Rescued By The Forbidden Rake

‘Does your fiancé know of your bad news?’ Anne asked hesitantly.

‘He does not... Peter has docked at Portsmouth, but he is not due to visit for a week or so.’ Faye imagined her seafaring future husband would take it very personally, knowing that the lawyer he had recommended had failed her. But Peter had only done what he thought best.

With a wave, Faye set off back the way she had come. As she passed the dusty curricle the smartly uniformed tiger gave her a polite nod. Faye ran her eyes over the fine horseflesh, then speeded up her pace towards home. For some reason she didn’t want to see Mr Kavanagh and his concubine again. She felt a little frisson pass over her. She regretted having humoured the man by staring at him in such a vulgar fashion.

Once out of sight of townsfolk, Faye grabbed her skirts and began to trot along the meadow path, feeling quite joyous as she concentrated on the treat of an afternoon spent at the fair on such a glorious afternoon. The ground beneath her flying feet had been worn in places to bare soil where the locals took short cuts to and from their cottages on the outskirts of Wilverton.

Having spied Mulberry House rising on the horizon, Faye slowed down to appreciate her pretty home and relieve the stitch in her side. It was a whitewashed building topped with russet-coloured clay tiles and the sturdy iron porch was smothered with scarlet roses that had climbed as far as the eaves. Cecil Shawcross had always loved his abundantly planted garden and the scented blooms that rambled on the front of the house and spilled over the trellises to the rear of the property had been his pride and joy.

Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought about him. Her half-siblings missed their father, too, but being younger had not had the benefit of his company for as long as she had when he passed away. Her father could be a difficult man; without a doubt he would be angry that part of his bequest had disappeared in a poor investment. But it would be towards Peter Collins that he’d unleash his temper. Peter had proposed to her when she was twenty-one, but another two years had passed before her father eventually agreed to the match. It had been a sadness to her that her father and her fiancé had never really got on.

Drawing in a deep breath, she set off again, trotting towards the side gate that led through the kitchen garden and into the house.

Chapter Two

‘Ah, so you’re back at last.’ Mrs Gideon frowned as her rosy-cheeked mistress entered the kitchen. She put down on the floury table the pastry cutter she’d been using. ‘I can see you’ve been dashing about again.’ She poured a glass of lemonade from a metal jug. ‘That’ll help cool you off.’

Gratefully Faye took the tumbler, closing her eyes while relishing the refreshing brew. ‘I have been running, and indeed it wasn’t wise. It is very sultry today...perhaps a storm is on its way.’ Faye brushed a hand beneath the damp blonde curls clinging to her nape.

‘There’s some warm water in the kettle for a wash.’ Mrs Gideon filled a copper pitcher, then found a muslin cloth in a drawer. ‘Your sister is still unpicking her stitching, so I reckon you’ve time enough to take a bath waiting for her to be satisfied with prettifying that hat.’ The woman tutted. ‘Miss Claire’s had that piece of blue ribbon on and off the straw at least thrice.’

Faye took another sip of lemonade, intending to take the drink upstairs with her and finish it while she changed her clothes.

‘Did anybody upset you while you were in town, miss?’

Faye turned back to see Mrs Gideon looking quite severe while forcefully rolling out pastry.

‘Everybody was very polite, Mrs Gideon.’ Faye gave a faint smile. ‘Not a word spoken out of place by the shopkeepers, but I saw Anne Holly and she was kind enough to be blunt and tell me people know what has happened.’ Untying her bonnet, she let it hang on its ribbons, then forked her fingers through her thick blonde tresses. So far Mr and Mrs Gideon had kept their own counsel on the business with Westwood; Faye feared they were too kind and loyal to openly say what they must privately be thinking: that her father would be spinning in his grave at her ineptitude with his money. If the couple were concerned over their employment at Mulberry House since she’d made losses, they’d not brought it up.

‘I meant to say, Mrs Gideon, that I haven’t come to such a sorry pass that I cannot afford to keep you on.’

‘Oh, I know, Miss Shawcross.’ The housekeeper’s eyes held a sheen of tears. ‘And much as I want to say I’d keep coming every day if you paid me or not, I won’t upset you by doing it.’ Nelly Gideon wiped her eyes on her rolled-up sleeve. ‘Neither will Mr Gideon, but we wanted to let you know that we won’t hear a word against you or the children.’

‘I know I can rely on you both,’ Faye said huskily.

Mrs Gideon nodded vigorously and set about cutting pastry cases.

Faye suddenly remembered something that might lighten the atmosphere; Mrs Gideon was frowning fiercely while running the rolling pin this way and that.

‘Anne Holly told me that Valeside Manor has acquired a new owner.’

‘Him!’ The housekeeper gave a loud tut. ‘A vicar’s wife had no right bringing that fellow into a decent conversation.’

‘You knew about Mr Kavanagh and his lady friend being at Valeside Manor?’ Faye sounded surprised.

‘Indeed, I did! I hope he’ll soon take himself off to London where the likes of him and her are sure to be better received.’ Mrs Gideon returned her attention to the tartlets she was filling with blackcurrants. ‘What with those Romanies turning up as well we’ve got more than our fair share of rogues in the neighbourhood lately.’

Faye remained quiet for a moment. From her housekeeper’s strong reaction she took it that her friend Anne had not overstated Mr Kavanagh’s ill repute.

‘Apparently he is very affluent. Local people might benefit from his patronage.’ Faye felt an odd compulsion to find something good to say about the new master of Valeside. ‘The manor has been empty for quite some time, it’s sure to need repairs and additional staff. Mr Kavanagh might call on villagers to fill vacancies.’

‘No decent woman would enter that house no matter what pay he offered. The only females likely to benefit from his patronage are those working in the room above the Dog and Duck.’ The housekeeper turned florid, regretting having let her tongue run away with her.

Faye picked up her lemonade and took a gulp. She knew that a couple of harlots entertained clients above the taproom in the Dog and Duck. The hostelry was situated on the outskirts of Wilverton and was shunned by decent folk who supped in the White Hart tavern on the green instead.

Still, Faye felt an odd inclination to give the benefit of the doubt to Mr Kavanagh. ‘He had a very well-behaved team of horses and his servant was nicely turned out, and polite, too. The boy made a point of raising his hat to me as I passed by.’

‘You managed to get quite a good long look at Mr Kavanagh, did you, miss?’ Nelly Gideon asked. ‘Did you see the scar on his face?’

‘He was too far away for me to see more than that he is a tall gentleman with very dark hair. I was talking to Anne across the road and he’d disappeared inside the drapery with his companion by the time I passed his curricle.’

Nelly put down a spoon stained with blackcurrant juice. ‘Got a scar from here to here, he has...’ She striped one side of her face from cheekbone to lip with a forefinger. ‘Duelling over a woman, so I heard. Killed a man.’ She shook her head. ‘It makes me wonder what else might yet come out about his wickedness.’

Faye’s eyes widened, but still she was reluctant to condemn too quickly. Today she’d had a taste of what it was like to be the butt of gossip and it wasn’t pleasant. Despite what her friend Anne Holly had said about people’s sympathy for her, there would doubtless be some private sniggering at her lack of judgement.

‘You’d better keep your distance from the new master of Valeside Manor, miss,’ Nelly said over a shoulder, sliding the tarts into the oven. ‘Your fiancé won’t want you associating with such a rogue.’

‘Who is a rogue?’ Claire had just entered the kitchen, eyes alight with interest at what she’d overheard.

‘The new master of Valeside Manor,’ Mrs Gideon informed darkly. ‘Big handsome chap Mr Kavanagh may be, but he’s got a black heart, so you all stay clear of that place.’

‘Show me your hat then.’ Faye changed the subject, thinking Mr Kavanagh had been a topic of conversation for long enough.

‘What do you think?’ Claire held aloft the bonnet, twirling it on her fingers so the blue ribbons flew out like flags.

‘Very pretty...’ Faye said, picking up the jug of washing water. ‘I won’t be long getting ready, then we’ll get going. A storm’s brewing for this evening and we won’t want to be out in the thunder and lightning.’

* * *

Walking through long, murmuring grass with the warmth of late June on one’s shoulders was one of life’s wonderful pleasures, Faye thought as she picked seeds from her cotton skirts. She watched her brother and sister, chasing to and fro and throwing grassy darts at one another. Faye smiled wryly; her sister was still a child at heart and it was a shame to think of hurrying her to womanhood with a premature debut.

Claire wouldn’t be seventeen until the middle of next year. She’d already said she was eager to be launched before her next birthday rather than wait until the following Season. Faye had worried that her half-sister might not be ready for such an important milestone at sixteen. But things had changed for them all. She could no longer afford to be so finicky.

Faye was obliged to tighten the purse strings on the family kitty and there was no denying that Claire might be better off now under a husband’s protection than her sister’s.

Turning her face up to the golden sunbeams, Faye sighed, loosening her straw bonnet to let the breeze cool her skin. It was easy to feel lulled by the pastoral melody of birdsong and bees swarming nearby.

‘That man’s staring at you. Who is he?’

Faye’s eyes flicked open and she saw her brother, flushed from his game of chase, ambling at her side.

‘His name is Mr Kavanagh,’ Faye said hoarsely, feeling rather shocked to see him again so soon. And at much closer quarters. Mrs Gideon had called him a big handsome man, and indeed he was broad of shoulder and very good looking. She could also see the thin pale mark dissecting his bronzed cheek that her housekeeper had spoken of.

‘We mustn’t have anything to do with him,’ Claire whispered, having joined them. ‘He’s a black-hearted rogue, Mrs Gideon said so, and she knows everything.’

‘What has he done?’ Michael asked, agog.

‘You’re not old enough to know,’ Claire replied, hoping to sound mysterious and knowledgeable.

‘Hush...that’s enough gossip.’ Faye tore her eyes away from a steady, narrowed gaze. She was quite sure that the black-hearted rogue knew they were talking about him.

‘Perhaps he’s a highwayman or a smuggler.’ Michael turned to Faye, eyes dancing with glee. ‘He might be delivering kegs of brandy at dark of night or he might be like Dick Turpin with his own Black Bess.’

‘He is probably quite an ordinary character in reality,’ Faye interrupted, attempting to dampen down Michael’s excitement. She wouldn’t put it past her half-brother to dash across the field and quiz Mr Kavanagh about his dastardly exploits. But she doubted that her description of the man as ordinary was any more valid than were her brother’s fanciful imaginings. Ryan Kavanagh might not be a model villain, but neither was he a tame fellow. She set a brisker pace, hoping the children would run ahead again and forget about their intriguing new neighbour.

‘He must be rich,’ Michael said, content to dawdle. He glanced over a shoulder at the fellow propped against an oak with a magnificent black stallion tethered to a branch by his side. ‘He has a fine horse.’ He frowned. ‘I remember Papa had a similar beast.’

‘He is a beast...’ Claire hissed, determined to shock her younger brother.

‘For goodness sake, turn around and stop staring, you two. Look...there’s a juggler.’ Faye distracted Michael’s attention to the harlequin entertaining a group of youngsters.

They were now close to the fairground and the noise and appetising aromas caused the children to finally lose interest in Mr Kavanagh. But Faye had not. The need to take a peep over her shoulder was undeniable. He had sunk down to the grass with his back against the tree, one knee raised and supporting an elbow. He was smoking a cheroot, she realised as a faint scent of tobacco reached her on the breeze. He turned his head in her direction and Faye quickly whipped her face away, not wanting him to catch her staring at him for the second time that day.

Claire waved at her friend Peggy, their housekeeper’s niece, and with a quick promise not to be gone long dashed away to talk to her. Michael had also spotted a group of chums and loped off in the opposite direction. Left alone, Faye became aware of her heart thudding beneath her embroidered bodice. An odd thrill was shooting iced fire through her veins. When their eyes had fleetingly met Mr Kavanagh had appeared aware of the unsettling effect he was having on her. His subtle smile had annoyed Faye as well as intrigued her. Yet there had been nothing in his behaviour that declared him to be the reprobate he’d been painted. His demeanour alone proclaimed him to be of wealth and status, and he was quietly minding his own business. But why was he here at all? He didn’t seem interested in the fair—in fact, he seemed bored. And then Faye spotted the reason for him idling on the grass. He was waiting for his mistress to finish browsing the fairground stalls.

The lovely young lady was just ahead, making purchases from a vendor and handing over the packages to her maids. Yes, not one but two bombazine-clad servants were dancing attendance on her while her beau waited patiently at a distance for her to sufficiently enjoy herself.

For a moment Faye couldn’t drag her eyes from Ryan Kavanagh’s paramour. She was struck by the young woman’s exquisite and rather exotic looks; the profound darkness of her hair and eyes were set off by the pale gold colour of the fine day dress that encased her perfectly proportioned figure. Her clear olive complexion was protected from the sun by her bonnet brim and a lacy parasol that one of the maids was diligently holding aloft and tilting to and fro. Aware that she had been standing quite still, staring, Faye propelled herself in the opposite direction, determined to forget all about the new master of Valeside and his entourage!

‘Tell your fortune, my lady?’ The voice was pleasantly accented. A weather-beaten face, with sharp dark eyes, was turned up to Faye’s. The woman had plaited tresses resembling a sable snake on her crown and she was extending a hand to take Faye’s palm in hers.

Ruefully Faye shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to know it.’

The crone gave a gap-toothed smile and grasped Faye’s fingers so she couldn’t escape. The abrupt movement set her hoop earrings dancing against her leathery neck. ‘This isn’t the hand of a coward, though you’ve hurdles in front of you and no denying. You’re certainly of an age to be wed, but aren’t.’ She grinned. ‘And I didn’t know that from your bare fingers as I’ve not seen them yet.’ She pulled off the cotton glove covering Faye’s right hand and examined her palm. ‘But you’ll be happy and loved and give back those feelings to your man. Marriage and children are written for you here.’ She traced a dirty fingernail on a zigzagging path across Faye’s soft skin. Then she paused, frowning before raising her almond-shaped eyes. ‘And your lover is very close by today. He’s here with you...a good man...’

Faye’s fingers curled to conceal her palm and she jerked free. Quickly she handed over some coins got from her pocket. Usually she would have chuckled at such fanciful nonsense and it confused her why she had not. She swiftly moved on, keeping her brother and sister in sight as they mingled with their friends in the crowd. But the gypsy’s words were haunting her mind, urging her to glance back. The old woman had turned to watch her and nodded in a portentous and oddly reverential way. When Faye next tried to find her brother and sister, she found she couldn’t locate either of them in the throng.

Determined to enjoy herself, Faye marched up to a stall and bought some lemon ribbon and pearl buttons for a favourite, but well-worn, gown that would benefit from being spruced up. She wandered on, feeling tempted to purchase a meat pie from a woman carrying a tray laden with pastries. The savoury aroma was appetising, but she decided to resist and wait until the children came back so they could all sit together on the grass and enjoy a picnic. She examined some pretty gewgaws on another stall, then selected a hair comb crafted in tortoiseshell that she thought Claire might like. A pewter inkstand also caught her eyes and she purchased that, too, for Michael to take back to school. She was placing the gifts in her reticule when she sensed a looming figure close by, then a heavy hand was on her arm.

‘Mrs Gideon said I’d find you here...’

Faye spun about at the familiar baritone, then gasped in surprise and pleasure.

‘Peter! I had no idea you were coming. Why did you not write and let me know to soon expect you?’ She chuckled. ‘Had you sent word I would have given you pork chops for dinner, you know. As it is, the butcher’s not due until Thursday.’

Peter Collins grasped her outstretched fingers and brought them to his lips. ‘I wanted to surprise you, my dear.’

‘You have certainly done that.’ She paused. ‘Although I had my fortune read a moment ago and the woman did say my sweetheart was close by... I thought it all nonsense, too.’

‘It is nonsense,’ Peter dismissed, top lip curling. ‘You should avoid such people.’

‘That is easier said than done at a summer fair.’ Faye chuckled. ‘You will stay and dine with us later?’ She smiled up into his hazel eyes.

‘Of course, I’d be glad to, pork chops or no.’ Again his mouth brushed her knuckles. ‘I’m putting up at the White Hart in Wilverton for a few days.’ Peter drew Faye to a quieter spot so they might promenade and chat more easily on the edge of the crowd.

Slipping her hand through her fiancé’s arm, Faye discreetly hugged him, feeling oddly relieved as well as happy to have his company. But there was one thing niggling at her: she had expected some notice of his arrival so she might get straight in her mind how to tell him of her meeting with Westwood. She didn’t want Peter to feel guilty for having put her in touch with the lawyer, yet he was bound to feel disappointed that the best part of her dowry had gone. The Collins family were well-connected gentry, but Peter had told her that his mother complained they were poor as church mice.

‘What is it?’ Peter looked down at her, his smile fading on noticing her frown.

‘Oh...nothing that can’t wait till later. Let’s enjoy ourselves while the sun’s shining. It might storm later, according to Mr Gideon.’

‘Where are the scamps?’ Peter asked, referring to Faye’s siblings.

‘Oh, they’ve gone off to see their friends,’ Faye answered as they began to promenade arm in arm. She nodded to a spot where Michael and a chum were now throwing balls at skittles. Even at a distance she could hear the boys’ whoops of glee.

‘And where is Claire?’ Peter turned his head, seeking her.

Faye also looked about. She came to a halt and pivoted on the spot, but still she couldn’t spot a blue-beribboned bonnet anywhere. She realised it had been some time since she’d last caught a glimpse of her sister.

‘She was chatting with Mrs Gideon’s niece earlier. I expect they have found a shady spot to sit down. It is very hot...’ Despite her explanation, Faye felt a frisson of uneasiness. Claire had said she would only be gone a short while. ‘Michael might know where she’s gone.’

‘There she is!’ Peter drew Faye’s attention to a copse; Claire and Peggy were emerging from between two brightly painted caravans.

Slipping her hand from Peter’s arm, Faye set off towards them, her heartbeat accelerating in alarm. They had the furtive look of people who feared being spotted doing something they shouldn’t.

‘I have been looking for you. Where have you been?’

Claire spun about with a guilty gasp, her cheeks reddening. ‘I...we have only been looking at the ponies.’

Faye glanced at the squat piebald animals tethered to the low branches of trees, sedately cropping grass. ‘You should have said you were going off the beaten track.’ She hadn’t really believed Claire might come to harm on this sunny afternoon, yet still uneasiness prickled at her. As she glanced at Peggy the girl averted her eyes, then excused herself, running back to the stalls with her fiery red tresses flying out behind her.

‘I see Lieutenant Collins has turned up.’ Claire sounded unenthusiastic at the forthcoming reunion with her future brother-in-law. Faye knew that Michael would react similarly. Peter had a lukewarm relationship with her half-siblings, believing them to be obstacles to his marriage. But Faye wouldn’t hear of her brother and sister being nudged aside before they were of an age to be independent.

‘I expect you’ve had your fill of the fair if you’re feeling bored enough to pet the ponies.’ Faye linked arms with Claire. ‘Let’s set off home. While we wait for Mrs Gideon to cook dinner I’ll show you what I’ve bought you today.’

‘You’ve got me a present?’ Claire sounded delighted. Then her expression drooped. ‘Is Lieutenant Collins coming home with us?’

‘Of course! He’s putting up in Wilverton...but will dine with us first.’

Faye was walking ahead with Claire along the narrow earthy track towards Mulberry House. Her fiancé and brother were bringing up the rear and they had been strolling for little more than ten minutes when she noticed Mr Kavanagh and his party descending the hill towards Wilverton.

‘Who is that with Mr Kavanagh?’ Claire whispered, her eyes widening on the sight of the lovely young woman sitting atop the black stallion. The two maids were marching one either side of the fine animal, led by its master.

‘Umm...the young lady is a friend of his I believe,’ Faye said diplomatically, then turned to glance over a shoulder at Peter. He, too, had caught sight of the people descending towards the valley, travelling on a parallel course to their own.

‘Do you know that fellow?’ Peter had noticed the gentleman’s head turn in their direction.

‘We’ve not been introduced. I have it from the vicar’s wife, though, that he is the new master of Valeside Manor...an Irishman, I believe.’ Faye had noticed that the two men were staring at one another in the way fellows did when summing one another up.

‘Mrs Gideon said he’s a black-hearted rogue.’ Claire followed her pronouncement with a mischievous smile. ‘He’s very handsome though.’

‘Is he now?’ was all Peter said, striding ahead and whipping aside the entangling grass with a twig he’d found on the ground.

Faye glanced across the meadow, but Kavanagh and his entourage had disappeared into the valley that led towards Wilverton.

Chapter Three

‘I’ve put the chicken and vegetables on the dining table, Miss Shawcross. I’ll be in the kitchen with Bertram, doing mending. Just ring, if you need me.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’

Faye and Peter had been idling in the parlour, waiting for their dinner while examining their fairground gifts.

‘Mrs Gideon and her husband could surely go home now the meal is prepared,’ Peter murmured close to his fiancée’s ear, as he helped her to be seated. ‘I’ll gladly assist in clearing away the crockery if it means I get more time alone with you.’

‘You know Nelly’s a stickler for etiquette,’ Faye whispered a rueful reply, unfolding her napkin. Her housekeeper took pains to ensure that her mistress’s reputation was protected even if that meant returning home late, after visitors had left. Mr Collins might be Miss Shawcross’s future husband, but in Nelly Gideon’s mind one observed rules until vows were taken.