Taming Rafe (23 page)

“Beeks? Would you consider accepting…long-term employment here, then?”

Beeks faced him again. “Employment with you, sir?”

Rafe cleared his throat. “Well, yes.”

For just a moment something very like humor touched the butler’s gaze. “No, sir.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

He watched the butler and the footman return to the kitchen. Beeks’s confession would take a little time to digest. Hands on his hips, Rafe turned a slow circle. Two dozen workers, half a ton of bricks, stacks of lumber, carts, horses, and mules cluttered the yard—all because of him, and because he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Felicity, and May.

“What the hell am I doing?” he muttered, and went back to work.

Seven hours later, his back hurt, his hands were blistered even through his gloves, and the stable had a foundation. Rafe walked the perimeter. He liked where he’d placed the building—well above the creek’s highest flood mark, and below the lowest part of the manor so that no stable refuse would flow toward the house even in the heaviest rain. It was large enough to be useful with Forton at full production, and small enough that none of the space would be wasted.

“All it needs is some walls and a roof.”

He started. “Lis. I didn’t know you’d returned.”

She untied her blue bonnet and lifted it off her hair. “We just arrived a moment ago.”

“How was Chester?”

“Bustling with activity. A little tame compared to London, no doubt, but large enough to keep us occupied.”

She sounded melancholy, and he looked at her. “Are you all right?”

Felicity’s shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath she took. “Yes. I was just wishing Nigel had put half as much effort into Forton Hall as you do.”

“You know, Lis, I meant to ask you something,” he said, though it would likely cause another argument. Better to be angry with her, though, than to do too much wishing of his own.

“What is it?”

“Forton Hall.”

She turned away. “Rafe, don’t.”

“No. I want to know. You implied that I didn’t care for you enough because I wouldn’t somehow conjure ownership of Forton for you. But if it wasn’t mine it would be your brother’s, or Deerhurst’s, or your father’s. So why is it me you’re angry with?”

“I’m not…” Lis stopped. “Because I thought you would be different. I
hoped
you would be different.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Different from what, pray tell?”

She glared at him for a moment, then threw her arms up in exasperation and stalked off to the house. “From everyone else,” she snapped.

“That’s a rather broad brushstroke,” he said to her back, annoyed with both her and himself.

“It’s a big canvas,” Felicity said, not turning around.

“I don’t want to learn French,” May stated. “I want to learn Zulu.”

Felicity looked up from writing out May’s daily lesson. “There isn’t much use for Zulu in England, sweetling.”

“But there is in Africa.”

“May, we’ve been through this before.” Felicity rubbed at her temple. Outside the incessant sawing and hammering continued unabated. She’d tried to detach herself from it and from Forton, since obviously she would not be able to reside here much longer. But it was so difficult. And forgetting how she felt about Rafe was completely impossible.

“Can’t I do my lessons tonight? I want to go help build the stable. Rafe said I could.”

“May, please.”

Her younger sister scowled. “I think you should kiss him again so you won’t be mad at each other anymore.”

Felicity set aside her pencil. “We’re not mad at each other. There’s just a great deal going on right now.”

May looked at her, then sighed heavily. “And Lord Deerhurst is calling on you for luncheon again today, I suppose.”

“As a matter of fact, he is. Do you have something to say about that?”

Her sister shrugged. “I don’t like him very much. He doesn’t laugh.”

Beeks scratched at the door and carried in the post on a dented silver salver, which was considerably better polished than it had been a few days ago. Rafe had received a letter from his brother, and some correspondence from his solicitor in Pel
ford. Curious about that particular missive, she returned both to the tray, keeping the one addressed to herself. “Will you see that Rafe gets these?”

“Of course, miss.” The butler slipped back out the door.

“May, Lord Deerhurst does laugh. He’s just a little more…reserved than Rafe. Most people are.” Felicity turned over her letter curiously. “‘Mrs. Lawrence Dailey,’” she read, and her pulse jumped.

“Who’s that?”

“A distant relation in York,” she answered, distracted. Mrs. Dailey was the most promising prospect among all the inquiry letters she’d sent out. “May, please remind Sally that the earl particularly likes apple tarts.”

Eager as she was to escape her lessons, May didn’t seem to mind that she was being gotten rid of. She dashed off to the kitchen, and Felicity sat back and opened the letter.

It contained most of the words of the previous dozen responses: charity, bother, additional burden of a young, parentless girl. This one, though, ended with a nonnegotiable figure of five pounds per month plus room and board, if she and May could be in York by the twenty-fifth. Three young, headstrong boys had apparently “outgrown” their last governess, and a suitable replacement couldn’t be found.

For a long time Felicity simply looked at the letter. She had her way out—her way to remain independent of everyone else’s whims and desires. Sixty pounds a year for her and May together was a frightful pittance, but she knew of servants with families who survived on that, or even less. Besides, in York they wouldn’t have much need for
pretty things, and May could learn to do without her chocolates and hard candies.

Slowly she folded the letter again and put it in her pocket. When she’d written looking for employment, she’d expected that when she finally received an offer, the hardest blow would be the knowledge that she truly had to leave Forton Hall. But the image in her mind as she went to change for luncheon wasn’t her ancestral home: it was a rakishly handsome adventurer who liked to buy her hair ribbons and peaches.

She was just pulling on her shoes when she heard a loud crash and shouting. Felicity dashed to her window. Outside, workers hurried toward a tumbled-over stack of lumber. And she didn’t see Rafe anywhere.

Her throat so tight she couldn’t breathe, Felicity rushed down the stairs, through the hallway, and into the kitchen. May, Ronald, Beeks, and Sally were already out the door, and she ran after them.

“Rafe!” May yelled, and started a sprint for the jumbled pile of lumber.

Beeks grabbed her and pushed her at Sally with a stern, “Stay here.”

Felicity and the butler reached the crowd of men at the same time. Frantic, she shoved them aside until she reached the center of the mess. With a shudder, her heart started beating again.

Rafe sat against the remains of the pile, shoving lumber off his legs and cursing. He had a cut on one arm and another on his cheek, but from the strength and potency of the obscenities, he otherwise seemed to be unhurt. Felicity stood frozen with relief, able to comprehend nothing but the fact that he was all right. A moment later he looked up at her, and snapped his mouth shut mid-curse.

“Damn. Oops. Excuse my language.”

Shaking with giddy relief, she knelt beside him, wanting to touch him and make certain he really was intact. “We’ll make an exception this time. What happened?”

“Half the stable fell on me,” he said, kicking free of the last board. “Luckily I ducked most of it.”

“Can you stand?”

“Most assuredly.”

Mr. Greetham, his own expression relieved, stuck out a hand, and Rafe grabbed hold to haul himself to his feet. He cautiously flexed one knee and then the other, and Lis remembered with dismay that he’d once broken his leg. “Rafe?”

He grinned down at her. “Everything’s still attached.”

Glancing at the gathered crowd, Rafe leaned down to offer his hand to Felicity. Suddenly feeling rather absurd kneeling in the middle of the circle of gawking men, she wrapped her fingers around his and let him pull her to her feet. “Thank goodness.”

“Worried, were you?”

He seemed ridiculously pleased to ask the question, and she scowled. “Of course I was.”

A small form hurtled through the workers and attached itself to Rafe’s waist. “You’re not dead! Sally said you were crushed!”

With a tender smile that made Felicity want to wrap herself around him as well, Rafe stroked May’s cheek, wiping away a tear. “The only thing crushed was my pride, sweetling. Don’t fret.”

“All right, my boys,” Mr. Greetham said, clapping his hands together as he stepped forward, “let’s straighten up this mess and get back to work.”

As the crowd of workers moved away, Felicity
saw Rafe gazing at her with an arrested expression. “What is it?” she asked, her pulse speeding again, this time with the tingling excitement he always aroused in her.

“You’re only wearing one shoe, Lis,” he said quietly.

She started and looked down. Beyond the hem of her gown, her left foot, with one toe beginning to peep out through a hole in her stocking, slowly sank into the soft, damp grass. “Oh, my. So I am.”

Rafe detached May from his waist. “No more tears, sweetling?”

She shook her head.

“Excellent. Go tell Sally I’m not crushed, and that I request a peach pie for supper in return for her lack of faith.”

May bounded away. “Sally!”

He returned his attention to Felicity. “Shall I carry you back to the house, to prevent any further damage?”

That would be very nice
. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s only a stocking. If that’s the worst casualty of the day, I shall be very thankful.”

“As you wish, my practical one.”

How long they might have stood there, she had no idea, because just then Lord Deerhurst’s carriage came rattling up the pitted drive. Rafe’s eyes darted to the phaeton and back to her again.

“Your luncheon guest has arrived,” he said shortly, and turned away to help restack the lumber.

As she returned to the house, she remembered Mrs. Dailey’s letter, sitting now on her dressing table. She had a little time before she needed to answer it, and she decided to delay her response for at least a few days. She also decided to keep the missive to herself. Because at the moment, she
hadn’t the slightest idea how to tell Rafe about it—or how to tell him goodbye.

The earl met her halfway to the kitchen door. “Good morning, Felicity,” he said warmly.

She looked up at him, distracted. “Good morning, James. I hadn’t realized it was so late. I wasn’t expecting you yet.”

“The fault is mine, my dear. I’m frightfully early, I fear, but I did so miss you.”

“We only parted last evening.” Much as she tried to appreciate it, whimsy just didn’t fit their relationship. She wished he would realize that, because at times it was very tiresome.

He glanced over her shoulder toward the stable yard. “Is something amiss?”

“No. A slight mishap; nothing to worry about.” With the excitement over, her left foot was becoming cold, and it was already quite wet. She flexed her toes and started for the kitchen door again.

“No one was hurt, I pray,” he said, continuing to look toward the jumbled yard.

“A few scratches, is all. Please come in. I’ll have Beeks bring you some tea, if you’d care to wait a few moments in the morning room.”

“Hm?” He started and looked back at her. “Oh, yes. Splendid.”

Felicity left him in the butler’s care and hurried back up to her bedchamber for her shoe and to finish putting up her hair. Her eyes kept straying to the blasted letter, though, and she finally put it into her water-damaged jewelry box and snapped the lid shut.

She felt guilty just having it in her possession, yet she knew she was being absurd. Given Rafe’s dislike of Deerhurst, he would no doubt prefer that she leave rather than stay to marry the earl.

She wandered over to the window. Rafe stood at
a makeshift table, Mr. Greetham and two other men with him. He pointed at a detailed drawing he’d made of the proposed stable, then gestured at the various piles of material. One of the men said something and Rafe laughed, the scar on his cheek rendering the expression a little lopsided and rakish.

She wished he would see himself as she saw him: passionate and compassionate, a warm and natural father, and a man who perhaps claimed to want to wander because he’d never had the chance to settle down. He fit so well here—in Cheshire, at Forton Hall, and with May and her.

“Damnation,” she whispered, resting her head against the cool glass. It was so selfish, to want him to be what he wasn’t, to even think of asking him to stay when she knew how much he wanted to go. If only he hadn’t been the one to win Forton Hall. If only she hadn’t fallen in love with him.

She looked down at him again, heat rushing through her at the mere sight of him. He consulted with one of his workers, measured something on his drawing, and made a notation on the paper. Sighing, she closed her eyes.

It didn’t make any difference. Even blind, she could see him smiling as he worked, enjoying himself more than he would probably ever realize, until it was much too late. For a moment this morning she thought she’d lost him. And she wasn’t certain she could go through that again. If only, just for a moment, he could be practical, and she could be absurd.

“I love you, Rafe Bancroft,” she said, just to hear the words aloud, and opened her eyes again.

He was looking up at her, his face white and a half smile frozen on his lips. His eyes, emerald-green in the sunlight, locked with hers. He’d seen
it. She knew instantly. He’d seen what she’d said, and he’d read the words on her lips.

Trembling, the blood draining from her face, Felicity ran from the window and sank onto her bed, where she covered her face with her hands. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she moaned.

He wasn’t supposed to know. It would only make things worse. Now he would pretend that he hadn’t seen anything, and she would be embarrassed and humiliated every time they set eyes on each other, because she would know that
he knew
, and that he was going away to China anyway.