Taming Rafe (12 page)

“What did I do now?”

It was getting to the point where she didn’t know any longer, but she was certain it couldn’t be proper. “Don’t waste sugar,” she improvised.

“I’m not wasting it; I’m drinking it,” May countered.

“Beg pardon. Miss Harrington?”

Dennis Greetham stood in the doorway. “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, surprised. “Please join us for tea.”

“My thanks, miss, but I’ve got my team hitched to a pile of rafters. Just wanted to let you know Jarrod’s brought the post.” He stepped forward and handed Felicity a few letters.

“Thank you, Mr. Greetham.” Felicity smiled, and the farmer nodded and backed out of the room. When he’d gone, she looked down at her letters. One of them immediately caught her attention. “Nigel—finally!”

“Does it say when he’s coming?” May asked, jumping up and coming to stand at her knee.

“I don’t know. Let’s see.” As she broke the seal and unfolded the paper Rafe was silent, and she wondered what he might be thinking. This could be the end of his charade, unless she—they—he—
could come up with another reason for him to stay.

She smoothed the parchment on her lap. “‘Dear Felicity,’” she read aloud, “‘I received your letter about Bancroft arriving at Forton. Please behave yourself, Lis—his family could ruin me in London.’” Felicity stopped, looking up at Rafe, and something cold and dreadful tightened in her chest.

“Lis?”

“Um, just a moment, May.” She blinked hard, and continued reading. Nigel generally took a while to get to the point—but it couldn’t possibly be what she’d begun to suspect. “‘Whiting’s invited me to go to Madrid after the Season. I think some of his cronies are going on to Paris, and I’m sure they’ll let me tag along. Sterling bunch, they are.’”

“Good God,” Rafe said almost soundlessly.

Felicity pretended not to hear. “‘I’m sorry’” she continued, her voice beginning to shake, “‘that I couldn’t win the blunt to save Forton, but Whiting says it was for the best. My spirit was never meant to be contained in Cheshire. And this is my chance to make my fortune. I know you’ll manage, Lis—you always do. Just try not to be so bossy and managing. I’ll send May a doll from Spain. Your brother, N. Harrington.’”

He’d done it.

He’d seen his chance and run off, without even bothering to tell her to her face. Feeling as though he had just pulled the floor out from under her feet, Felicity sat staring at the letter, unable to look away. She’d lost Forton Hall, just when she’d begun to think they could save it. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t notice them until they splashed onto the letter, staining and blurring her brother’s writing.

“Felicity,” Rafe said softly, “I—”

She shot to her feet. “If you’ll excuse us, May
and I need to…to…” Grabbing May by the hand, she fled from the room. Once they were safely down the hallway she stopped again. “Damnation,” she muttered, wiping at her eyes.

“Nigel really did gamble Forton Hall away to Rafe?” May asked, her own expression concerned.

“Yes—he did.”

“Well, it’s all right, Lis, really. I like Rafe. Don’t cry.” The little girl squeezed her hand.

Felicity began to cry again, harder. “Oh, May, you don’t understand.” She knelt so she could look her sister in the eye. “This is Rafe’s home now. Not ours. We have to leave.”

“But where would we go?” May whispered, real fear touching her voice.

“I don’t know, May.” Felicity took a shaky breath as a tear rolled down her sister’s cheek. This would never do. “Don’t worry, though. I have nearly forty pounds put aside, and I—”

“I don’t want to go,” May wailed, flinging her arms around Felicity’s neck.

“Shh, May,” Felicity said soothingly, glancing behind her. She absolutely did not want Rafe to come out and say something stupidly noble. They were on their own—again—and they would simply have to make do. “Come help me find the old valises in the attic.”

“We have to go
now
?”

“The sooner, the better.” Squire Talford would put them up, of course, and so would Lord Deerhurst, but then she would have to watch Rafe sell off Forton Hall to the highest bidder. And she would have to wait and hope he would change his mind, unable to leave until she knew for certain. It would be time wasted for no good purpose, especially when she had May depending on her to support them both.

“I know,” she exclaimed, wiping at her face and trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice when she only wanted to lie down and cry, “I can look for work as a governess. I’ve been your governess for years, haven’t I? And then there’ll be other children for you to play with.”

“I think we should ask Rafe if we can stay,” May countered, her lower lip quivering.

For a moment, Felicity wished she were eight years old and could solve the disaster so easily. “We can’t, May. He’s already allowed us to live here for a fortnight, and he wants to sell Forton. We would have to leave anyway.”

“I think you should talk to him,” May insisted. “He’s very nice.”

“I know he’s very nice,” Felicity agreed. And apparently not at all insane. And he had kissed her, and called her beautiful. “But we can’t stay.”

“What an ass!” Rafe finally exploded.

“I assume you’re referring to Nigel?” the squire asked.

Rafe started. He’d forgotten Talford’s presence. “He might have come himself to tell them. Especially after Lis wrote and asked him to return.” It wasn’t right. Nigel was supposed to come and take his sisters away, and Rafe would know that they would be cared for and have a damned roof over their heads. Nigel Harrington hadn’t just abandoned a rundown piece of land; with his letter, he’d abandoned his family. “That damned seedy rip!”

The squire stood. “Please give my excuses to Felicity. She won’t want my wise, crusty advice just yet. I’ll be at Talford, should they need me.”

Rafe looked at him. The morning had begun so well, with them making real progress in hauling away the old west wing. It took a bit of adjustment
to realize he’d just become the villain of the piece. “So you abandon them, as well?”

“I’d ask them to stay with me,” Talford said, pausing on his way to the door, “but I’ve asked before. Felicity never would. She’s not one to sit about and bemoan her fate.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that about her.”

When the squire had gone, Rafe retrieved Harrington’s letter from the floor where Felicity had dropped it. He reread the missive, looking for anything that indicated Nigel intended to return to Forton and collect his sisters. Finally he tossed the thing aside.

“Bastard,” he muttered.

Well, he had his undisputed ownership of Forton Hall now, for whatever that was worth. A little more cleaning up, and he might even be able to sell it for enough to give him three or four years of freedom before he had to go crawling back to His Grace and beg for employment. He supposed he should be happy.

All he could think of, though, was that Felicity and May had just lost their past and their future, all in one blow. It wasn’t his fault—it really wasn’t; counting cards wasn’t cheating, precisely.

“Damnation,” he swore, and slammed his fist against the window frame. His window frame.

He looked at it for a moment, at the worn couch and the frayed carpet, at the miscellaneous knickknacks on every available surface. There were cattle in the field, a scattering of sheep, downed fences, no crop—and he didn’t know what to do with any of it before he sold it off. Slowly Rafe smiled.

His father had always called him an idiot, while his mother and Quin claimed that he’d simply never had to apply himself. He’d pretended not to
hear either one, for they both hurt, and they both meant essentially the same thing: he was either a fool for not knowing how to act, or a fool for not acting. Well, it was time to act.

Rafe went to find Felicity. When he arrived outside her open bedchamber door, he stopped. A valise half filled with clothes lay in the middle of the bed, while Felicity sat at her dressing table engrossed in writing a letter. Rafe scowled. He hadn’t expected her to ask to stay, but the abrupt, angry panic that shot through him at the idea that she might actually leave surprised and dismayed him.

“Lis?” he said, rapping at the open door.

She looked up with a start. “I…really…I’m a bit busy at the moment,” she said, and returned to the letter.

“Why would you think I would throw you out?” he asked.

“I don’t think you would,” she said, not lifting her head. “But you are the…the owner of this estate now, and May and I have no right to be here.”

Damned remarkable. Tears five minutes ago, and now she was planning her withdrawal and no doubt her next campaign. Wellington could have used her assistance. “Do you think Nigel will remember to send May a doll?”

Felicity looked up again, eyeing him in the reflection of her dressing mirror. “Yes.” She stopped, then sighed. “He’ll send it here, of course, and it probably won’t even occur to him that she won’t be here to receive it.”

Though she hadn’t invited him in, neither had she told him to go away, so he stepped into the room. Little of her personality showed in her bedchamber—but with the destruction of her former room, she likely had few personal things left. The
most telling personal item remaining was Forton Hall, itself. Rafe stopped, leaning against the bedpost, as she turned in her chair to face him.

“I wouldn’t have taken the wager if I’d known Harrington had family he’d abandoned at Forton,” he said quietly.

She shrugged. “If you hadn’t, someone else would have.” Felicity hesitated again. “And they might not have reacted so well to being cracked over the head. I suppose I should thank you for your tolerance.”

Rafe nodded. “I probably do have the hardest head of anyone at that gaming table. How is May?” It wasn’t the question he needed, or wanted, to ask, but he’d faced French Old Guard Grenadiers with less brave determination in their eyes, and it was rather off-putting.

“Confused, but she’ll be all right. Rafe, we are not your concern. Nigel was never attached to Forton. I simply…overestimated his sense of duty and responsibility. I should not have let him go to London.”

He gave a half smile. “May informed me that you didn’t exactly ‘let’ him leave. I believe you chased him halfway to Pelford.”

She began crying again. “If he hadn’t taken the last horse and the phaeton, I might have caught him.” She squared her shoulders and wiped at her face. “Even so, that was nearly two months ago. Weeping about what I should have done certainly won’t help me today. I am not completely without skills, and my mother saw to it that I received an education. I daresay we shall make do.”

Rafe swallowed, his heart pounding. This would be the sticky part, and he tried to pretend that her answer really wasn’t that important to him. “Oh,
I’m certain
you
will be fine. It’s me that I’m worried about.”

“You?” she said in disbelief.

“Well, yes. As my father has pointed out innumerable times, I have little skill at anything besides drinking, whoring, shooting, and blowing things up. I…have no idea how to manage an estate.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “You don’t need to manage an estate. You only need to sell it, I believe.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, straightening. “But I can’t very well sell it like this and expect to get much for it.” She only continued to gaze at him coolly. “So, I thought perhaps you might help me out.”

“Help you out?” she repeated, her expression growing grimmer by the moment. “I beg your pardon, but helping you out is not—”

“I’d like to hire you,” he interrupted.

“You…what?”

Taking advantage of her surprise, he continued. “If you see to the daily accounts and what-all, then I can concentrate on making Forton presentable and on finding a buyer.”

“I don’t want your charity. I’m used to being on my own.”

“I know. But this is not charity—I have no idea how to do this. When I came up here, I thought it would be a matter of hiring a solicitor, hanging about for a few days, and then returning to London until my man sent me the proceeds from the sale. I had no idea it was going to be this involved.”

“I have several distant relations scattered about England,” she said by way of answer. “I am writing them regarding employment as a governess.”

He wondered which of them she was trying to convince that she had alternatives to his little plan.
He didn’t like
her
little plan. “Splendid,” he said instead. “And while you wait for a response, you would be earning…five quid a month for aiding me.” He had no idea of the correct figure for an estate manager, but five quid seemed a reasonable amount.

“Seven quid,” she returned. “And May and I keep our current rooms.”

Suddenly she was a parliamentarian. “Agreed.”

“And we may leave whenever we wish.”

He stifled a grin. “Agreed again.”

Felicity stood and thrust out her hand. “All right. I accept.”

Before she could change her mind or raise her salary to a figure he could even less afford, Rafe gripped her hand in his and shook it firmly—though he really wanted to kiss her knuckles, her palms, her elbows, her throat…When she looked up at his face, he realized he’d been holding her hand for quite a long moment. Reluctantly he released it. “Thank you.”

“S
o we don’t have to leave Forton,” May stated, circling the kitchen table while Felicity sliced potatoes.

“Yes, we do have to leave Forton,” she corrected, reaching for the salt and wondering why in the world she felt so exuberant this evening. “Just not right away.”

“Whom does our house belong to, then?”

“It belongs to Rafe.”

May sat and thunked her head down on the table. “I’m confused.”

“So am I,” Rafe said, as he stomped his boots off and stepped through the kitchen door. “What do you wish to tell the neighbors?”

Everything had upended itself so fast, she hadn’t even considered that. “I…think that should be up to you. You are the master of Forton Hall.”

He looked at her for a moment. “I suppose I am. How about if we say business affairs called your brother away to the Continent for an indefinite period, and given our long acquaintance, he accepted my offer to purchase Forton Hall as he wouldn’t be able to see to it properly any longer.”

“I thought Nigel lost it at the gaming table.” May looked up at her idol.

“Well, let’s not spread that about, sweetling.”
Rafe made his way around to Felicity’s side of the table.

She flushed, embarrassed. “Please don’t lie on our behalf. Our neighbors are well aware of Nigel’s propensity for doing absurdly stupid things.” She knew she sounded bitter, and she cleared her throat and concentrated on slicing potatoes.

Rafe leaned closer, his breath warm against her hair. “Which is no reason for you to feel ashamed,” he said quietly.

“I am
not
ashamed,” she snapped.

“I am,” May offered.

Felicity glared at her sister. “You are not.”

“Lis,” Rafe continued, his mouth brushing her cheek as he reached past her for a potato, “you’ve been here your entire life. They’ll know me for an eye blink.
You
tell them what
you
wish.”

For a moment she wondered what he wanted with a potato, but he picked it up and made a show of examining it for any imperfections. Felicity doubted he’d know a potato eye from a foot, but after a moment he made a noncommital sound of vague approval and set it down again. As he retreated, his fingers slid along her wrist and sleeve. A delighted shiver ran up her spine, taking her anger with it. She shrugged to hide her sudden trembling. “Your story is as good as any, I suppose. And thank you.”

“Are you going to live at Forton?” May asked, apparently oblivious to the flirtation going on across the table.

“No. I’m going to sell it.”

“Why?”

“So I can see the world.”

“Now just a moment,” May countered. “You have seen the world. You told me so.”

Rafe took the seat beside her. “I’ve only seen a little bit of it. I want to see all of it.”

“May, quit pestering,” Felicity ordered. She scooped up the potatoes and dumped them into a pot. “If Rafe wants to go see the world, then he should be able to go see the world.”

He looked up at her. “You make it sound daft.”

She almost laughed at his comically offended expression. “Far be it from me to judge.”

“Hm.”

“Do you intend to sell Forton immediately?” Her voice caught as she asked the question, and she knew he heard it. Damnation, she hated being so weepy, no matter how much it hurt to think of losing her home. It belonged to him now—and it didn’t matter how well she knew its every inch, or how well she loved the land, or how lovely the garden used to be. None of this was Rafe’s fault; someone would have won Forton away from Nigel, because he hadn’t wanted to keep it. But that couldn’t keep her from wishing Rafe Bancroft wasn’t quite so interested in seeing China.

He stretched. “Since I’m right in the middle of things, I think taking another few weeks to tidy the place up would be worth the time and trouble.”

Felicity nodded, unable to disguise her sudden relief. She had a few more weeks, anyway.

Rafe stood back and surveyed the absence of the west wing. It was easy to see that something had been there, of course—the foundation still stood, and a few of the sturdiest upright supports still rose into the air like pillars of a forgotten Greek temple. “Hm, Greece,” he mused aloud. “Haven’t been there, either.”

“Full of old buildings in worse shape than this
one, from what I hear.” Dennis Greetham strolled up beside him.

“Somehow it loses its allure, when you put it that way,” Rafe said dryly. “What do you think?”

“I think you bloody well might have told us you owned Forton Hall before Ronald went and told everyone and the man in the moon,” the farmer returned.

“I meant about the west wing, actually, but I suppose you’re right. In all fairness, though, I was trying to protect the Harrington ladies. I’m beginning to suspect that Felicity thought I was some sort of escaped lunatic. She didn’t want me going about spreading groundless rumors or growling and foaming at the neighbors.”

Greetham folded his arms across his chest. “I think it’s a snipe hunt, either way.”

Rafe grinned. “I will assume that you’re referring to the building now, and not my sanity.”

“Oh. Aye.”

The farmer was right, again. Either tearing down the rest of the wing or putting up a new one would be a long-term, thankless, and backbreaking project. And he was steadily running out of items and skills to trade for any assistance.

Even so, the part of him that delighted in the intricacies of demolition and construction was definitely stirring. The engineering talent his fellow army officers had raved about had been completely at odds with both his social status and with the dull-minded career his father would eventually push on him, but he had loved it anyway.

No matter what visions and possibilities he saw in the sturdy old foundation, though, he certainly didn’t have the blunt to do anything about them. Nor did he have the time to invest in the project. If he couldn’t sell Forton by autumn, the weather
would stick him with it at least through March. By then, he’d be even more a pauper than Felicity.

“So, Bancroft. What’s it to be?”

Rafe sighed. “Let’s start clearing the dead growth out of the garden.”

“You sure you want to bother with that?”

Yes, he was, because Felicity had twice mentioned how much she used to enjoy reading out in the garden in the mornings. And whether it was out of guilt or because he delighted in seeing her smile, he wanted to please her. “We may as well.”

By the time he and three volunteers had cleared out just the tiny north corner of the garden where it sloped down to the lane, Rafe was tired, covered with scratches, and very annoyed. It had been two damned weeks since he’d last seen his solicitor, and now that the news of his ownership was out, he needed to ride into Pelford for another visit with John Gibbs.

“Good afternoon, Miss Harrington.”

Rafe turned as the chorus of greetings trailed, along with Felicity, toward him. As had happened every time he’d set eyes on her over the past fortnight, he was seized by the nearly irresistible desire to pull her into his arms and cover her skin with kisses. He felt like a starving man, and she his Christmas feast.

She wore gardening gloves, he noted with delight. “Lis, what do you think of our progress?”

Felicity stopped beside him, the top of her head coming up to his chin. Wisps of her black hair strayed from her prim bun to caress her cheek and her slender neck. Good God, he wanted to make love to her.

“I think you should have seen Forton Hall ten years ago. You would never even consider selling it.”

“If I wanted to manage an estate, I have a plentitude to choose from,” he returned, taking her smaller hands in his under the pretext of examining her gloves. “His Grace or my brother would have been delighted to hand the bookkeeping of any number of grand holdings over to me. And I’d have turned to stone within a month.”

She looked up at him, her dark eyes both curious and serious. “Are you bored here?” she asked.

He smiled. “No. But then, you’re here.”

Felicity blushed, soft rose stealing up her cheeks. “I daresay I am the least of Forton’s attractions.”

She was flirting; he could see it in her upturned lips and the tilt of her head. Rafe stepped closer. “If we were alone, I would be happy to show you just how much I disagree with you.”

Felicity held his gaze boldly, her color deepening. “Promises, promises,” she breathed, then with a grin turned on her heel and fled to help Ronald Banthe clear out a flower bed.

Rafe looked after her. Something very interesting was going on, and he was enjoying it immensely. He began work on her blasted garden with renewed enthusiasm.

“Bancroft! A word with you!”

The Earl of Deerhurst charged up the drive and brought his mount to a weed-flinging halt a few feet short of Rafe.

“Deerhurst. Good morning.” He pulled off his dirt-covered gloves. “You’ve met Miss Harrington, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have, you…” He trailed off as Felicity strolled up beside the horse. “Felicity, my apologies,” he gushed, his annoyed expression vanishing in a heartbeat. “I didn’t see you there.”

“No need to apologize, my lord. What brings you to Forton in such a hurry?”

“Just a small matter I need to discuss with Bancroft.”

“Discuss away,” Rafe urged, curious to see whether the earl’s foul manners would reappear.

They didn’t, which made Rafe dislike him even more, the prissy lout. His pleasantness was an act, put on for Felicity’s benefit. He hoped she wasn’t naive enough to fall for it.

“It is a matter of some urgency, which I would prefer to discuss with you in private,” Deerhurst said mildly.

Rafe stifled a scowl. “I need to find a shovel. Come along.”

Deerhurst left his mount standing in the yard, which Rafe decided he had done solely to give himself another excuse to see Miss Harrington before he left. So, it only seemed fair that he take the muddiest route through the yard to the stable. The earl looked like a cat trying to keep its paws out of water as he minced across the yard in his bright new Hobys.

“Bancroft, I heard a very disturbing rumor this morning, that…you…have purchased Forton Hall.” Now that Felicity was out of sight, his annoyed expression—the same one he’d worn the other night at the door barricade—returned.

Rafe nodded, keeping his expression cool and aloof. “My family buys and sells property all the time. What about it do you find so disturbing?”

“The Harringtons are my dearest friends and neighbors,” the earl snapped. “I can’t like the idea of hordes of solicitors crawling all over their property looking for a profit for you.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, then. It was a private transaction between Nigel and myself.”

Deerhurst scowled again. “Whatever the circum
stance, the sale of the Harringtons’ home disturbs me.”

“But having it collapse around them doesn’t?”

“Don’t think I didn’t offer my services!” he shouted, his face growing red. “They were refused.”

Rafe couldn’t resist another dig. “Well, now your services are unnecessary.”

The earl stopped, but Rafe could feel the pleasant blue eyes boring into the back of his skull. He continued into the stable, hoping Deerhurst would give up on whatever it was he wanted and go home.

“What are your plans for the estate, then?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“That isn’t what I’ve heard.”

He eyed Deerhurst. “Then why ask the question?”

Rafe tried to decide why he disliked the earl so vehemently. He’d grown up with Deerhurst’s kind all around him in London, and they hadn’t bothered him a whit. Some of them, like Robert Fields, he considered cronies. Here, though, there was one key difference—Deerhurst wanted Felicity. That made him a rival, and that made him an enemy. And the seriousness with which Rafe regarded that startled him.

“All right, Bancroft,” the earl continued from the doorway, “it’s obvious you’re not interested in polite conversation. How much do you want for the place?”

Rafe halted in mid-step, surprised. Swiftly wiping the expression from his face, he turned around. “You want to purchase Forton Hall?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Why should you? It’s wreck.”

The earl swiped at a cobweb hanging across one of the empty stalls. “It borders my land, and it has
sentimental value to me—not that my reasons are any of your damned affair. I’ll give you fifty thousand pounds for it.”

His mind racing, Rafe went back to rooting for a shovel. Fifty thousand quid would fund his travels for ten years, or more if he were frugal. It was also about twice what Forton was worth right now. That shouldn’t matter—as Deerhurst had said, it really wasn’t any of his affair—but it did matter. And if he sold right away, it would leave Felicity and May with nowhere to go, and him with no good reason to stay. He turned around again.

“No thank you. I’m not interested.”

“What? How can you not be interested in fifty thousand pounds?”

Rafe shrugged. “I’m not. And my reasons are none of
your
damned affair.”

“You bastard! Half the county’s been talking about how you want to travel to China and God knows where else. You don’t want Forton Hall!”

Striding forward, Rafe jabbed a finger in the earl’s chest. “Neither do you. You want Felicity. And you’re trying to buy her.”

Deerhurst shoved him backward. “What if I am? How is that different from you keeping a place you don’t want just so you can hang about her? I’ve seen how you look at her.”

Rafe shoved back, hard enough to send the earl staggering against the wall. “Don’t start something you won’t be conscious for at the finish.” Picking up the shovel, he nodded curtly. “Good day, Deerhurst. I’m busy.”

He brushed past the earl and strode back out into the sunlight.

“Seventy thousand!” Deerhurst shouted after him.

Sweet Lucifer, he was the worst kind of fool to
turn down that kind of money, just so he could moon after a black-haired chit. “I’ll think about it!” he bellowed over his shoulder, not turning around.

Whatever Rafe and James had been discussing, neither of them seemed very happy about it, Felicity thought. Lord Deerhurst barely nodded at her before he galloped off toward his estate. And Rafe looked more as if he were strangling French foes than pulling weeds. When May emerged from the kitchen toting a pitcher of lemonade, he didn’t even stop to take a drink.