Rake's Reward

‘Does not the Earl stay here when he is in London?’ Marina asked.

‘No, miss. Her ladyship and her son…’ He coughed. ‘His lordship has his own house in town. He always stays there.’

‘I see,’ said Marina. It was understandable that a grown-up son would not wish to live under the eye of his mother, even for a day or two. The butler seemed to have been about to say something about the pair, something that had sounded for all the world like the beginning of backstairs gossip. Marina, not being a servant, should deliberately shut her ears to it. And yet she found herself wondering about the Earl and his relationship with his mother. Was she too demanding for his comfort? Elderly ladies often were. And a gentleman’s patience could be quickly exhausted.

The butler led Marina down to the floor below and to a room at the front of the house. With a grand gesture, he threw open the door and announced, in stentorian tones, ‘Miss Beaumont, your ladyship.’

Marina passed through the door that Tibbs was holding and heard it close quietly at her back. This sumptuous straw-coloured drawing room seemed to be empty. She could see no one at all. But surely…? The butler had seemed in no doubt…

Marina hesitated by the door.

‘Don’t just stand there, girl. Come into the light where I may see you.’ The sharp voice came from the depths of a chair by a large window overlooking the street.

Marina moved forward to find the source of that peremptory command. Only when she had reached the far side of the room could she see that the voice had issued from a tiny figure who was dwarfed by the chair she sat in. Lady Luce was richly dressed in plum-coloured silk, but in the style of more than forty years earlier, with wide skirts and an abundance of fine lace at her throat and wrists, and a powdered wig on her head. Although her skin was dry and wrinkled, the delicate lines of her bones showed that she had once been very beautiful. Now she resembled nothing so much as a miniature exotic fruit, so shrivelled and fragile that it might shatter if it was touched.

‘Good gad, they’ve sent me a beanpole,’ Lady Luce exclaimed.

Marina could feel herself blushing. It had been a matter of regret throughout her adult life that she had inherited her father’s height and build. Her slight figure made her seem even taller than she actually was. Compared with Lady Luce, she must seem a veritable giantess. Marina curtsied. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’ she said calmly, trying to manage a smile for the tiny—and extremely rude—Dowager Countess who was to be her employer.

The Dowager did not immediately reply to Marina’s polite greeting. She was looking her up and down, her sharp old eyes missing nothing of her new companion’s dowdy appearance. ‘Thought one of the Blaines would be better turned out,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t give a gown like that to a scullery maid.’

This was not a good start to their relationship. The Dowager must be instantly disabused of the idea that Marina was ‘one of the Blaines,’ or that she could afford to be better dressed. Marina knew she must set matters straight between them, even if Lady Luce sent her packing as a result. She had no choice.

‘I think you must be labouring under a misapprehension, ma’am,’ Marina began. ‘My name is Beaumont, not Blaine. I am only distantly related to the Viscount’s family, through my grandmother, but she was not acknowledged by them, not after her marriage.’

‘Hmph,’ snorted the Dowager. ‘Nothing “distant” about it. Your mother and the new Viscount are first cousins, are they not?’

‘Yes, but not—’

‘You’re a Blaine,’ said the Dowager flatly. ‘The old Viscount’s father was a tyrant and a blackguard, but that don’t change the bloodline, not in my book. Your grandmother was daughter to one Viscount, and sister to the next. You’re a Blaine, all right.’

It was clearly going to be difficult to argue with Lady Luce, perhaps even to get a word in, Marina decided. But, on this delicate subject, she must try.

‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ she began again, ‘but you must understand that the Beaumonts have never been acknowledged by the Viscount’s family, not even when my grandmother’s brother succeeded to the title.’

‘That’s because he was just like his father,’ interrupted the Dowager, with a grimace, ‘which was only to be expected, since all the Blaine men—’ She broke off to scrutinise Marina’s face for a moment and then said, ‘I see you know nothing about your noble relations, young lady. Well, I may choose to enlighten you—perhaps—one day. But there are other, more pressing matters. For a start, we must do something about that frightful monstrosity you are wearing.’

Worse and worse, thought Marina, but before she had a chance to say a word in defence of her wardrobe, the Dowager was laying down the law on dress, just as she had on the subject of blood.

‘It is fit only for the fire,’ pronounced Lady Luce. ‘Or the poorhouse. Though, even there, I dare say the women would turn their noses up at it. Have you nothing fit to be seen, girl?’

‘I do have one evening gown, ma’am. Apart from that, I have very few gowns, all similar to this one. What spare money we have must be spent on my brother’s education. Harry is at Oxford,’ she added, with sisterly pride, ‘and he is destined for the Church.’

‘Don’t approve of spending every last farthing on boys,’ said Lady Luce quickly. ‘You educate them, and where does it get you? Eh? Take your every penny and fritter it away. If it’s not land drainage, or enclosures, or something equally unnecessary, it’s fast living and loose women.’

‘Harry does not—’

Marina’s protest was cut short by another disapproving snort. ‘Not your brother. Don’t know the first thing about him. He may be a pattern-card of rectitude, for all I know. But the sons of noble families…’ Lady Luce shook her head. Her message was clear. The sons of noble families were not to be trusted with money. Presumably that also applied to her own son?

‘A lady has to be independent enough to lead her own life, in just the way she wants,’ said Lady Luce, warming to her subject. ‘Especially once she is widowed,’ she added meaningfully.

At last, Marina understood. Lady Luce’s unusual views on female independence were clearly to be applied to her own case, and probably to that case only. It was unlikely she would care about the plight of Mama, or any other gently bred widow who had fallen on hard times.

‘You give ’em an heir and your duty is done,’ said Lady Luce. ‘Least a husband can do in return is to provide for a comfortable widowhood. But husbands seem to think that the heir should have charge of everything, even his mother!’ She stopped, looking up at Marina once again. ‘And just what do you think you are laughing at, young madam?’

Marina had not realised she had begun to smile at the old lady’s spirited defence of her own interests. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ she lied quickly, ‘I was thinking only that you reminded me of my own dear grandmother. I miss her greatly.’

‘Balderdash,’ said Lady Luce roundly. ‘You were thinking that I was talking dangerous nonsense, but that I could be forgiven my revolutionary views because of my great age. Well? Were you not?’

Taking a deep breath, Marina said, with sudden resolution, ‘Yes, ma’am, I was. I admit it. But I see now that your arguments should not be dismissed on such spurious grounds. You are obviously a redoubtable opponent, for woman or for man, and your great age has nothing to do with the case.’

Lady Luce gasped. For a second, Marina held her breath, thinking how foolhardy she had been to speak so. The Dowager would ring a peal over her head and then despatch her post-haste back to Yorkshire. But nothing of the sort happened. Her ladyship stared sharply into Marina’s face, now mercifully straight, and then said, with a crack of laughter, ‘Yes, you’ll do. Once we have done something about your wardrobe, of course. I shall see to that tomorrow. You are not fit to be seen as you are. Turn round.’

Obediently, Marina turned her back.

‘Again,’ said the Dowager.

Marina turned to face her once more.

‘Sit down, girl,’ said Lady Luce, nodding towards a low stool at the side of her chair. ‘It’s giving me a stiff neck trying to look up all that way.’

Marina allowed herself a small smile as she obeyed. The Dowager’s bark was extremely frightening, but Marina now fancied that her ladyship’s bite was a little lacking in teeth, like a pampered old lapdog, yelping and snapping uselessly at every visitor.

‘Now, Miss Beaumont. Tell me about yourself,’ began her ladyship. She was obviously pleased to see that Marina, once seated on the stool, was shorter than she was. ‘What do they call you?’

‘Marina, ma’am,’ replied Marina, puzzled. How could Lady Luce have agreed to employ a companion when she did not even know her given name?

‘Marina. Hmm. Unusual name, is it not?’

‘I am not sure, ma’am. I was named for my father’s mother, I believe.’

‘Foreign, was she?’ Lady Luce’s voice betrayed her distaste.

‘I understand so. I never knew her. My father’s family had served in the army for generations. All the women followed the drum.’

‘Your mother, too?’ Lady Luce’s voice had a clear undertone of disapproval now. She probably felt that such behaviour was not appropriate for a niece of the Viscount Blaine.

‘Yes, ma’am. But after the Peace of Amiens, my father decided that his wife would be better in England, since my brother and I were so small. We settled in Yorkshire.’

‘And your father? What was he?’

‘He was a captain in the 95th Rifles, ma’am. He died nine years ago, at the battle of Ciudad Rodrigo, along with my uncle.’

Lady Luce nodded in understanding. Marina wondered whether she, too, had lost loved ones in the wars. Many titled families had.

‘But your mother was provided for?’ Lady Luce clearly had no qualms about enquiring into the most intimate detail of her companion’s circumstances. And she would doubtless persist until she received her answer.

‘No, ma’am. At least, not well.’ That was true, though it was not the whole truth. ‘My mother supplemented our income by taking pupils.’ Seeing her ladyship’s look of surprise, Marina added, ‘My mother is very well educated, ma’am. Her father was a great scholar. He educated his daughter exactly as he educated his son.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Unlike my mother, my uncle had no inclination for scholarship. He was army mad, almost from his cradle. A great disappointment to my grandfather.’

‘Hmph,’ said Lady Luce. It was not clear whether she approved or not. ‘And who was he, this scholar grandfather of yours?’

Marina was beginning to dislike her ladyship’s sustained questioning very much, but she did not think she could refuse to answer. ‘He met my grandmother when he was the Viscount Blaine’s private secretary, I believe, ma’am.’

Her ladyship smiled suddenly. ‘And he was remarkably handsome, too, was he not? Tall, with fine features and dark hair, and a beautifully modulated speaking voice?’

‘Why, yes. Grandmama did describe him in much that way,’ Marina replied. ‘Did you know him, ma’am?’

Her ladyship continued to smile, a rather secretive smile, and a faraway look came into her eye. ‘Aye, I knew James Langley. All the girls were mad for him, I remember. Handsomest man we had ever seen…but quite unsuitable…quite.’ She looked sharply at Marina as if looking for some resemblance. ‘Your grandmother kicked over the traces for his handsome face, did she, eh?’

Marina blushed and nodded dumbly. Her ladyship’s salty turn of phrase was not what she was used to in Yorkshire with her very proper mama.

‘And her father cast her off as a result?’

Marina nodded again.

‘Just what I’d expect from that family. Don’t hold with such cavalier treatment. Don’t hold with it at all.’ Lady Luce shook her head so vigorously that a little cloud of powder rose from her wig. ‘If I had had a daughter—’

The door opened to admit the butler. Bowing stiffly, he announced, ‘His lordship is below, your ladyship, and begs the favour of a few minutes’ conversation with Miss Beaumont.’

‘Does he, indeed?’ said Lady Luce, frowning.

Marina was astonished. What on earth could Lady Luce’s son want with the companion?

‘I suppose I must humour him, in the circumstances,’ her ladyship said, grudgingly. ‘Conduct Miss Beaumont below, Tibbs.’

Wonderingly, Marina followed the butler out of the room and down the staircase to the bookroom on the ground floor. Perhaps the Earl wished to look over his mother’s companion, to decide whether he thought her suitable? But what if he did not? Marina doubted that her son’s objections would make any difference to Lady Luce, not once she had made up her mind.

The Earl was standing by the window, looking out into the street. He was several inches shorter than Marina, and noticeably corpulent. Unlike his mother, he wore the newest fashions, even though tight pantaloons did not flatter his figure at all.

He waited until the door had closed before turning. He made no move towards Marina. And he did not attempt to shake hands.

Marina understood. To the Earl, she was only a servant. She curtsied, waiting for him to speak.

Like his mother, he surveyed her keenly. Marina caught his lofty expression and responded automatically by lifting her chin. Had not Lady Luce just insisted she was a Blaine?

‘Miss Beaumont,’ he said, in an affected drawl, ‘you have arrived at last. We had looked to see you somewhat sooner than this.’

Marina did not attempt to make excuses for the timing of her arrival. His lordship might travel post, but she could not afford such luxury. She looked calmly across at him, waiting.

‘However, it is of no moment now. We have more important matters to discuss.’

Marina’s surprise must have been evident in her face, for he said, ‘I take it Lady Blaine did not tell you about my requirements?’

‘No, sir. Lady Blaine said nothing at all about the nature of the post. She wrote only—’

The Earl clearly had no interest in what Marina wished to say, and no compunction about interrupting a lady who was no better than a servant. ‘What her ladyship wrote is of no interest to me, Miss Beaumont. What matters here are the instructions that I shall give you. Your role in this household is to prevent my mother from indulging in extravagant foolishness. No doubt you have heard that she has a predilection for gambling?’

Marina shook her head. ‘I know nothing at all about her ladyship’s manner of living, sir.’

The Earl snorted. He sounded worse than his mother. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Very well. The facts are these. My mother is overfond of gambling. On occasion, she has been known to risk considerably more than she can afford. Your role, Miss Beaumont, is to ensure that she does not.’

Marina gulped. How was she supposed to ensure such a thing? Surely Lady Luce would never have agreed to have her son’s agent foisted on her? ‘I do not understand, sir,’ Marina said.

‘It is quite simple,’ snapped the Earl. ‘Even a woman should be able to grasp it. I am employing you to stop my mother’s gambling. The means I leave to you.’

Ignoring his rudeness, Marina tried to grapple with his astonishing statement. ‘I had understood that I was employed by the Dowager Countess,’ she began, but she was permitted to go no further.

‘Ostensibly, but all the costs of your position fall to me. I am employing you. And your role will be as I have described.’

Marina swallowed hard. The task was impossible, surely? And the Earl was obnoxious. ‘Is the Dowager Countess content with this arrangement?’ she asked quietly. It would sound presumptuous for a mere companion to speak so, but the question had to be asked.

The Earl was beginning to look angry. ‘I require you to say nothing to her on the subject. If you do, you will be discharged instantly.’

Marina paled.

Lord Luce smiled nastily as he continued, ‘Remember, Miss Beaumont, that it is I, not my mother, who pay you. And that it is to me you will answer, if you fail in your appointed task. That is all I wish to say to you. You may go.’

There was nothing more to be said. Marina automatically dipped a brief curtsy and left the room. Her heart was pounding madly. She understood at last why Lady Blaine had written that short, cold letter to Mama. At the time, Marina had wondered why her haughty relation should suddenly offer to recommend her to a comfortable position, after decades of estrangement. But since pride was a luxury that the Beaumonts could not afford, Marina had had to accept the crumbs from the rich man’s table. Now, too late, she could see that the crumbs were laced with poison.

She was trapped. And she was alone in London. She could turn to no one for advice. If she was loyal to Lady Luce, the Earl would dismiss her. If she acted as the Earl’s instrument, Lady Luce would soon suspect and send her packing. After all the money that had been spent on her passage to London, it seemed she would soon become a burden to Mama all over again. She would have squandered her only chance to help her family.

She shook her head defiantly. No. She must do her duty. Somehow, she must find a way to satisfy both the Earl and his mother, and to earn the money to send home to Yorkshire to keep Mama from penury.

She must.

She would.

Chapter Three

‘Good gad! I thought you said you had an evening gown. Is that the best you can do?’

Face flaming, Marina stood rigid as the Dowager’s sharp little eyes travelled over every detail of her drab appearance. She was wearing the best of her meagre Yorkshire wardrobe, a dove-grey gown made high to the neck, but relieved with a tiny ruff of precious lace. It was plain, and not in the least fashionable, but it was clean and neat. And, unlike most of Marina’s other gowns, it bore no visible evidence of mending.

Lady Luce’s distaste was manifest in the narrowing of her eyes and the slight thinning of her lips. She rose from her chair, shaking out her wide silken skirts. The fall of fine lace at her bosom quivered indignantly. ‘I suppose that is your evening gown?’ she said in withering tones.

‘You are correct, ma’am,’ replied Marina, refusing to drop her gaze. She would not be made to feel ashamed of her appearance. Her dress was perfectly adequate for a near-servant. ‘This is quite my best gown,’ she added daringly, remembering the lesson she had learnt when she first arrived. The Dowager relished a sharp opponent.

Lady Luce gave a snort which might have been suppressed laughter. With a tiny shake of her powdered head, she said, ‘We shall see to your wardrobe tomorrow, as I promised. Don’t suppose it will matter much tonight. Shouldn’t be taking you to Méchante’s in the first place, of course, not a gel like you.’ She turned for the door, talking all the while. ‘Too prim and proper by half. Just what I’d expect from William.’

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ began Marina, daring at last to interrupt her ladyship’s meanderings, ‘but who is Méchante and why—?’

‘Why should you not go there?’ Lady Luce spun round to face Marina. She seemed remarkably nimble for her years. Her eyes were full of wicked laughter. ‘My dear, Méchante—Lady Marchant—is not a proper person for a lady to know. She is the daughter of a Cit, and her history is…ah…more than a little colourful, besides. Most of the company at her card party tonight will be male. As to the ladies you may meet there…’ She chuckled. ‘Suffice it to say that you would do best to pretend never to have set eyes on them. You would be wise to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible. Try to blend into the background.’ She looked Marina up and down once more. ‘In that gown, it should not be difficult.’

Marina stared, but Lady Luce was already making for the door which opened, as if by magic, just as she reached it. The butler stood in the hall, waiting. No doubt he had been listening to every single word. Before morning, Marina’s plight would be the talk of the servants’ hall. She could feel herself flushing yet again as she followed Lady Luce to the door, head held high and eyes fixed on the Dowager’s ramrod-straight back. The servants might mock in private, but they would never detect the slightest sign of weakness in Marina’s outward behaviour.

Throughout the short journey through the still-bustling streets, Marina worried at the information about the dubious Lady Marchant and her card party. Méchante— Marina knew it meant naughty, or wicked, in French. If the lady’s past was as colourful as the Dowager had hinted, she probably deserved her nickname.

Marina quailed inwardly at the thought of this first test. Why did it have to come quite so soon? She began to rack her brains for ideas to stop the Dowager’s gambling but came up with nothing practicable. If she claimed she was ill, the Dowager would simply send her home. If she tried to intervene in the game itself, the Dowager might well dismiss her on the spot. And if she betrayed the Earl’s instructions, the Dowager would probably stake every penny she had, and more, just to spite him, for she had made no secret of the fact that she despised him. Marina chewed at her bottom lip. It did not help.

‘Pull yourself together, child,’ said the Dowager sharply. ‘Méchante won’t eat you, you know. You might even enjoy yourself…get rid of that Friday face. You do play cards, I take it?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Marina quickly. As a companion, she might be lacking in many ways, but she could certainly hold her own at the card table. Her father had delighted in teaching her how to play cards, and she had been an apt pupil, but she had never yet had an opportunity to discover whether she had inherited his appalling luck. Nor did she wish to. Captain Beaumont’s gambling losses had been the major cause of his family’s poverty. ‘However, I never gamble. I believe that—’

‘What you believe is of no importance. You will soon discover that everyone gambles, whether they can afford it or not.’ She stared hard at Marina for a second. ‘I collect that you have no money?’

‘I believe that gambling is wrong, whether one has money or not,’ said Marina stoutly. ‘It ruins too many lives.’

The Dowager continued to stare, narrowing her eyes assessingly, but she said nothing until they had reached their destination and were preparing to alight. ‘Do not share your puritanical opinions with the guests tonight, Marina,’ she said. ‘It would do no good. And it could do you a great deal of harm.’

Marina nodded dumbly and followed Lady Luce into the brightly lit entrance hall of Lady Marchant’s extravagant London house.

‘Why, Lady Luce, is it not? Good evening, ma’am.’

The Dowager stopped so suddenly that Marina almost collided with her. As it was, she stepped on the hem of her ladyship’s train and had to extricate herself carefully from the fine material. By the time Marina looked up once more, Lady Luce was staring coldly in the direction of the handsomest man Marina had ever seen. He had stationed himself between Lady Luce and the staircase and his presence seemed to fill the marble hallway. He was extremely tall and dark, with beautiful features that would not have looked out of place on a statue in a Greek temple. His exquisitely cut clothes seemed to have been moulded to his form, yet he wore them with an air of nonchalance.

‘Such a pleasure to meet you again, ma’am.’ The gentleman’s drawl had an unpleasant edge to it, Marina noticed, and his finely shaped mouth curled in disdain as he looked down at the tiny lady whose path he was blocking. ‘It must be…what?…all of five years? I look forward to making your acquaintance again. You do still play, I take it?’

‘Oh, I play, Mr Stratton, you may be sure of that.’ Lady Luce’s voice was acid. ‘I had not thought Méchante was quite so short of guests, however, as to need to invite just anyone to make up her numbers. I see that I shall have to take more care in deciding which invitations a lady should accept.’ With that, she marched forward, forcing her tormentor to make way for her. He did so with easy grace, Marina noticed, and he continued to watch with narrowed eyes as the Dowager mounted the elegant branching staircase to the reception rooms above. He spared not one glance for the grey companion.