Raven's Ransom (8 page)

The afternoon tea was all Lady Rochester might have hoped it would be. Except for the abominable circumstance of Gareth arriving a full two hours late and sporting a most unapologetic grin, everything was as she had hoped.

Lady Susan acidly remarked that she was unaccustomed to gentlemen being tardy, a remark that caused the marquis to raise his brows loftily and announce that it was fortunate, then, that there was no likelihood of her ever forming part of his household. At which, she turned a bright red, pinched her nostrils in slightly, and chatted, rather pointedly, with Mr. Bentley, one of the gentlemen Lady Rochester had thought it expedient to invite.

The Darcy sisters outdid themselves to monopolize his company, each talking twice as loud as any of the other invited guests, and making pointed remarks about their gentility. Their grand uncle the Viscount of Leese seemed to creep into every conversation, Davina batting her eyelashes and Carlotta affecting a giggle that she considered rather provocative and had practiced, in private, for an age. Of course, the marquis did not share her views on the provocative nature of her rather shrill cackle. Politeness decreed, however, that he keep his revulsion in check.

This he did, under a curious cover of sublime but singularly bored civility. He spoke largely of the weather, digressing here and there to mention some small matters relating to hunting—of which he had no keen interest or knowledge—and coal locomotion, which
did
interest him, but which could hardly be expected to stimulate his listeners. Still, both Misses Darcy were heroic enough to
pretend
fascination, which only served to annoy him further. At precisely half past the hour of four, his eyes met his mother’s.

She actually had the temerity to stifle a small snicker, at which point, though his lips twitched in sudden amusement, he felt his patience—and temper—had been tried quite long enough. He took the earliest opportunity of frog-marching her from the salon with a polite but implacable bow to all of the guests present.

“Mama! You are incorrigible! If you wish to frighten me with this grim array of debutantes, you have succeeded! Rest assured, I shall marry none of the above sampling, but I suspect, you devious old dear, that you already know that!”

Lady Rochester chuckled. “They are a dreary assortment, are they not? Yet Lady Susan is very eligible . . .”

“Mama!” Gareth eyed her sternly. “Cut to the quick, for though I am a splendidly patient son, my tolerance is sadly tried!”

“Very well, then. Gareth?” Lady Rochester was suddenly not as certain of herself.

“Yes?” He eyed her keenly and gently removed a valuable crystal trinket from her hands. It was in danger of dropping, unnoticed, to the floor.

“Gareth, I have decided to sponsor the Chartley sisters into society. Lily is my goddaughter, you know. It is time I honored that commitment.”

Gareth’s lips lifted into a fraction of a smile, though his eyes remained stern.

“Mama, you are cutting a wheedle! If you were to sponsor every goddaughter you possessed, we should never know a moment’s peace! You are up to your old tricks! You are matchmaking, again!”

Lady Rochester opened her innocent eyes wider still. “Oh, Gareth! Then there is hope? Miss Lily shall suit you perfectly!” At which, Lord Rochester, for once, was lost for words. His mama chuckled a little as she left the room. Her son was still gaping like a fish. Miss Lily indeed!

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, for Lord Gareth disappeared entirely, allowing his poor mama to put a brave face on things and entertain her dreadful guests herself. It seemed a just punishment as she brought out tedious albums for them to gaze upon and trotted them through the gallery housing all the Rochester ancestors, past and present, for Gareth had recently sat for the obligatory oil.

Then, of course, one of the Darcy sisters—she neither knew nor cared which one—conceived the bright notion of sketching her
own
noble features. A “little token,” she coyly remarked with an infuriating giggle. So Lady Rochester, always unfalteringly civil, was forced to endure a half hour at least of being cramped in a hard wooden chair with her profile to the noxious guest. Gareth, when he learned of it, only laughed
quite
unsympathetically and commented that though she was a dear, the fate was no less than she’d deserved. At which the scheming, conniving, and thoroughly irrepressible Dowager Marchioness of Rochester was forced, rather sadly, to agree.

Lord Barrymore’s fate, some way away, was not much better.
He
was left waiting in Lord Raven’s turquoise receiving room a lot longer than even
his
sunny temper quite liked. Across the hall, he could hear Miss Primrose play gently at the harpsichord whilst one of the sisters hummed along, a little off-key. He wondered if it was Lily, and strained his ears to catch at the notes. Oh, how he
wished
he had never set eyes on Miss Lily of the sea green eyes. He imagined her dark hair molding over her waist, falling from their clips as she sang. It
was
her, he was certain. But no! That laughter, as it broke off from song was too light, not near as sultry. Disappointed, he glanced at the beechwood clock that was preparing to chime the hour. Lord Raven was the very devil to keep him in suspense this long. He half conjectured that he could leave, his obligation met, since the earl had not had the courtesy to see him, when the door swung open.

“Grandfather will see you now!”

His back stiffened. Unmistakable.
That
was Lily, for he felt suddenly as foolish as a schoolboy, not at
all
the notorious rake he was pleased to permit the world to believe.

“Thank you, Miss Chartley.” His smile was bittersweet as he made his bow.

“Oh!” Lily placed ungloved hands to flushed cheeks. She was conscious that she was only in her third best gown and that the silver green ruffles were creased. She smoothed them, but to no avail, since two of her ribbons were entangled in their lace.

“Here. Let me help you.” Lord Barrymore’s tones were low, his throat strangely dry as he stepped forward and disentangled the strands of satin.

“How lovely. So exactly, I am afraid, like you.” Then he stepped forward, and surprised himself by taking her beautiful, headstrong chin firmly in his hands. For an instant, his eyes moved to her mouth, causing Miss Lily to emit a faint cry and close her delicious green eyes so that he saw nothing but a tangle of dark lashes. Then he set her firmly from him and watched as her eyes flew open in breathless disappointment. His pulses raced quite madly, but he did not allow himself the temptation, merely tying the ribbons firmly abut her waist as if she were no more than a schoolgirl and he a benevolent father.

“Oh!”

He raised inquiring brows.

“Are you not going to kiss me, my lord?”

“Should I?”

“It would be heavenly, I think.” Lily Chartley dimpled at him blithely.

Curses! The innocent was too wild for her own good. It was not enough that he had saved her from herself last night. He was forced to do it again this moment, and that decidedly against his inclination.

“I cannot, Miss Chartley, for though I am a gentleman, I am too poor by far to be casting my sights as high as a Lily flower. That, I believe, stands heads higher than all other blooms. Too high, I am desolate to say, for me.”

“How pretty! I believe that is the best compliment I have had so far! But as for being too poor, what nonsense is this?
All
my suitors are poor!
Do
say you will offer for me! I shall be much more comfortable with you than I ever would with poor Mr. Stanridge, who I fear tires me with his sonnets. Also”—she moved closer, a little confidentially—“ though I do not like to believe badly of the man, I fear he borrows, at times, from Lord Byron. Have you read him, sir?”

“Byron? Ah, yes. ‘She walks in beauty like the night.’ I believe the quotation is apt, if
that
is what the poor fellow is spouting.”

Lily blushed. “It is, and more besides. But come! You have not answered my question!”

“You appear to think I am here to offer a proposal of marriage.”

“Well, of course, half Town has been in and out doing the same thing! I shall talk most earnestly to Grandfather not to guffaw at your suit.”

Her eyes were so sublimely appealing that Denver, caught between the desire to laugh hysterically and cast abandon to the winds and kiss her as she deserved, had to hold himself sternly in check and do neither. Instead, he cast her gently aside and muttered that his business with Raven had precious little to do with matrimony.

“Really? Then you must
indeed
be in the suds. Gambling debt, is it?”

Denver nodded gloomily. There was no keeping the girl at arm’s length!

“Grandfather is shockingly lucky, despite his gouty foot and his terrible wheeze. I don’t suppose my pin money will come in handy? I bought a prodigious amount of gowns and reticules and ribbon and such like this quarter, but I believe there must be
something
left of it ...”

The Viscount Barrymore was touched. He was more used to offering ladies expensive gifts than the other way round. But then, Lily was not in the ordinary way. Neither was she at
all
akin to the ladies to whom he traditionally tossed baubles and brooches. Lily, despite her reckless disregard for the conventions, was as pure as her name. A sweet innocent. He sighed. He wished it were otherwise. Had she been a brazen, calculating hussy, he would have had no qualms in exchanging her riches for a title. But there was the rub. She was not. Despite Hoskin’s sublime confidence, fortune hunting was not as easy as it appeared.

Barrymore forced himself to laugh lightly. “You are a darling, Miss Lily! Give me your pretty, bright ribbons and I shall count myself a fortunate man!”

“What? These paltry trifles?” Lily looked down at her high-waisted gown, where the ribbons were still warm from his touch. Denver closed his eyes, trying not to see the delicate cleavage that peeped from the top of her fashionably cut bodice. She seemed quite unaware of her effect, concerned only with untying the knots that had been so firmly draped about her earlier.

“There! They are my favorite colors-wispy pearl and azure green. If Grandfather asks about them, tell him, with my compliments, that they are mine!” Her voice was defiant, for there were footsteps down the hall and their time alone seemed fleeting. Sure enough, the under butler knocked gently before making his semi-stately entrance. He stared rather fixedly at Miss Chartley, then announced that his lordship was ready—finally—to interview the honorable viscount.

At which, a whimsical smile appeared on my lord Denver’s countenance. He bowed low over the youngest Miss Chartley, impulsively allowing his lips to faintly glide over her fingers as he took her hand. Lily seemed bent on saying something, but her throat was strangely choked. She smiled rather crookedly—a testament to her courageous, generous nature—and crushed the ribbons into his light, kid-gloved hands. Lord Barrymore could think of little else as he was ushered out under the disapproving eye of Lord Raven’s manservant.

“Ah, Lord Barrymore! At last!”

The Earl of Raven had moved from his bed for the occasion and was seated comfortably by the window, where rain was gently tapping at thick, stained-glass encrusted panes. The viscount smiled wryly. Any “at last” to which the earl was referring must certainly have been rhetorical, for there was no “at last” about it. He had been kept waiting a full hour at the minimum.

He bowed, however, and took the seat the earl was indicating. Not quite as comfortable as the heavily brocaded wing chair, perhaps, but suitable in its own way.

“Snuff?”

“No, I thank you,” Barrymore politely declined as he watched the downpour grow heavier. He shivered, for though there was a fire roaring in the grate, the ceilings were high and the chamber felt decidedly gloomy. Perhaps, though, that was simply a reflection of his mood state.

Lord Raven smiled. “Come to hand over the dibs, have you?” The boxing cant seemed strangely out of character with the old man’s regal bearing.

“I think you know that I have not.” Barrymore looked him squarely in the eyes. Any moment now, he knew, he would be disgraced. The earl said nothing but raised his brows and drew out a pack of cards.

“Care to play?”

“I think you joke, my lord.”

“I never jest about gambling.”

“Then you will know that I never accept a game where I cannot cover the odds.”

“Except for Lord Derbyshire’s gaming party, I collect”

Denver Barrymore, for once, felt stricken. “Yes, except for then, though you must know, sir, I believed, at the time, that I had the wherewithal to cover it.”

“How so?” The earl raised his brow quizzically.

“I own a couple of coal mines. They are manifoldly rich in ore. Unfortunately, I am advised they are imprudent to mine. The roads, I collect, are impassable.”

“How very unfortunate.” The earl helped himself to another pinch of snuff and watched closely as Lord Barrymore twined some ribbon about his fingers.

His answer was curt. “Yes, so it has proved.”

The earl smiled. “You have nothing for me, then?”

“Nothing that will be of the least interest to you, my lord. My land is entailed and my stables are well and truly to let It appears I am at the mercy of your goodwill.” The viscount’s tone was rueful as he mastered this supreme understatement

“Not, I believe, something I am notorious for.”

“No.” Can he have imagined it, or was the earl smiling? God, he was enjoying himself! Barrymore’s fists clenched, but he held himself back.
He
was on the back foot. The earl was entitled to laugh, if he would.

“Very well, Lord Barrymore. I shall have to ponder upon this. Pass, I pray you, those ribbons. I have a sense I have seen them before.”

“They are Miss Lily’s, my lord. I have a fancy to keep them.”

“Have you, by God? I should have you whipped for your impertinence.”

“Very likely you should, my lord. I would endeavor to have no objections.”

“But you
do
object to handing over a couple of pesky pieces of ribbon? They are of no more account than a single button on your confoundedly foppish morning coat, you know!”

The viscount ignored the aspersions cast upon his attire. He held his head up high and rose from his seat. “Yes. To such a simple matter I
do
object. They were freely given.”

“Were
they now?” The earl regarded him speculatively, a peculiar smile crossing his aging features. “Then Lily is undoubtedly a baggage, for she was wearing those ribbons this morning.”

“How acute of you, my lord. I cannot deny that claim. But we are veering from the point.”

“Are we? I think not. And sit down, man, I am too old to crank my head up. It might help if you stopped glaring, too.”

Lord Barrymore was momentarily disconcerted. Obediently, he sat, though the hackles were still rising at the back of his neck.

The earl laughed. Unfortunately, the action precipitated a spasm, which in turn precipitated the entrance of Richmond, with a large bottle of cordial. It was lime in color, and made both gentlemen grimace in distaste.

“Take that hideous thing away, do you hear?” The earl’s voice would have been a roar, had it not turned out to be something between a cough and a rather dry choke.

Richmond looked affronted, but turned tail upon the instant. If the earl was in high spirits, he was probably likely to live another hour. Consequently, he withdrew, but not without some dire mumbling beneath his breath. His gait was slow and stately, for he hoped to catch something more of the discourse. The conversation he’d overheard was taking an interesting turn.

“Now!” The earl regarded the young man before him sternly. “I wager you have heard of ‘Raven’s Ransom.’ ”

“I have, my lord. It is a confoundedly foolish notion, but appears to be captivating the attention of the haute Ton.”

“And so it should. I am worth a king’s ransom, Barrymore! A king’s ransom, I assure you!”

“Then you should not treat your granddaughters so unkindly, my lord.”

The earl spluttered. “Unkindly? Unkindly? I deny them nothing! They have every frill and furbelow a young lady could desire. All the suitors, all the courtship, they are favored everywhere!”

“And at what expense? There is not a suitor whose motive they can trust. The men who surround them like butterflies are rakes, scoundrels, and rogues!”

“Not a little unlike yourself?”

“If you were younger, my lord, I would call you to account for that! I may be a rake, but I am not a scoundrel and I am certainly not a rogue!”

“Yet you regard Lily with more than a disinterested eye.”

“But not for the ransom, sir, though the notion intrigued me, a little, at first.”

“And how am I to believe that?” The earl regarded his nails delicately.

“If I were fortunate enough to win both Miss Chartley
and
your confounded fortune, I would throw the latter back in your face.”

“Is that a promise, sir?” There was a moment’s stillness as Lord Barrymore realized the full moment of what he had just said. Then he shut his lips smartly, nodded curtly, and jammed the ribbons into the narrowly cut pocket of his superfine coat. Hoskin would have winced.

“Very well, my lord viscount, I wager, were you in such a propitious position, you would not! You would keep Miss Lily
and
her ransom.”

“I told you, I do not gamble where I have nothing to stake.” Barrymore’s tone was stiff as he regarded the earl with distaste.

“Very well, then I shall
give
you something! I release you from your vowels to me, that you may pledge them, once again.”

“They are not worth the paper they are written on. I have told you that already.”

“I am not dull-witted, sir, I know that. You have coal mines positively laden with ore. I, I might tell you, have only just now procured the rights to one of the first railways in all of England. Forget about coaches and horses—they will get you nowhere. Steam and steel shall be your saving grace. You shall oversee the laying down of tracks and the commission of a suitable engine. Better than Blenkinsop’s rack and pinion drive, you understand! I can’t stand the man.” The earl grimaced then heaved himself up off his cushions. There was a notable sparkle in his eye that might have alarmed Richmond, but he, fortunately, was not available to see it.

The Earl of Raven warmed to his theme. “I shall pay the miners and see your equipment maintained and improved. I shall swallow the bullet for all reasonable expenses, and, in return, shall expect to see my investment restored to me twofold within ten years. If it is not, the mines shall be forfeit to me along with the debts you have already incurred. Your tenure in a debtor’s prison would then undoubtedly be long.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” For the first time, Lord Barrymore’s eyes smiled.

“Do you agree?”

There was a moment’s pause. Barrymore regarded the earl closely. “What do
you
gain from it?”

Raven pursed his lips dryly. “Do not look into my motives, young man, they are more complicated than you might suspect. I like to play a deep game. Stating the obvious, however, I get a ten-year stake in the ore and fortuitously situate my railway. Your mines will be leasing the tracks for decades to come!”