Читать книгу The Ton's Most Notorious Rake - Sarah Mallory - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Molly had never visited Newlands and as Edwin’s carriage rattled along the drive she leaned forward to catch a first glimpse of the house. What she saw, glowing golden in the sunlight, was a rambling stone house in a mix of styles. Its previous, ageing owner had not used it for years, so she could understand the excitement that had erupted in the town when Sir Gerald bought the hunting lodge. The gossip had started several months earlier, when workmen had descended upon the property. Word soon spread that Sir Gerald was a bachelor of substantial means who was planning to bring a large party to the house at the end of the summer. Molly’s sister, Louisa, soon provided even more information, writing to inform her that Sir Gerald was a familiar figure in London and numbered amongst his acquaintances many of the fashionable rakes and Corinthians who flocked to the capital each Season.

Now those fashionable acquaintances were here, staying only a couple of miles from the town and far too close to Prospect House for Molly’s comfort. Beside her, she heard Edwin chuckle.

‘You look disappointed, Molly. Were you hoping Newlands would be so ugly and uncomfortable Sir Gerald and his friends would quit it within the month?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Do not fret, my dear,’ He patted her hands. ‘Sir Gerald has made it very clear he and his party are here for the sport. Why else would he have bought a hunting lodge?’

‘But if the area’s hunting, shooting and fishing do not live up to the party’s expectations, might not Sir Gerald and his louche friends look elsewhere for a little entertainment? And a house full of what they would consider to be “fallen women” is certain to attract their attention.’

‘Now you are being unreasonable,’ exclaimed Edwin. ‘You cannot deny that at last week’s assembly the gentlemen from Newlands behaved impeccably. You have no reason to think ill of them.’

‘I have Louisa’s letters,’ replied Molly darkly.

‘Louisa has nothing better to do with her time than pass on salacious gossip, for the most part untrue or exaggerated. Come, Molly, you are being unfair to Sir Gerald and his friends. When people are disparaging about the inhabitants of Prospect House, you tell them that one should not make hasty judgements, yet here you are doing just that.’ Edwin squeezed her fingers, pressing home his point. ‘I am sure our new neighbours will have no interest at all in Prospect House, and if they do...’ He spread his hands. ‘You cannot keep your charges locked away for the duration of Sir Gerald’s visit, my dear.’

‘I know that,’ she admitted, as the carriage pulled up before the house. ‘But even if the gentlemen have no designs upon them, I very much fear one or two of the girls might find the presence of such handsome and fashionable gentlemen in Compton Parva...distracting.’

‘My dear, if they are ever to make their way in the world again then they will have to learn to withstand the attractions of personable gentlemen.’

‘Of course.’ Molly clasped her hands together. ‘But you saw how the ladies at the assembly reacted. Such fashionable young bucks, with all the glamour of the town clinging to them, are particularly attractive to susceptible young women.’

Edwin laughed. ‘Do you really believe that, Molly?’

She thought of Beau Russington with his dark looks and careless charm and felt her stomach swoop.

‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I really do.’

* * *

Sir Gerald and his friends were waiting for them in the drawing room. With the exception of Mrs Molyneux, Miss Kilburn’s aged companion, they had all been present at the assembly where introductions had been made. As greetings were exchanged, Molly took the opportunity to study the company. She had been reassured at the assembly to see that Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon were homely matrons, while Agnes Kilburn and the Misses Claydon had soon been at ease and mixing with the young ladies of the town. They were all very lively, but not at all the dashing sirens she had feared. This second meeting appeared to confirm her view, which was a relief, and she turned her attention to the gentlemen. Their host, Sir Gerald, was the most genial looking of them all, while Sir Joseph and Mr Flemington were the most flamboyant in their dress. But there could be no doubt they were all very fashionable—the cut of their clothes, the number of fobs and seals and the intricacies of their cravats had made them stand out at the recent assembly.

All except Beau Russington. She had been too agitated at their first encounter to appreciate why he was considered a leader of fashion, but here, in the elegant drawing room of Newlands, she had the opportunity to make a calm appraisal of the man. It did not take her long to realise that although he was not as showily dressed as his friends, his style was far superior. At least to her inexperienced eye. There was a simplicity to his dress, but nothing shabby in the superb cut of his clothes. Not a wrinkle marred the perfection of the dark evening coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It fitted him so well she wondered how many servants it had taken to ease him into it.

A plain white waistcoat was buttoned across his chest and she refused to allow her gaze to linger on the close-fitting breeches that sheathed narrow hips and powerful thighs. She quickly raised her eyes to take in the snowy neckcloth, intricately tied and with a single diamond winking from amongst the exquisite folds. The study of his cravat took her eyes to the countenance above it. A lean face, darkly handsome with a sensuous curve to the mouth. At that moment, as if aware of her scrutiny, the beau turned to look at her and her cool assessment came to an abrupt end.

Even from the other side of the room she felt the power of his gaze. Those dark, almost-black eyes skewered her to the spot and caused her pulse to race. Not only that, excitement flickered deep inside, like flames licking hungrily at dry tinder. She looked away quickly, shocked to realise that he had awoken sensations she had never wanted to feel again.

Sir Gerald was addressing her and she forced her mind to concentrate on his words. She exchanged pleasantries with his sister and then joined in a conversation with Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon while the gentlemen discussed the day’s shooting until dinner was announced.

Molly found herself seated at Sir Gerald’s right hand, with Sir Joseph Aikers beside her. Mr Russington, she was relieved to see, was sitting opposite her brother at the far end of the table. She did not think she would have enjoyed her meal half as much if the beau had been sitting beside her. Sir Joseph might be a fribble and a painted fop—as some people so cruelly described him—but Molly soon discovered he was exceedingly good-natured and assiduous of her comfort, ensuring her glass was filled and that she had her pick of the succulent dishes on offer.

The food was excellent and the conversation interesting. No awkward subjects were broached and Molly began to relax. These were cultured, educated people who knew how to set a guest at ease. Perhaps she had been magnifying the dangers they posed. Just as that thought occurred to her, Edwin laughed and she glanced down the table towards him. After his day of sport, her brother was clearly upon easy terms with the gentlemen. Mr Russington was looking her way and he caught and held her gaze. Molly’s heart began to race again. She felt trapped, like a wild animal, in thrall to a predator. With an effort, she dragged her eyes away, realising the danger was all too real. At least where one man was concerned.

Her appetite was quite gone and she was relieved when Miss Kilburn invited the ladies to withdraw. Molly intended to sit with Lady Claydon and Mrs Sykes, but when they reached the drawing room Miss Kilburn and the Misses Claydon were determined that she should perform for them.

‘Your brother was eager that we should hear you play upon the pianoforte, Mrs Morgan,’ explained Miss Claydon, opening the instrument and beckoning to Molly to sit down. ‘He told us you are most proficient and that you sing, too.’

‘Such praise,’ murmured Molly, vowing to give Edwin a trimming as soon as they were alone. ‘I am very much afraid I shall disappoint you.’

Harriet Claydon gave a trill of laughter. ‘I doubt that, ma’am. Judith and I are both hopeless, despite Mama insisting that we have the best of teachers.’

‘Sadly that is very true,’ agreed Lady Claydon, shaking her head. ‘We spent a fortune upon their education and they can neither of them do more than play a few simple pieces. Miss Kilburn, however, is very accomplished.’

Molly drew back in favour of her hostess, but Miss Kilburn was quick to decline.

She said shyly, ‘We should very much like to hear you play, Mrs Morgan.’

Molly took her place at the piano. Perhaps it would be as well to play now, before the gentlemen came in. She played a couple of short pieces and, when urged to sing, she rattled off a lively folk song, before concluding her performance with an Italian love song. Her audience were generous in their praise, but when she could not be persuaded to play more, Agnes Kilburn took her place and Molly retired to sit with the older ladies, relieved that she was no longer the focus of attention.

She hoped that might be the case for the rest of the evening, but it was not to be. When the gentlemen came in, the conversation turned towards Newlands.

‘Many of our friends were against my purchasing such an out-of-the-way place,’ said Sir Gerald cheerfully. ‘Including the beau here. Ain’t that right, Russ?’

‘I was.’ Mr Russington moved a little closer to the group. ‘After all, there are good places to hunt that are much closer to London.

‘Aye,’ declared Mr Flemington, coming up. ‘These provincial towns can be the very devil for entertainment. Not Compton Parva, you understand,’ he added hastily, with a bow towards Edwin and Molly. ‘The assembly at the King’s Head last week was as good as any I have attended outside London.’

‘Well, I do not regret my choice,’ declared their host. ‘It may be a long way north, but what is a few days’ travel, compared to the sport that is to be had here? No, I am delighted with my new hunting lodge and glad now that I did not allow myself to be dissuaded.’

Edwin laughed heartily. ‘Did you expect to find only savages in Knaresborough, Kilburn? I admit I had the same reaction from my friends and acquaintances when I accepted the living here. But I am very much at home, you know. And I vow it provides some of the best riding in the country.’

‘Yes, I grant you, if your taste is for rugged grandeur,’ put in Sir Joseph Aikers, waving one hand. ‘You cannot deny the weather here is less clement than the south. And the mud.’ He gave a comical grimace that made his companions laugh.

‘In the main we are very favourably impressed,’ declared Mrs Sykes. ‘It is true the journey was a trifle wearisome. But Kilburn has made the house very comfortable and the townspeople of Compton Parva are most welcoming.’

‘We are relieved to have Newlands occupied at last and not only for the enlargement of good society,’ Edwin told her with a smile. ‘It provides occupation for local people and business for our tradesmen. That must always be welcome.’

‘There is one thing that surprised me,’ remarked Lady Claydon. She hesitated and glanced towards the pianoforte, where her daughters and Miss Kilburn were engaged in singing together. ‘I had not expected to find a house here for females of a certain order.’

‘My wife means the magdalens,’ declared Lord Claydon. ‘I admit I was surprised when I heard of it—one usually associates Magdalene hospitals with the larger cities. But I suppose small towns have the same problems, what? It’s a way of keeping that sort of female off the streets.’

Molly stiffened, but Edwin caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

‘You refer to Prospect House’ he said calmly. ‘It is a refuge for unfortunate women who have suffered at the hands of men. It is not a house of correction.’

‘However, it is a little disturbing to think there is a need for one in Compton Parva,’ remarked Mrs Sykes.

‘The sad fact is we need more of these places,’ said Edwin. ‘Since Prospect House opened its doors, it has always been full, taking in residents from far and wide.’

‘Ah,’ cried Mr Flemington, rolling his eyes, ‘So it is not that this area has more than its fair share of Lotharios.’ He cast a laughing glance around at the gentlemen standing beside him. ‘At least, not until now!’

There was much good-natured protest from his auditors and Mrs Sykes rapped his knuckles with her fan, telling him to behave himself.

‘This is no laughing matter,’ she said. ‘I would assure Mr Frayne that we are great supporters of the Magdalene houses. After all, someone has to help these poor women and show them the error of their ways.’

‘Error of their ways?’ Molly was unable to keep silent any longer. ‘None of the women in Prospect House are prostitutes, ma’am, although that might have been their only way to survive had they not been taken in. However, I admit it was set up on the precepts of the original Magdalene hospital,’ Molly added, ‘to provide a safe and happy retreat for women of all classes.’

Molly knew her words would bring the attention of the group upon her, but it could not be helped. She sat up very straight, holding her head high. A couple of the gentlemen had raised their eyeglasses to regard her and Beau Russington, too, was watching her, but Molly ignored them all.

‘Do you mean there is no attempt to reform them?’ asked Lady Claydon, her brows rising in surprise. ‘Is this not merely pandering to vice?’

‘The women at Prospect House are the victims of vice, ma’am, not perpetrators,’ Molly told her. ‘Some have been seduced, others come here to escape seduction or because their reputations have been ruined by men who sought to use them for their own ends. As for reform, they are taught suitable skills in order that they may support themselves.’

‘You appear to be very well informed about the business, Mrs Morgan,’ remarked Mr Russington.

‘I am,’ said Molly, tilting her chin a little higher. ‘I set up Prospect House.’

Her words brought a flutter of gasps and exclamations.

‘Oh, good heavens,’ murmured Mrs Sykes, fanning herself rapidly.

Molly kept her head up, prepared to meet any challenge, but she could see no condemnation or disapproval in the faces of those around her. Some of the gentlemen looked amused, the ladies merely surprised and then, to her relief, she heard Edwin’s cheerful voice.

‘Yes, and I am very proud of my sister. She purchased the property, provided a small annuity to fund it and then set up a committee of local people, knowing it was important to have the goodwill of the town if the house was to survive.’

‘Most commendable, I am sure.’ Lady Claydon responded faintly.

‘It is proving a great success,’ Edwin continued. ‘They have a small farm which provides most of their food and any surplus of eggs, butter and the like is sold at the weekly market.’

‘Quite an enterprise,’ declared Sir Gerald. ‘You must allow me to contribute to your fund, Mrs Morgan.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Molly smiled, warming to him, until in the next breath he suggested they should all visit Prospect House to see it for themselves.

‘I am afraid not,’ she said quickly. ‘With the exception of the doctor, they admit only women to the house. All deliveries and callers are directed to the old farmhouse.’

‘But a house full of women, that is quite a temptation.’ Mr Flemington sniggered. ‘To, ah, uninvited guests.’

‘We have seen to it that they are well protected,’ replied Molly. ‘Their manservant, Moses, is a fearsome fellow. A giant. He has orders to keep all unwelcome callers at bay.’

Her fierce stare swept over the gentlemen.

‘Well, well,’ declared Sir Gerald, breaking into the awkward silence. ‘Shall we have some dancing?’

The gentlemen jumped up with alacrity and began to move back the furniture from the centre of the room and roll up the carpet. Hoping to atone for making everyone feel uncomfortable, Molly immediately offered to play. This was robustly contested by Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon, who both expressed a willingness to perform this duty and persuaded Molly that as a guest she must take her turn on the dance floor.

‘Now, now, Mrs Morgan, I hope you are not going to say you do not dance tonight,’ said Lady Claydon, moving towards the pianoforte. ‘Lord Claydon does not dance, since his accident, and if I play for you all, everyone else has a partner. Is that not splendid?’

‘And as our guest, the honour of leading you out falls to me,’ declared Sir Gerald, coming up. He held out his hand. ‘Come along, let us show the others the way!’

Molly felt her heart sinking. She had not expected that there would be any impromptu dancing, but a very quick calculation told her there were just enough gentlemen and ladies to make six couples, if one excluded the pianist and Lord Claydon, with his bad leg. It would look odd, therefore, if she refused to dance, for that would leave only one gentleman without a partner. She had not even the excuse that she was not dressed for dancing, because her green muslin evening gown with its moderately flounced hem would not be any hindrance at all. She accompanied her host to the floor, pinning her smile in place.

Sir Gerald’s good humour was infectious and Molly’s smile became genuine. She loved to dance, although she did not indulge in the amusement very often, and she was soon lost in the music. She skipped and hopped and turned as the lively, noisy, country dance progressed. They began to change partners and Molly was moving from one gentleman to another and another, and by the time she was standing opposite Mr Russington her smile was wide and brilliant. As they joined hands and began to skip down the line she looked up into his face. He caught and held her eyes, a glinting amusement in his own, and in that moment everything changed. She could hear the piano, the other dancers clapping in time, but it was as if she and her partner were in a bubble, contained, connected. Her mind was filled with images of him pulling her close, holding her, kissing her, undressing her...

The familiar patterns of the dance saved her from humiliation. She danced like an automaton, moving on, smiling at her next partner, on and on until Sir Gerald claimed her once more and the dance was ending. She joined the others in applauding, but inside she was in a panic. Everyone was changing partners for the next dance. From the corner of her eye she saw Beau Russington looking at her. She could not dance with him. Would not! Quickly she grabbed Edwin’s hand.

‘Pray dance with me, brother. It is an age since we stood up together.’

‘Dance with you?’ Edwin sent a quick look over her head. ‘Oh, I was hoping to ask Miss Kilburn to stand up with me again.’

‘Please, Edwin.’ She hoped her tone was not too beseeching, but she clung to his hand, and after a moment, he capitulated.

For this dance she had only the smallest contact with the beau as the dancers wove in and out of one another. It was a mere touch of the fingers and this time she was prepared. As they crossed one another she was careful not to meet his eyes, but just his presence made her body tingle. Every part of her was aware of him, as if there was some connection between them, and it frightened her.

* * *

When the music ended Molly made her way to the piano, where Lady Claydon was leafing through the sheet music.

She said, ‘My lady, I know the music for “The Soldier’s Joy” by heart. I beg you will allow me to play.’

‘Oh, but surely you would prefer to dance, my dear. You so rarely have the opportunity.’

‘I think I sprained my ankle a little in the last dance, ma’am, and would prefer to rest it for a while, but that would leave a gentleman without a partner, and besides, my brother would fuss so if he knew of it.’

Lady Claydon was immediately full of sympathy. That made Molly feel a little guilty, but they exchanged places, Lady Claydon going off to join in the dancing, and Molly’s guilt eased a little when she saw how much the lady was enjoying herself.

* * *

She remained at the piano for two dances, then Miss Claydon suggested ‘Dancing Hearts’ and Molly was obliged to search through the sheet music. She had just found the piece when Beau Russington approached and that nervous flutter ran through her again.

‘Would you not prefer to dance, Mrs Morgan? I am sure one of the other ladies would play for us.’

Without looking at him she waved her hand towards the music. ‘No, no, I am quite content, thank you. I am not familiar with the steps of this dance.’

He leaned closer. ‘I could teach you.’

Her mouth dried as, inexplicably, her mind filled with images that had nothing to do with dancing. It was his voice, she decided. It was too low, too deliciously seductive.

‘No. I—that is, I turned my ankle in that first dance and prefer not to dance again this evening.’

‘Ah, I see. So you do not trust yourself to dance? I quite understand.’

His tone suggested he did not believe her and Molly felt guilty colour rushing to her cheeks. She busied herself with straightening the sheet music on the stand, trying to concentrate on the notes she would have to play, and after a moment he walked away.

‘Well, if he understands that I do not want to dance with him, then so much the better,’ she muttered, running her fingers over the keys. ‘And if he is offended enough to leave me alone then that is better still!’

She played two more dances, which were very well received, then Sir Gerald announced that refreshments awaited everyone in the dining room. There was a general move towards the door and as Molly got up from the piano, she found Beau Russington beside her.

‘Allow me to give you my arm, ma’am.’ When she drew back he added, ‘It is best you do not put too much weight upon your foot.’

‘My—oh. Oh. Yes.’

He offered his arm, and as her fingers went out he grasped them with his free hand and pulled them on to his sleeve.

‘I am perfectly capable of walking unaided,’ she told him, panicked by his firm grip.

‘But what of your ankle, Mrs Morgan?’

‘It is well rested now, thank you.’

‘I think you are afraid of me.’

‘And I think you are teasing me.’

‘Well, yes, I am. Your reluctance for my company is intriguing.’

‘It is not meant to be. A gentleman would be able to take the hint.’

He sucked in a breath. ‘Cutting. You do not consider me a gentleman, then?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said with deceptive sweetness. ‘I know you for a rake, sir.’

If she had hoped to offend him, she was disappointed.

‘Do you think you are being quite fair to me, madam?’

‘Oh, I think so. Your reputation, and that of your friends, precedes you. And it is not mere gossip, I assure you. The information comes on good authority and from more than one source.’

Molly felt exhilarated by the exchange. She could not recall speaking so freely to any man before.

‘The devil it does!’

She laughed and was immediately aware of the change in him. Through the fine woollen sleeve beneath her fingers she could feel the muscles tighten. And she suspected she had angered him. When he spoke his voice was soft, smooth as silk, cold as steel.

‘But all this is hearsay, madam—what do you really know of me?’ They had reached the hall and with practised ease he whisked her away from the crowd and into the shadowy space beneath the stairs. ‘Well, Mrs Morgan?’

He had turned her to face him, his hands resting on her shoulders, very lightly, but she found it impossible to move. Even in the shadows, his dark eyes glowed with devilish mischief. She had the strangest feeling that invisible bonds were wrapping around them, tightening, forcing her closer. She could feel him, smell him, a musky, spicy, lemony scent that she wanted to breathe in, to close her eyes and give in to the desire burning in her core. She fought it, curling her hands until the nails dug into her palms, using the pain to stop her from reaching out and pulling him towards her. To stop herself surrendering, as she had done once before to a man. A rake who had taken everything and left her to suffer the consequences. Desire was replaced by panic and she fought it down, struggling to keep the terror from her voice.

‘You go too far, sir. I beg you will let me go.’

His hands tightened. ‘Are you afraid I might kiss you?’

I am afraid I might not be able to resist!

‘You would not dare.’

* * *

Russ felt her tremble, saw the uncertainty in her eyes and knew she was weakening.

He murmured softly, ‘But you said yourself, madam, I am a rake and rakes are very daring.’

Her eyes widened, he saw the pink tip of her tongue flicker nervously across her lips and for a moment he was tempted to carry out his threat. To pull her close, capture that luscious mouth and kiss her into submission. Then he saw the apprehension in her gaze and something more, a fear that was not warranted by the threat of a mere kiss. She was terrified.

What the devil were you thinking of, Charles Russington? Are you such a cockscomb that you think no woman should be able to resist your charms?

He took his hands from her shoulders and stepped away. This was no way to treat a lady.

‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I beg your pardon for teasing you.’

The look of terror had lasted only a moment and it was now replaced by anger. She glared at him.

‘I would expect nothing else from a libertine.’ Her voice was shaking with fury as she put up her hands to straighten the little puff sleeves of her gown that had been flattened by his grip. ‘Your disgraceful behaviour proves that the reports I have heard about you do not lie. The sooner you and your...your friends remove from Compton Parva, the better!’

With a toss of her head she turned and hurried away. Russ watched her go, but he made no move to follow her back into the laughing, chattering throng that was slowly making its way into the dining room. He knew he had been wrong to tease her, but she had made him angry and he had forgotten himself. His lip curled in scorn. The great Beau Russington, famed for his sangfroid, his charming manners, had allowed his temper to get the better of him.

He raked his fingers through his hair. Damn the woman, she should not have this effect on him. Why, she was not even his type—too small and dark for one thing, and a sanctimonious reformer to boot. No, his original instinct had been right. Leave well alone!

* * *

Two days of rain followed the dinner at Newlands and Molly was relieved that the bad weather deterred visitors. She thought—hoped—no one had seen that brief interchange with Beau Russington, but had no wish to discuss the evening with anyone, not yet, when she was still so unsettled.

On Thursday she took the carriage to make her belated visit to Prospect House, thankful for the inclement weather. The house and its farm were situated on the opposite side of the valley to Newlands and she knew Sir Gerald and his guests rode out frequently beyond the bounds of the park, but it was much less likely that they would do so in bad weather.

Prospect House was a stone-built dwelling standing tall and square on the landscape. It had belonged to a gentleman farmer who had built himself this house in a style more fitted to his dignity and it now boasted large sash windows and a pedimented front door. The new dwelling had been built at a suitable distance from the old farmhouse and separated from it by the stables and a kitchen garden.

Prospect House was now home to ten women of various ages and stations in life. They tended the house and garden with the help of one manservant, who also looked after the farm. It had taken Molly years of hard work and determination to turn Prospect House into a successful and self-sufficient refuge, and as the carriage turned in through the gates she felt an immense pride in the achievement.

The door was opened to her by Moses, the only male servant, whose size and somewhat bovine countenance belied a sharp intelligence. He had worked at Prospect House all his life, and when Molly bought the property, she had kept him on, recognising that his knowledge of farming would be invaluable. This had engendered Moses with a fierce loyalty to his employer and made him protective of the house and its female residents. Molly greeted him cheerfully and made her way to the office at the back of the house. The pretty blonde poring over the accounts glanced up as the door opened and flew out of her chair to hug her.

‘Molly! I did not expect you to come here in all this rain.’

‘But as patron I must call at least once a week to see how you go on, although I was certainly not going to walk here.’ Molly laughed and returned the hug. ‘But, Fleur, I am interrupting you.’

‘Not a bit of it, I had just finished totting up the money we took at market yesterday and I am pleased to say we sold everything, which was a surprise, given the heavy rain.’

‘I am glad of it and only sorry I did not come over to help you—’

‘There is no need to apologise, Molly, we tell you time and again that we can manage.’ Fleur took her arm. ‘Come along into the drawing room, and we will take tea.’

Molly accompanied Fleur out of the office, reflecting that the happy young woman at her side was a far cry from the frightened girl she had taken in all those years ago. Fleur Dellafield was a childhood friend of Molly’s. She had grown up to be a beauty, but when her widowed mother had married again, life had become a nightmare. She had been thrown out of her home after thwarting her stepfather’s attempts to ravish her. Molly had found her, destitute and starving, and brought her to the newly opened Prospect House. She had settled in well and shown such an aptitude for organisation that Molly had been delighted to make her housekeeper. She had protested at the time that Fleur was too pretty to languish for long at Prospect House, but Fleur had been adamant.

‘I met plenty of gentlemen at my come-out in Bath,’ she had told Molly. ‘I found none of them more than passable, and after what happened with my step-papa, I have no wish to meet any more. No, Molly, I want only a comfortable home and to be needed.’

So Molly had installed Fleur as housekeeper and seen Prospect House flourish. Now, as they entered the drawing room and she saw the welcoming bowl of fresh flowers on the highly polished drum table, Fleur’s words came back to her.

‘I like to come here, Fleur,’ she told her friend. ‘I like to feel I am needed.’

‘Then do, please, call as often as you like, for there is always something to be done!’

Fleur tugged at the bell pull and a few moments later a maid in a snowy cap and apron entered. Molly smiled at her.

‘Good day to you, Daisy. How are you?’

‘Very well, ma’am. Thank you kindly.’ The maid dropped a curtsy, her cheerful face creasing into smiles. ‘Between Miss Fleur and Miss Nancy, I am learning how to run a household and to cook.’

‘And your son?’

‘Ah, Billy is doing very well, thank you, ma’am, although he don’t much like his lessons.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Twice this week I left him practising his letters and he escaped through the window.’

‘He does prefer to be working out of doors,’ remarked Fleur. ‘He is a great asset in the garden and Moses says he has an ability with animals.’

‘Perhaps we should let him help out on the farm more,’ suggested Molly. ‘Although I think it imperative that he learns to read and write, at least enough to get by.’

‘Then I shall tell him that if he works for an hour at his lessons every morning he may spend the rest of the day helping Moses,’ said Fleur. ‘Will that be acceptable to you, Daisy?’

‘Very kind of you, Miss Fleur, and more than we have a right to expect.’

‘Nonsense, you have worked very hard since you have been here and we would like to help you and Billy to find a home of your own. Now, perhaps you would be kind enough to fetch tea for Mrs Morgan and myself, if you please.’ Fleur waited until the door had closed behind the maid before sighing. ‘I wonder if we did the right thing, taking in Daisy Matthews and her son. We have none of us any experience of ten-year-old boys.’

‘But where else would they have gone? Daisy’s employer had thrown them on to the streets upon discovering that Billy was her natural child. And Edwin tells me the vicar who applied to us had tried to find them another home, with no success at all.’

‘It is such a cruel world,’ said Fleur, her kind face troubled, but then she brightened. ‘However, Daisy is quick to learn, and I am already looking about for a suitable position, although I fear Billy may not be able to go with her. However, if all else fails he can stay here and help Moses.’

‘A very sensible idea,’ agreed Molly, ‘but we can make no decisions until we have procured a position for Daisy. Which reminds me, I was in Hebden’s on Friday last and saw Clara at work. You will be pleased to learn that Miss Hebden is delighted with her, so I think we may write that down as another success. Now, you must tell me how everyone else goes on here.’

Molly listened carefully while Fleur made her report. It did not take long and they had finished their business by the time Daisy returned with the tea tray.

‘Which means we may now please ourselves what we talk of,’ declared Fleur, preparing tea for her guest. ‘And I very much want to know what you think of our new neighbour at Newlands.’ Molly did not reply immediately and Fleur shook her head at her. ‘You cannot think that we would remain in ignorance,’ she said, handing her friend a cup of tea. ‘Everyone at the market this week was talking of Sir Gerald and his friends. I would like to know your opinion.’

Molly made a cautious reply. ‘They are all extremely fashionable.’

‘They spend a great deal of time in London I believe,’ remarked Fleur. ‘Six men, I understand. Are all of them libertines, do you think?’

Molly was surprised into a laugh. ‘Good heavens, Fleur, that is very blunt. Why should you think that?’

‘Nancy told me.’

‘Ah, of course.’

Molly sipped her tea and considered the woman who was now cook at Prospect House. Nancy, or more correctly Lady Ann, was the youngest daughter of an eccentric and impoverished earl who had tried to force her into a marriage with a man old enough to be her grandfather. Molly should have remembered that she was still in contact with one of her sisters, a terrific gossip, who kept her well informed of the latest London scandals.

‘So, Molly, tell me what you think,’ Fleur prompted her.

‘Edwin thinks them all very gentlemen-like.’

‘But you, Molly. What do you think?’

With her friend’s anxious blue gaze upon her, Molly could not lie.

‘I suspect one or two of them might have a...a roving eye.’ She saw Fleur’s look of alarm and hurried on. ‘They know of Prospect House, of course, but there is no reason to think they will call here. I gave them to understand you were very well protected.’

‘That is all very well, but we cannot remain within the bounds of Prospect House for ever!’

‘No, indeed, and I see no need for you to do so, as long as you never go out unaccompanied. These are gentlemen, Fleur, they would not force their attentions upon an unwilling female.’

‘Would they not?’ Fleur gave a little shudder. ‘That has not been our experience.’

Molly was silent, remembering the loud voices, the blows, the pain. Fighting back the memories, she said quietly, ‘The horrors we experienced happened in private, at the hands of men with power over us.’

‘But Nancy says Sir Gerald and his friends are known for their wildness.’ Fleur turned an anguished gaze upon Molly. ‘We both grew up in one small market town in Hertfordshire and now live in just such another. You were married at eighteen and I have never been further afield than Bath. What do we really know of rakes and libertines and the fashionable world?’

Molly sighed. Fleur was right and it was useless to ask Edwin for advice. He insisted upon seeing the best in everyone. Unlike their father, she thought bitterly. He had only seen the worst in everyone, especially his youngest daughter. The truth, she suspected, was often somewhere in between. She put down her cup.

‘Come along,’ she said, rising. ‘Let us go and talk to Nancy. She knows far more about these things than we do.’

They made their way down to the kitchen where they found the earl’s daughter beside the kitchen table, sitting in a most unladylike pose with her feet up on a chair. Nancy was large, loud and brash, but she had a heart of gold and a surprising flair for cooking. She had explained to Molly that she had learned the skill from her father’s French chef, a tyrant with a soft spot for a child so ignored and unloved by her parents that she might disappear to the kitchens for days on end without question. Now Nancy ruled the kitchen at Prospect House and was something of a mother hen to all the residents. She greeted Molly and Fleur cheerfully and invited them to join her at the table.

‘I don’t suppose you want more tea,’ she said, swinging her feet to the floor and turning to face them.

‘No, thank you,’ said Fleur, disposing herself gracefully on a chair. ‘We have come to talk to you about the people at Newlands.’

‘More especially the gentlemen,’ added Molly, taking a seat beside Fleur. ‘My sister has already hinted that they were...er...gentlemen of fashion, and I understand yours has sent you similar information.’

‘Yes, only in far less mealy-mouthed terms,’ said Nancy, not mincing matters. ‘Sir Gerald Kilburn’s set are infamous in town. Young men with too much time and too much money and spend both on flirtations, affairs and outrageous wagers.’

‘Oh, heavens,’ murmured Fleur.

‘But Newlands is a hunting lodge,’ said Molly. ‘Sir Gerald told Edwin they are here for the sport.’

Nancy gave her a pitying look. ‘Sir Gerald’s party will be made up of rakes and Corinthians. They regard pursuing women as sport. But you have met them, Molly. What is your opinion?’

‘They all appeared very amiable. Two of the gentlemen are accompanied by their wives, and Lord and Lady Claydon have also brought their daughters. Miss Kilburn acts as hostess for her brother and she has brought a companion, to give her countenance.’

Nancy shrugged. ‘Perhaps we are misinformed, then. But rich, idle men are always a threat to women. Who else is in the party, what single gentlemen are there?’

‘Apart from Sir Gerald?’ Molly tried to sound unconcerned. ‘There is Mr Flemington, Sir Joseph Aikers and Mr Russington.’

‘Kilburn’s closest cronies,’ exclaimed Nancy. ‘I remember them all from when I was in town. Flemington and Aikers were notorious womanisers even then, at least my father would not countenance them making me an offer, but that may have been more to do with their station than their reputation. He was determined that I should marry an earl at the very least.’

‘And Mr Russington?’ asked Molly, tracing a crack in the table with her finger.

‘Ah, yes, the beau.’ Nancy rested her chin on one hand, a smile on her lips and a faraway look in her eyes. ‘He is more notorious than all the rest. I remember him very well. He and Kilburn are of an age, I believe. They must be, what, eight-and-twenty now.’

‘The same age as yourself,’ put in Fleur.

Nancy nodded. ‘They came to town after my come-out. My sister tells me Russington is a friend of Brummell, although unlike Mr Brummell, he is also a noted sportsman. A Corinthian rather than a dandy.’ She cast a mischievous glance across the table. ‘We danced once, at Almack’s, you know, I remember it because he is taller than I! And so handsome. All the ladies were in love with him, but he soon earned a reputation for being dangerous, because any woman who threw her cap at him was likely to be indulged in a wild flirtation. Wise mamas keep their daughters out of his way now, but it may be that Kilburn has Russington in mind for his sister. I believe he is exceedingly wealthy.’

Fleur shuddered. ‘He sounds exceedingly dangerous, if he is so very attractive. What did you think of him, Molly?’

‘I?’ Molly gave a little laugh, playing for time. ‘I had very little to do with him.’

‘Was he one of those gentlemen you said had a roving eye?’

She did not know how to answer Fleur’s question. She had not noticed the beau’s dark eyes on anyone but herself and then with devastating effect. Just the thought of it sent a shiver along her spine.

‘I am not sure the beau needs one,’ said Nancy, meditatively. ‘From what my sister says he does not need to look about him. Women fall over themselves to gain his attention.’

Molly gave a little huff of despair. ‘Oh, how I wish Sir Gerald had never come to Newlands!’

‘Too late for that now,’ said Nancy, ‘they are here and we must deal with it. We must make sure the others are aware of the dangers.’ She began to list the girls on her fingers. ‘Daisy is hopefully too old to attract the attention of these gentlemen. She has Billy to look out for, too, which should make her wary. Elizabeth and Bridget are young and pretty, but as the daughters of gentlemen they already know what a dangerous combination that is and will be anxious to avoid repeating the mistakes that led to their being cast out of their homes. Marjorie is near her time now and her condition should make her safe from any unwelcome advances. That only leaves the two housemaids. They are still young and silly enough for anything. I shall keep an eye on them and make sure they do not step outside without Moses or one of us to accompany them. I shall also ask Moses to inspect that all the doors and windows are fastened at night.’

‘Perhaps we should get a dog.’ Fleur suggested.

‘That is a good idea.’ Nancy agreed. ‘I shall tell Moses we must have a guard dog, although knowing his soft heart he is likely to bring back the first mongrel he sees that needs a home. In the meantime we must all be vigilant to keep the girls safe from predatory men.’ She sat up straight, folding her arms across her ample bosom. ‘As for you, Fleur, you must always take one of the girls with you when you go to market, for with your golden hair and blue eyes, you are quite the prettiest of us all and the most likely to attract the attentions of a rake, especially such a noted connoisseur of women as Beau Russington.’

Molly was aware of a little stab of something that felt very much like jealousy and quickly pushed it aside. She did not want the beau’s attentions, so why should she be jealous? It made no sense at all.

‘You flatter me, Nancy,’ said Fleur, blushing. ‘And I really do not wish to attract any man’s attention, or unwelcome advances.’

‘They will not harm you, Fleur,’ said Molly, catching her friend’s hand. She frowned and added grimly, ‘I shall not allow them to harm anyone here.’