The Rake's Enticing Proposal

‘My God, I am so sorry. Are you hurt?’ She was still on him, one hand fisted on his greatcoat, the other splayed against his chest. Her eyes were wide with concern and he could see all the shades of gold and amber and jade that meshed together around the dilated pupils and he had the peculiar sensation he was still sinking, as if the fall hadn’t stopped, just slowed.

‘Are you hurt?’ she demanded again, giving his coat a little tug. Out of the peculiar numbness he noticed her elbow was digging painfully into his abdomen and he forced himself to shake his head. At last the strange sensation ebbed, but now his body woke and instead of reconnoitring and reporting back on the damage, it focused on something completely different. She was sprawled on top of him, astride his thigh, her legs spread and her own thigh tucked so snugly between his if he shifted the slightest bit he...

‘You are hurt,’ she stated, her fist tightening further in his coat, her gaze running over him as if trying to locate his wounds and, though he hadn’t felt a blow, he wondered if perhaps he had after all struck his head on the wall and that accounted for this strange floating feeling.

‘Not hurt. Just winded,’ he croaked and managed a smile and thankfully her brows drew together into a frown.

‘Serves you right! That is my letter. Not Lord Huxley’s.’

She struggled to rise, her thigh dragging against his groin with startling effectiveness and his normally obedient body shocked him by leaping into readiness. Instinctively his arm tightened around her and with a cry she slipped and fell back against him, leaving him doubly winded, her hair a silky cushion under his chin. Perhaps if he had not been so surprised and not a little embarrassed by his body’s perfidy, he might have kept quiet. But instead of helping her as a gentleman should, he kept his arm where it was and succumbed to the urge to turn his head to test the softness of her hair with his lips.

‘Don’t go yet...we’ve just got comfortable,’ he murmured against her hair, absorbing the scent of lilies and something else, sweet and tempting... Vanilla? Her elbow sank even more painfully into the soft flesh under his ribs, but he felt the pain less than he noticed the rest of her anatomy as she wriggled off him and shoved to her feet.

‘Henry is utterly right about you!’

He levered himself into a sitting position and watched as she picked up the letter with a gesture that was a perfect reflection of her scold. She didn’t even glance at him as she stepped over him and stalked down the stairs.

‘And you may tidy up that mess you made.’ Her scold echoed up the stairwell the moment before the slamming of the wooden door sent a whoosh of cold air up towards him. He heard Brutus’s shrill whinny and hauled himself to his feet with a spurt of fear only to hear her voice, faint but all too clear as she admonished his sixteen-hand fiend of a horse.

‘Out of my way, you great lug. You’re as ill mannered as your master!’

Chase inspected the tear in the seat of his buckskins where the shattered box had ripped through the sturdy material. It stung and throbbed and he began laughing.

His brother Lucas would love that he found himself flat on his backside with his head handed to him within minutes of arriving. What a fitting beginning to what was likely to prove a dismal week.

Chapter Two

‘Ellie, wait.’

Ellie stopped halfway up the stairs, indulging in a string of mental curses. She didn’t wish to speak to anyone in her present state, not even Henry.

‘I’ve escaped the steward and was just about to set off in search of you, Ellie. There is tea in... Good Lord, what happened to you? Have you fallen down a coal chute?’ Henry’s eyes widened as they took in the state of her skirts and the uncharacteristic anger on her face.

‘I must change, Henry.’

‘First come into the parlour and tell me what’s about before the three witches find us. Come, tea and lemon seed cake are just what you need...’ Henry coaxed.

The smile and the concern in his sky-blue eyes were a balm after the look of distaste that had doused the laughter in Mr Sinclair’s grey eyes the moment he realised who her father was.

Though how someone with his reputation had the gall to look down upon a fellow reprobate...

She shouldn’t be surprised—it was the way of the world that even rakes and rascals felt superior to those of their breed foolish enough to sink into debt and disgrace. Apparently the notion of there but for the grace of God go I didn’t occur to the likes of Charles Sinclair. Chase, Indeed! She would like to chase him off with a croquet mallet!

‘You’re looking fierce, Ellie. Is this Lady Ermintrude’s fault?’

‘No. I had an encounter with your cousin,’ she said and he grinned, looking even more angelically boyish.

‘Dru or Fen did this? Over me? Good lord, I wouldn’t have thought they had the pluck!’

‘Not them, you vain popinjay. Your cousin The Right Honourable Charles Sinclair. Though I saw nothing very honourable about him.’

His grin vanished.

‘Oh, lord, is Chase here already? And what the devil do you mean you had an encounter? I’ve heard he’s a devil with the ladies, but...’

‘Henry Giles Whelford!’

‘Sorry, Eleanor. I was funning... Never mind. I thought you were at the Folly escaping Aunt Ermintrude.’

‘I was. He appeared there while I was trying to read Susan’s letter. And he is a hundred times worse than you said.’

‘Is he? I mean...what on earth did he do?’

‘He accused me of stealing! And then he took my letter and when I tried to take it back we almost fell down the stairs.’

‘No! Ellie, are you hurt? Do let me see.’

Her anger fizzled at the concern in her friend’s voice.

‘I’m not hurt, but I never should have allowed you to convince me to masquerade as your betrothed. I knew everything would go wrong.’

‘Hush!’ Henry flapped his hands, glancing at the closed door. ‘You never know when that sneaky Pruitt might be hovering about listening at keyholes. If I am to protect your reputation, the engagement must remain just between us, Lady Ermintrude and her nieces.’

‘I know, but I’ve already blurted it out to Mr Sinclair.’

‘What? Why on earth...?’

‘I don’t know. He looked at me so suspiciously and the words were out before I could think. I warned you I am dreadful at subterfuge. If I had not been so desperate...’

‘We are both desperate, remember?’

‘My problems are slightly more serious than yours,’ she replied sharply. ‘If I cannot find the funds to prevent the banks from foreclosing on Whitworth, Edmund and Susan and Anne and Hugh will lose their home at best and end up in debtors’ prison at worst. I think that is a little more fateful than whether you can withstand Lady Ermintrude’s pressure to wed one of her nieces. I did try to recover my mistake by telling him it was to remain a secret while you were in mourning.’

‘Well, that should be enough—Chase was never one to spill. Matters are a little more complicated here than I thought, but once I untangle the accounts I am certain to find a way to raise the funds to prevent the banks foreclosing on Whitworth. And then in a few weeks you may jilt me and I will mope around, declaring myself inconsolable and determined never to wed and that will put an end to Aunt Ermintrude’s plans to force me into marrying Dru or Fen. By the time she overcomes her scruples I will hopefully have the Manor sufficiently on its feet so I can dispense with her funds.’

‘I still think this is madness, Henry. I don’t know if I shall uphold this masquerade for days, let alone weeks. Besides, the children never had to manage without me...’

‘Well, high time they did. Susan and Edmund wouldn’t thank you for calling them children. Why, Susan is almost on the shelf herself.’

‘Thank you kindly, Henry. I’m well aware of my advancing years.’

‘You’re still a year younger than I so listen to a wise old man—it will come right in the end. I promise. All you must do is be precisely who you are—the indomitable Miss Eleanor Walsh. If you could keep Whitworth afloat for the past five years, beating back bankers and creditors from the doorstep, you can take on one ill-tempered spinster. Well, three of them. You’ve already made grand progress last night, admiring Aunt Ermintrude’s brooch. Now she is convinced you are a scheming golddigger.’

‘I was trying to make polite conversation!’

‘Well, some more of that politeness and she’ll be mighty pleased with me when you jilt me. It’s deuced uncomfortable that Uncle Huxley allowed the estate to become dependent on her funds, but I suspect that was her doing, trying to make herself indispensable. No doubt she wished it was her and not her sister Hattie my poor uncle married.’

‘I feel rather sorry for her...’

‘Well, don’t be. There isn’t a shred of kindness in her.’

‘It was kind of her to take Drusilla and Fenella in when their parents died.’

‘That isn’t kindness. She brought them here like two dolls and treated them just the same. If they weren’t so annoying, I would feel sorry for them. Why, Dru is twenty-three and has never had a true Season even though she is an heiress in her own right. It’s shameful.’

‘There, that is something for you to do. Really, you led me to believe they were much worse than they are. Once I break your heart, I suggest you take your cousins to town and find them husbands.’

‘Fen might enjoy it, but Dru prefers the country. You should have seen her today when she came with me and the steward out to the pastures, the two of them rattling on about sheep and wool and lambing until I was ready to cry. I can’t see her enjoying the brouhaha of London any more than I would.’

‘I think it a good sign Dru made such a gesture of goodwill. You should encourage her to come out with you more often, knowing she will enjoy it more than embroidering with her aunt.’

‘It feels more like a cross between a lecture and a scold than a gesture of goodwill.’

‘Well, she is rather shy...’

‘Shy? Dru? The girl tore strips out of me that time I put frogs in her bed. Had me carry them all the way back to the pond in the dark.’

‘Well, you were a horrid little boy and I would have done the same.’

Henry laughed, his freckled cheeks a little pink, and not for the first time since her arrival at Huxley, Ellie wondered if he was being quite honest with himself. His tales of Huxley Manor over the years led her to expect a household of scheming harpies, but it was clear only Lady Ermintrude merited that title.

She decided to toss one more stone into the well.

‘Once the period of strict mourning is over, you should hold a ball here at the Manor and bring all the landed gentry so she can find a nice country squire. Then settling Fen would be her and her husband’s task.’

‘I don’t fancy playing matchmaker, if you don’t mind. But perhaps I should ask Dru to help with the da—the darling sheep. I might as well derive some benefit from her superior airs. But even if Dru isn’t...well, you know...that doesn’t mean my aunt wouldn’t try to force my hand with her. I told you about that time three years ago when Aunt Ermintrude arranged matters so that we were left stranded in a carriage on the way back from an assembly. If the Philbys had not come along we’d have been long married, believe me. I left the next day before the old witch could try something else. You’re my only defence, Ellie.’

Ellie sighed. She might think Dru rather suited Henry, but she could not argue against his aversion to being coerced into marriage. She knew enough about being coerced into situations not of one’s choosing.

‘It’s only a few weeks, Ellie. In fact, it’s dashed good news Chase has come. My aunt always resented Huxley’s strong ties to the Sinclairs. After his wife passed, he spent much more time with them and their widowed mother in Egypt than he ever spent here and when they did come to visit they always managed to rub her the wrong way. Perhaps you could flirt with him and then...’

‘No!’

‘Oh, very well. It was only a thought.’

‘A typically noddy-headed one, Henry! Though if I were at all sensible I should encourage anything that will hasten your plan. I couldn’t bear it if Edmund lost everything because I failed. I had it all planned, you know. All we needed were a few more years of decent harvests and for nothing terrible to go wrong with the livestock or the tenants, then poor Mr Phillips fell ill so of course we could not press for rents and then there was the drought last year and...’

Her voice cracked as she recalled the last summons to meet with Mr Soames at the bank. He’d been regretful, but very clear. They’d shown far too much leniency already. Problems of their own... Pressure from the board... Fiscal duty... Three months...

Three months...

Her head and stomach had reeled and halfway back on that endless walk from town she’d hurried into the bushes and been viciously ill. She’d only told Henry because he’d been waiting at Whitworth to tell her of Huxley’s passing and somehow the truth tumbled out of her. So when he said it was fate and proposed this mad plan she’d agreed. For once, just for once, she wanted someone to swoop in and save her, like a sorcerer in a story.

She’d forgotten that most swooping-in sorcerers tended to exact a hefty price for their services.

But three months...

She felt another wave of weariness and fear beat at her embattlements. It was even stronger now that she was away from Whitworth where she didn’t have the constant reminders of her duty. Even coming here felt like a betrayal despite the fact that this was her only hope of saving her family’s home. She didn’t know what to think any longer.

Just that she was so very, very tired. And scared.

‘Oh, God, Henry, I’m so frightened,’ she whispered and the tears began to burn. She would not cry. She hadn’t cried since her mother and baby sister died that horrible day five years ago and she would not begin now.

‘Dash it all, Ellie, don’t come apart at the seams now,’ Henry said, his eyes widening in alarm, but he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. ‘You’re the indomitable Eleanor Walsh, remember? Nothing is too difficult for you. So buck up, everything will come right in the end. Word of honour. I...’

‘Henry Giles Whelford! I will have none of that in my household!’

They both jerked apart at the command. For such an ancient house, the door hinges were well oiled—neither had noticed the door open. Lady Ermintrude stood flanked by Drusilla and Fenella Ames, their cheeks flaming, and behind them, as out of place as a panther in a litter of kittens, stood the dark and impassive Mr Sinclair.

Ellie’s face flamed in embarrassment and lingering misery, her pulse tumbling forward as it had when he appeared behind her in the Folly. It was not quite fear, more like the sensation of waking in the middle of a vivid dream, her mind struggling to separate fact from fiction. She had an utterly outrageous thought that he was not really there, just a figment of her imagination—that if she blinked he would disappear and all she would see were the three disapproving women.

‘I didn’t...we weren’t...’ Henry stammered, but Lady Ermintrude waved a hand, cutting him off as she turned.

‘Supper is in an hour. Do not be late.’ She sailed away and the cousins trailed in her wake, but Mr Sinclair remained, leaning on the doorjamb. As the silence stretched the absurdly fanciful sensation that he was not quite corporeal faded, but he still looked utterly out of place. He must only have entered because he was still wearing his greatcoat and Ellie noticed his buckskins were as streaked with dust and grime from their fall as her skirts.

Peculiarly, this mundane observation reassured her a little, but when she looked up he smiled and her well-developed inner alarms began pealing once more. Instinctively she donned the supercilious look she reserved for visits from creditors and bank officials, but his smile merely deepened and he turned to Henry.

‘Hello, Henry. You really must train Aunt Ermy to call you by your title now. Hard to establish your authority when she’s calling you Henry Giles.’

Henry stood and tugged at his waistcoat, his face flushed.

‘I don’t need to establish my authority. I’m Lord Huxley now. Why didn’t you send word you were arriving today? Will you be staying here or in town?’

‘Well, that puts me in my place.’

Henry’s stiff look crumbled.

‘Oh, deuce take you, Chase. I hope you are staying here because we need to even the odds.’

‘I hadn’t realised I was being enlisted into battle again. Aren’t you planning to introduce me to the other troops, by the way?’

The mocking edge was gone from his smile and Ellie felt her own lips curve in answer. She wasn’t surprised Henry found it hard to be annoyed at his cousin—no doubt this man was accustomed to deploying his easy humour to smooth his path. It was probably not genuine, but it was very effective.

‘Eleanor said the two of you already did that,’ Henry replied. ‘So, how long shall you be staying?’

‘I have to see what awaits me in the East Wing. If it is anything like the chaos of the Folly, it will take more than a couple of days, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, Good. Supper last night was dreadfully dull, but hopefully now you are here you will liven things up. I’m dashed glad you’re here, Chase.’

Chase Sinclair’s gaze flickered past Henry to assess Ellie’s less-welcoming expression.

‘Well, that makes one of us, Henry.’

Chapter Three

Ellie paused halfway down the stairs, wondering how she had sunk so low that her stomach was contracting just as nervously at going down to supper as it did when facing Mr Soames at the bank. Henry called her indomitable, but she could not seem to find her balance now she was away from Whitworth.

Now she would not only have to face the combined hostility of Lady Ermintrude and the two Misses Ames, but also the mocking and perceptive Chase Sinclair. It would be a wonder if the masquerade didn’t unravel that very evening.

She didn’t even have any finery to hide behind. Her one good dress was pathetically dowdy compared to the cousins’ ostentatious mourning dresses and the under-chambermaid assigned to assist her had no experience being a lady’s maid, so Ellie had simply twisted her hair into a bun at her nape as she always did. At Whitworth none of this mattered, but here...

Perhaps she should plead a headache?

She sighed, gathering her courage as Pruitt opened the door to the yellow salon just as the clock finished chiming the hour.

‘You are late, Miss Walsh. I said five o’clock.’ Lady Ermintrude announced before her foot even crossed the threshold.

‘But...’

Henry raised his hands behind his aunt’s back and Ellie swallowed her words.

‘My apologies, Lady Ermintrude.’ She curtsied, something she had not done in years, wobbling a little on the way up. Henry stood by the window next to Mr Sinclair and the setting sun encased the two men in a red-gold halo, making Henry look more angelic than ever, in stark contrast to Mr Sinclair’s sharply hewn face, deep-set grey eyes, and black hair. Together they could have modelled for a painting of Gabriel and Lucifer.

Though perhaps not—one wouldn’t want to have Lucifer dominating that painting and Mr Sinclair certainly took up more than his fair share of space. He had changed out of his riding clothes and was dressed in a style she would have found hard to describe, but next to Henry’s tightly nipped waist and high shirt points he looked both less fashionable and much more elegant. Perhaps it was his sheer size. He appeared even taller in the civilised pale-yellow and walnut-wood colours that dominated the drawing room than he had in the shambolic room in the Folly. Without his greatcoat she could see the impressive breadth of his shoulders had nothing to do with its many capes.

It was strange that after the first disorienting moments of his appearance at the Folly and earlier in the parlour she hadn’t felt any real apprehension, but now in the safety of the yellow salon he suddenly looked dangerous.

He raised his glass as he met her eyes, his mouth quirking slightly at one corner. Lady Ermintrude’s eyes narrowed and Henry stepped forward hurriedly.

‘Eleanor, may I introduce my cousin, Mr Charles Sinclair. Chase, this is Miss Walsh.’

Mr Sinclair put down his glass and Ellie straightened her shoulders and waited for the man to add to her destruction in Lady Ermintrude’s estimation.

‘Miss Walsh.’ He bowed slightly, his voice cool and polite and nothing like the familiar tones he had employed in the Folly or with Henry. But just as her shoulders dropped a little he turned to Henry.

‘I didn’t know you had it in you, Cousin.’

Henry floundered at the ambiguous comment and there was a moment’s awkward silence, but Chase Sinclair merely went to stand by the fireplace, watching them as if waiting for the next act to commence.

There was a sudden stifled giggle from Fenella and both Lady Ermintrude and Drusilla directed a dampening look at her.

‘The betrothal is not yet a public fact, Charles,’ Lady Ermintrude said in her most damping tones. ‘It is hardly appropriate to be contemplating such matters while still in mourning. We would all appreciate if you refrain from referring to it in public or in front of the servants. Indeed, in any setting.’

Mr Sinclair arched one dark brow, but he gave a slight, mocking bow. Ellie indulged in some very satisfying silent rejoinders to Lady Ermintrude, but went to sit meekly on the sofa. Henry approached the sofa as well, but at a lift of Lady Ermintrude’s veined hand he chose a spindly chair instead.

For a moment there was no sound but the rustle and snap of the fire and Ellie battled against the absurd urge to succumb to giggles like Fenella even as she struggled to think of something, anything to say that wouldn’t make matters more uncomfortable. She caught sight of a book on the low table between the open fashion plates of La Belle Assemblée. She knew nothing of fashion, but surely Ovid was unexceptionable?

‘That is my favourite translation of the Metamorphoses.’ The words tumbled out of her and into a silence more awful than before.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Lady Ermintrude demanded. ‘You have been permitted to read such salacious blasphemy?’

‘I don’t think it is quite fair to call Ovid’s Metamorphoses blasphemy, Aunt Ermy,’ Mr Sinclair interjected. ‘His Ars Amatoria, on the other hand, can be safely called salacious, but I sincerely doubt Miss Walsh has read that. Or have you, Miss Walsh? If not, I recommend the third volume in particular.’

Ellie met her tormentor’s gaze, not at all certain she should be grateful to him for drawing Lady Ermintrude’s fire.

‘I won’t have you discussing such topics in front of my dear Drusilla and Fenella, Charles Sinclair! And you may take that book and put it with the rest of Huxley’s belongings. I do not know why it is here at all.’

‘Yes, Lady Ermintrude.’

Mr Sinclair obediently took the book and went to sit on a chair across from Fenella. Fenella giggled again, but subsided under her aunt’s glare.

‘How long do you believe it will take you to sort through the East Wing, Charles?’

‘I will try to be as quick as possible and not allow myself to be distracted by any salacious antiquities, Aunt Ermy,’ he replied and her ladyship snorted.

‘I sincerely doubt Huxley had anything salacious there aside from those horrid books. You will need help. I suggest that since Henry is engaged in estate matters and since Miss Walsh appears to be proficient in Latin and all that heathenish nonsense, she may be of some use in helping you sort through Huxley’s belongings. I do not believe in sitting idle.’