Читать книгу The Rake to Reveal Her - Julia Justiss - Страница 13

Chapter Six

Dom awoke the next morning with a sense of anticipation, the first he could recall since his injuries. Questioning the source of that unexpected sensation, he remembered meeting his unusual new neighbour the previous day, and smiled.

The drive to the stone barn had been energising. As he recalled, there was a tilbury in the carriage house and a high-stepper with a bit more fire to pull it. After his successful driving of the pony cart, he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t end up flat on his back in the mud again if he tried taking it out.

This morning, he decided as he rang for Henries, he would.

* * *

After consuming breakfast with a keener appetite than he’d possessed in some time, Dom walked down to the stables to collect horse, carriage and a stable boy to watch them, should he need to stop and inspect a field or cottage. It required but a moment’s thought to decide where he meant to drive first.

Miss Branwell had invited him to call at Thornfield Place, and so he would.

Setting the carriage in motion, he wondered at himself. After all his firm intentions to avoid contact with the neighbours, here he was, the day after meeting Miss Branwell, ready to encounter her again. If he felt like visiting, he ought to first return the Squire’s call.

He pictured his bluff neighbour and frowned. Stopping there didn’t appeal in the least.

Seeing Miss Branwell again did.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t expect anything of him but to be her landlord. Unlike every other resident in the county, she didn’t know his reputation, had no connections to hunting or its enthusiasts—she didn’t even recognise the name of the great Meynell! And, praise heaven, she wasn’t evaluating his worth on the Marriage Mart.

Indeed, Miss Branwell, self-confessedly ignorant of English customs, might not even be aware that, with his wealth and connections, he was still a prime matrimonial prospect.

No, all she had seen was a dishevelled one-armed soldier walking down a lane—and decided to offer him employment. He laughed out loud.

Direct, plain-spoken and completely focused on her objectives, she worked and thought like a soldier. Only she was much better to look at.

Picturing her immediately revived the strong attraction she’d inspired yesterday. His mind explored the idea of dalliance and liked it, his body adding its enthusiastic approval. However, Miss Branwell was still a miss, a gently born virgin. As strongly as he was attracted to her character and her person, he’d never debauched an innocent, and he wasn’t about to start.

With a disappointed sigh, he allowed himself to regret she wasn’t the widowed Mrs Branwell. They couldn’t, alas, be lovers. But perhaps they could be friends. A friend who knew him only as the man he was now.

There was freedom in that: no preconceived notions to meet, no pressure to perform up to the standard of what he’d once been.

Besides, he had to admit he was curious to see this assortment of orphans she’d collected. He tried, and failed, to imagine the problems one must overcome in order to follow the army with a troop of children in tow, then to transport them to England.

He shook his head and laughed again. What a remarkable girl!

Without doubt, calling on her would be much more interesting and enjoyable than perusing the London papers to determine the current value of hunters.

* * *

An hour later, at Thornfield Place, Theo was sipping a second cup of coffee while her aunt finished breakfast when Franklin informed them that Mr Ransleigh had called.

Surprise—and a delight far greater than it should have been—sent a thrill through her. After instructing the butler to inform the visitor that the ladies would receive him directly, she turned to her aunt.

‘Thank goodness I had Mrs Reeves straighten the parlour first thing this morning,’ she said, trying to pass off her enthusiasm as approval of prudent housekeeping. ‘It appears my new landlord is paying us a visit.’

Her aunt opened her lips to reply, then froze, her eyes opening wide. ‘Did Franklin say a Mr Ransleigh had called?’ she asked at last.

‘Yes. Mr Dominic Ransleigh. The building I want to turn into the children’s school sits on his land. I told you I planned to call on the landlord yesterday, remember?’

‘Of course I remember. But why didn’t you tell me your landlord was a Ransleigh?’

‘The owner of that much land would doubtless be a member of a prominent family. I didn’t think it mattered which one.’

‘Not matter? Good heavens, child, don’t be ridiculous! One must always be aware of the social position of the individuals with whom one associates—as you army folk want to know the rank of a military acquaintance.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Theo conceded. ‘Enlighten me, then.’

‘Do you know anything of his background?’

‘Only that he was in the army for the duration of the war.’

‘So he was—he and his three cousins. The ‘Ransleigh Rogues,’ the boys have been called since their Eton days. They grew up inseparable, and when Alastair Ransleigh ran off to the army after being jilted by his fiancée—quite a scandal that was!—the other three joined up to watch over him. The eldest, Max—younger son of the Earl of Swynford, who practically runs the House of Lords!—was involved in a scandal of his own, something about an affair with a Frenchwoman at the Congress of Vienna and an assassination attempt on Wellington. The youngest, Will, the illegitimate son of the Earl’s brother, spent his first decade on the streets of St Giles before being recovered by the family.’

‘My, that is an assortment!’ Theo said with a laugh.

‘Your landlord, Dominic, was known as “Dandy Dom”, the handsomest man in the regiment, able to ride anything with four legs and drive anything with four wheels.’ I don’t know about the former, but I’ve seen him in Hyde Park, impeccably dressed, navigating a coach and four through the crowd as easily as if it were a pony cart on an empty country lane. He is—was—absolutely fearless on the hunting field, I’m told. His late father moved the family to Quorn country so long ago, I’d forgotten their primary estate was in Suffolk.’

The details about his family drifted into the background of her mind like dust settling on a window-sill. All that struck Theo was the image of a runaway horse and a one-armed man shuffling down the lane, his garments spattered with mud and leaves, his face strained and angry. Able to ride anything with four legs...

Her heart contracted with a sympathetic pain. How much more bitter it must be to bear his injuries, knowing he’d been renowned throughout the polite world for those skills!

‘Does he seem...recovered?’ her aunt asked, pulling her from her thoughts. At Theo’s questioning look, she continued. ‘I only wonder because he was engaged to a duke’s daughter, and broke with her as soon as he returned from Belgium. It was quite the on dit before I left London, the young lady making it known that it was Mr Ransleigh who wished to cry off, not her.’

‘I had no idea,’ Theo said. She ran through her observations of his behaviour before continuing, ‘He didn’t seem to be brooding over a lost love, but then a man would hardly wear his heart on his sleeve, especially before a stranger. Certainly he’s not yet fully recovered physically.’

‘Retired to the country to finish healing,’ her aunt said, nodding. ‘Here, rather than in Leicestershire, where the memories of his hunting days would be sure to torment him.’ Lady Amelia shook her head wonderingly. ‘Dominic Ransleigh, living practically at your doorstep! Thank heaven you wore something at least moderately attractive when you called on him yesterday!’

Then she realised what she’d just said, and gasped. ‘Oh, Theo, you called on him? You took Constancia with you, I hope?’

‘I’m afraid not. Really, Aunt, I had no idea my landlord was a bachelor. I was expecting a doddering old man with an ear trumpet, rather than a most attractive young man.’

‘He is—still attractive? I’d heard he was grievously wounded.’

‘He lost an arm and an eye, and his face is scarred. But he’s still a very handsome man.’ A heated awareness shivered through her as she remembered just how arresting he was. ‘Perhaps even more compelling now, given the grace with which he bears his injuries.’

Her aunt’s expression brightened. ‘And he’s once again unattached!’

‘Don’t look at me with that light in your eye!’ Theo warned. ‘For one, if Mr Ransleigh has just broken an engagement, he’s unlikely to start angling after some other female. Nor, having rejected a duke’s daughter, is he apt to consider anyone less lofty. I expect he came to the country to find space and time...especially if his circumstances have changed so drastically. So promise me, no hints from you about how superior my lineage and prospects are, despite my current situation.’

The very idea that Ransleigh might suspect she was trying to attach him made Theo feel ill. Patting her hand, Lady Amelia said, ‘Don’t upset yourself, my dear! I would never do anything to embarrass you.’

Theo relaxed a little—until her aunt gave her a smile Theo didn’t entirely trust before saying, ‘In any event, we’ve kept him waiting long enough. Shall we go in?’

* * *

A few moments later, Theo and Aunt Amelia entered the parlour. The warmth of Ransleigh’s smile as he rose to acknowledge them sent an immediate surge of response through her. Trying to curb it—and her dismay at how strong and involuntary a reaction it was—Theo made the necessary introductions.

‘Delighted to meet you, Lady Coghlane,’ Ransleigh said.

‘As I am to meet you, Mr Ransleigh. And may I add my thanks for your gallant service with the Dragoons? I can’t tell you how much better we all sleep, knowing that Napoleon is vanquished for good!’

Ransleigh inclined his head. ‘Doing my duty, as so many others did. My condolences on the loss of your brother, by the way. Too many good men fell at Waterloo.’

Her aunt’s eyes misted over. ‘Richard’s life was the army, but it’s been...difficult. Enough of that, now. By the way, I knew your late mother well—we came out together. A lovely, sweet girl, who became an elegant and much-admired lady. The carriage accident which claimed your parents’ lives was a sad day for all of us. Though it’s been years, you have my deepest sympathy. It’s not a loss from which one recovers easily.’

Ransleigh nodded. ‘I was fortunate to have my cousins and their families to help me bear it. So my mother was said to be elegant?’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘I remember her in a worn riding habit, mud on her boots and her windblown hair escaping from her bonnet. She was as hunting-mad as my father, at a time when ladies weren’t supposed to hunt.’

‘I seldom leave London, so I didn’t see her often after the family relocated to Upton Park. Which happened so long ago, as I told Theo, I’d forgotten Bildenstone was your primary estate. How are you finding it?’

‘After being away with the army for so many years, I’m just reacquainting myself with it. My grandfather did accumulate a superb library, which I’m enjoying.’

‘I understand my niece wishes to rent one of your buildings for her project. Though I applaud the tender feelings which inspire her, I have to admit, I have tried to talk her out of it. Such a weighty responsibility for someone so young, do you not agree?’

Theo threw her aunt an indignant look, to which that lady returned a bland smile. ‘Really, Aunt Amelia, delighted as I am that you journeyed here to welcome me back to England, I’ll not be so happy if you induce Mr Ransleigh to have second thoughts about allowing me to use his building!’

‘I, too, think establishing the school a laudable aim—if a bit unusual an undertaking for a gently born lady,’ Ransleigh said. ‘However, from my brief acquaintance with your niece, Lady Coghlane, I don’t think she’s likely to be dissuaded.’

Her aunt sighed. ‘She takes after her father in that—once she’s fixed a project in her head, there’s no dislodging it.’

‘Will you be staying to help her begin the school?’

‘Heavens, no! I have neither training nor inclination. As Theo said, I came only to welcome her to England. I’m too fond of London’s comforts to tarry long in the country. I have been trying to persuade her to visit me, perhaps for the rest of the Season.’ She gave Theo an arch look. ‘There are, after all, other laudable goals for a young lady to accomplish.’

‘If you’re hinting at marriage, Aunt, I’ve no intention of accomplishing that goal, as you well know,’ Theo said, irritated. ‘I’m happy in the country, and I fully expect the children to occupy all my time. That is—’ she looked over at Ransleigh as the dismaying thought suddenly occurred ‘—assuming you didn’t come here to tell me you intend to withdraw your permission to rent your building.’

‘No, I have not,’ Ransleigh replied. ‘Although I hope that won’t put me in your black books, Lady Coghlane.’

‘For the fondness I bore your mother, I shall try to forgive you,’ she said with a twinkle.

‘I am relieved! I should hate to offend my mother’s good friend. As for why I appeared on your doorstep, it’s such a fine morning for a drive, I decided to take your good advice, Miss Branwell, and get some fresh air. While pondering where I might drive, I recalled your invitation and thought perhaps I might meet the orphans whose school building I’ve agreed to lease to you.’

Surprised—and impressed, for how many young men would trouble to acquaint themselves with a group of children—and orphaned commoners at that?—Theo said, ‘I’m sure they would be delighted to meet you. Especially Jemmie, the oldest, who will have to be restrained from monopolising you, once he discovers you’re a soldier. I’ve already ordered a farm wagon brought up so I might drive them over to the building this morning. They’ve walked so often in the van of the supply wagons; the opportunity to ride in one is quite a treat. If you don’t mind including in your drive a stop at the stone barn, may I wait to introduce them until after we arrive? They will be much more attentive once the ride takes the edge off their exuberance.’

‘Of course. I brought my tilbury, Lady Coghlane. May I offer you a ride?’

‘That’s kind, Mr Ransleigh, but I will not be going. The prospect of a gaggle of children running about, shrieking at each other at the top of their lungs, does not appeal. As for the barn, Theo tells me it is presently unoccupied, needing a good deal of work before it will be fit for her purposes.’ Lady Coghlane shuddered. ‘Not a task I’d willingly undertake! I prefer my rooms already cleaned, polished, heated and well furnished before I enter them—preferably to find a comfortable couch upon which to sit, and a butler at the ready to bring refreshments.’

Theo laughed. ‘It’s good that Papa didn’t ask his sister to follow the drum, then. Shall you feel neglected if I leave you for a time?’

‘Certainly not, my dear. I have letters to write.’

‘I’ll bid you goodbye, then,’ Ransleigh said, making her a bow. ‘Once again, it was a pleasure to meet such a charming lady, and doubly so to meet a friend of my mother’s.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Ransleigh. Do call if you find yourself in town. I would be pleased to receive you in that comfortable parlour and offer some excellent refreshments!’

Ransleigh laughed. ‘I will certainly avail myself of your hospitality when I’m next in London.’ Turning to Theo, he said, ‘Shall I meet you and your charges at the barn, Miss Branwell?’

‘Yes. I’ll go collect them at once. Until later, Aunt Amelia. Let me escort you out, Mr Ransleigh.’

* * *

While they walked towards the entry door, Theo said, ‘As she told you, my aunt has been trying to dissuade me from establishing the school. Failing that, I suppose she hopes I’ll set it up and then turn it over to some good vicar to run, resuming my place as a proper English maiden.’

Her attraction to him, doubtless evident to a man of Ransleigh’s experience, made it even more important to her that Ransleigh understand her views on marriage. So, despite the embarrassment of discussing such a topic with an eligible bachelor, she forced herself to say, ‘Having no daughter of her own, Aunt Amelia always hoped Papa would ship me back to England so she might launch me into society and find me a husband. Neither Papa nor I were ever interested in accepting her kind offer, and with the school to establish, I certainly am not now.’