended by Elijah Pembridge.'

    'The
bookseller?'

    'The
very same,' said Christopher. 'Thanks to you, I was able to design his new shop
and he was sufficiently pleased with it to pass my name on to a friend.'

    'Do I
know the man?'

    'I
doubt it. He was a colonel in Cromwell's army. He's been immured in the country
for the last six or seven years and is only forcing himself to reside in London
because he is looking to become a Member of Parliament.'

    'More
fool him! What's his name?'

    'Sir
Julius Cheever.'

    Henry
was curious. 'Cheever? No relation of Gabriel Cheever, by any chance?'

    'Sir
Julius could be his father, I suppose,' said Christopher. 'I know that he has a
son called Gabriel but I also know that he's disowned him for some reason.'

    'Then
it
has
to be the Gabriel I know.'

    'What
makes you say that?'

    'No
father would approve of such a son.'

    'Why
not?'

    'Because
Gabriel Cheever makes me look like the patron saint of chastity,' said Henry
with a mirthless laugh. 'He's one of the most notorious rakehells in London.'

    'When
do you intend to leave?' asked Susan Cheever.

    'In a
day or so,' said her father. 'I've business in London.'

    'Where
will you stay?'

    Sir
Julius pulled a face. 'In Richmond.'

    'Lancelot
is your son-in-law,' she told him with a note of mild reproach. 'You ought to
make more of an effort to like him.'

    'I have
difficulty liking Brilliana at times, so don't ask me to waste any affection on
that blockhead of a husband.'

    'It
was a good marriage for Brilliana. They're very happy together.'

    'How
can any woman be happy with Lancelot Serle?' he demanded. 'Be honest, Susan.
Would you accept a proposal from a posturing ninny like that?'

    She
suppressed a smile. 'No, Father.'

    'Thank
God I have
one
discerning daughter.'

    They
were just finishing their meal in the dining room. It was a beautiful day and
Sir Julius planned to spend the afternoon in the saddle, riding around the
estate to see how his tenants were getting on in the hay fields. Though he had
delegated most of the management duties to someone else, he liked to keep an
eye on progress and knew that it always improved when he put in a personal
appearance. Farming was what he knew best and loved most. Sir Julius needed to
remind himself of that before he went off to the urban confines of London. He
sipped his wine and looked fondly at Susan.

    'While
we're on the subject,' he began, licking his lips, 'when are you going to
follow your sister down the aisle?'

    She
was dismissive. 'Oh, there's no hurry for that.'

    'Answer
my question.'

    'I've
answered it a dozen times already,' she replied. 'The time to get married is
when I find someone whom I consider to be a worthy husband.'

    'You
have plenty of willing suitors.'

    'Willing
but unsatisfactory.'

    'Your
standards are too high, Susan.'

    'Are
you so eager to get rid of me?'

    'No,'
he said. 'I'll miss you terribly if you go, but it would be wrong of me to
stand in your way out of selfishness. Most young ladies of your age have a
husband and children. Failing that, they are at least betrothed.'

    Susan's
face tightened. 'I tried betrothal, Father. It was an ordeal.'

    'Only
because you chose the wrong man.'

    'I
seem to recall that he was chosen for me. That was the trouble. I was more or
less talked into it by you and Mother. Not that I blame you entirely,' she went
on. 'I take some responsibility. I liked Michael immensely but I could never
love him and as it turned out, the feelings he professed to have for me were
not as intense as he claimed.'

    'Forget
him,' said Sir Julius briskly 'Michael Trenton was a mistake. I freely concede
that. But there are dozens of more reliable young men in the county.'

    'I
want more than reliability, Father.'

    'You
need someone who can offer you security, Susan. That's the most important
factor. We have to accept that I will not be here for ever.'

    Susan
smiled. 'Then I insist on looking after you while you
are
here.'

    'Why
not find someone to look after
you
for a change?' 'I will, Father. One
day.'

    A
maidservant came in to clear the table and brought that phase of the conversation
to a natural end. Susan was grateful for the interruption. Questions about her
lack of marital plans always made her feel slightly cornered. After one doomed
betrothal, she was loath to enter too hastily into another. Suitors were
tolerated but never encouraged. She had come round to the view that, if she'
were to marry, her husband would live well away from the county of
Northamptonshire.

    'How
long will you be in London?' she asked.

    'Four
or five days,' he said. 'A week at most.'

    'It will
be very lonely without you.'

    'Then
why not make the rounds of your many admirers?' he teased.

    'I
think I would prefer to come with you, Father.'

    He
was surprised. 'To London? Whatever for?'

    'To keep
you company, for a start. And to have the pleasure of seeing Brilliana again.
Yes,' she added as she saw him grimace, 'I know that you hate staying with them
in Richmond but I enjoy it. Brilliana and I can take the coach into the city.'

    'Anything
to get away from Lancelot!'

    'Stop
being so unkind about your son-in-law.'

    'The
man is insufferable.'

    'I
promise to keep him well away from you. There,' she announced. 'Isn't that a
good enough reason in itself to take me with you?'

    'It's
a tempting offer, certainly.' He drained his glass of wine. 'I'll consider it.'

    'Thank
you.' Susan tried to sound casual. 'Father, while you're in London, will you be
seeing your architect at some point?'

    'Redmayne?
Probably.'

    'Where
does he live?'

    'Fetter
Lane, I believe.'

    'Those
sketches of his were remarkable.'

    'He's
a competent architect, Susan. I have it on good authority.' He leaned forward.
'But why this sudden interest in Christopher Redmayne?'

    'A
passing thought,' she said. 'No more. I can come with you, then?'

    He
rose to his feet. 'Give me time to think it over.'

    'London
has so much to offer at this time of year.'

    'Yes,
Susan. Blistering heat, a dreadful stench and too many people.'

    He
moved to the door but she got up from her chair to intercept him. Anticipating
what she was going to say, Sir Julius bristled. His daughter was not to be put
off.

    'Father,'
she began.

    'Do I
really want to hear this?' he warned.

    'Someone
else lives in London as well.'

    'Thousands
of people do.'

    'This
person is rather special.'

    'Not
to me,' he snapped. 'Not any more.'

    'Gabriel
is your son,' she argued.

    'I
have
no son, Susan.'

    'He
still looks upon you as his father.'

    'Well,
he has no right to do so,' said Sir Julius vehemently. 'Gabriel is a disgrace
to himself and to his family. Ours is a proud name and he has forfeited any
claim on it. I expect a degree of rebellion in a son. It shows spirit. But he
went too far, Susan. It broke your mother's heart to see him stalk out of the
house the way he did - and for what? A life of idleness in the taverns and
gaming houses of London.'

    She
clutched his arm. 'Gabriel may have changed by now, Father.'