The Rake's Rainbow (11 page)

But he could not leave for home.

A bruising ride restored his equilibrium and gave him the courage to face another day.
Please let this be resolved soon.

Darnley did not die. His coma continued for the rest of the day and the night, but he awakened with the dawn. Thomas learned of the improvement at breakfast.

“Word is Darnley will never completely recover,” commented Sharpton between mouthfuls of kidneys and eggs.

“Tough on Lady Darnley,” was all Thomas could manage. He made a great show of spreading marmalade on his toast.

“Heard she went into strong hysterics over his infirmities,” said Lord Crompton.

Thomas’s stomach tightened. He continued to eat, despite a sudden loss of appetite.

“I don’t know why,” snorted Sharpton. “Marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather!  What did she expect?”

Thomas closed his ears to the ensuing discussion of other May-December matches and the health problems the couples inevitably encountered. When he judged that he had consumed an unremarkable amount of food, he thankfully excused himself and escaped the breakfast room.

You must escape before it is too late,
urged his conscience. His feet turned to the book room that opened off the library. It was usually empty this time of day, so he could relax and pull himself together.

Not until he crossed to the fireplace did he realize that someone had preceded him. He stifled a groan.

“Thomas.”  Alicia’s husky voice floated from the window. “Have you heard about Darnley?”

“He has recovered.”  Voice carefully expressionless, he wondered how he could escape. Already treacherous desire threatened to take control.
Honor, honor, honor...

“Recovered?”  Her voice turned hysterical as she restlessly paced the floor. “You cannot understand one word in ten that he utters!  He cannot move his right hand or arm. How is that recovered?”

“Give him time, Lady Darnley,” he suggested calmly. “You know the effects of apoplexy frequently prove temporary.”

“The doctor says he could remain in this state for years,” she sobbed. “How can I possibly live with that?” 

“You will find the strength,” he assured her. He had no doubt she could manage anything she set her mind to.

“I cannot believe it to be possible,” she countered. “If I cared for him, perhaps it would be so. But you know my heart belongs to you.”  She eyed the door, then deliberately shut it. “We are both married. I must talk to someone and cannot risk the servants overhearing.”

“All right,” he agreed helplessly, nervous about spending so much time alone with her. His cravat was intolerably tight.

“You must understand how things are. Father was so insistent about this match,” she choked. “After he refused to allow me to marry you, it made no difference who I wed, so Darnley seemed acceptable. I did not expect him to live long and hoped the resulting freedom would allow me to fashion life on my own terms.”

She sent him a smoldering look that declared more clearly than words that he had figured prominently in those future plans. His loins tightened despite his efforts to remain detached. He retreated to the far side of the fireplace as Alicia’s pacing edged closer. Why was she bringing up old history?  Such a future was no longer possible. He tried to focus his thoughts on Caroline, but her dowdy image produced only cold shudders.

“But I cannot tolerate being tied to an invalid. Can you see me severed from London society?”  Her eyes glittered as she turned her full stare on him.

“No,” he choked, rapidly lowering his gaze before he became lost in those violet depths.
HONOR, HONOR, HONOR...

“What am I to do?” she pleaded, her hands sliding up his chest. “He will not allow me to live in London without him, but I despise his estate. It is so utterly isolated. I need society... and gaiety... and you...”  Sobs punctuated her words. Her unhappiness pierced his armor. Tears trembled on her curved lashes. He tried to push her away but that merely dragged one hand down his chest where it came to rest on his groin....

Passion exploded through him, obliterating all else. His control shattered. Arms crushing her in a fierce embrace, he lowered his lips to hers. And once he tasted her, he could not stop. Nothing mattered but the woman in his arms. Endless dreams of making love to Alicia had tormented his nights for nearly a year. He entertained no thought beyond plundering her mouth and attacking the fastenings of her flimsy gown. Alicia. The culmination of his every desire.

Nor did she offer any resistance to his overtures, her fingers frenziedly tearing at his buttons in return.

“Alicia, my love, my angel. Dear God, how I need you,” he moaned, stripping her dress off even as he lowered her to the floor.

“Thomas!” she gasped, reveling in the fierceness of his embrace. “My only love!  Oh, yes ... please...”

His mouth crushed hers, his last coherent thought a desire to muffle her impassioned cries lest someone overhear.

Much later he slipped from the room, hardly noticing that he had to unlock the door, his concentration focused on regaining his bedroom without encountering someone who might remark his disheveled appearance. Already awash in guilt, he dared not name his other reaction – disappointment. Not due to Alicia, he hastily assured himself when the feeling first surfaced. It was the inevitable result of his own disgrace.

Anger at his weakness surged through him, as powerful as the recent storm of passion. Not only had he committed the unpardonable sin of bedding another man’s wife, thus demeaning his honor, but he had broken a sacred vow. Never mind that much of the
ton
ignored that portion of the wedding service that pledged to forsake all others. From early childhood he had considered his word to be absolutely inviolable. He could still recall his father’s scold when he had been caught, at the tender age of six, teasing a stable boy to allow him to groom the horses after promising his sire that he would remain in the Abbey as punishment for some forgotten misdeed.

“A gentleman’s word can never be broken, Thomas,” Marchgate declared, his features twisted into disappointment – the memory of that expression had caused pain for years to come. “It is one difference between us and the lower classes. When you ignore a promise, you also give up the right to be considered a gentleman. I will not condone such dishonor in my son. You belong to one of the proudest families in England, directly descended from one of the Conqueror’s chief knights. You stand second to one of the oldest earldoms, bestowed by Richard Lionheart himself. You will never again demean your honor by breaking your oath, is that clear?”

The lesson was reinforced many times during his minority as the lies and half-truths of others came to light. As he grew older, the nuances grew clearer. The hallmark of a gentleman was honor, and the heart of honor was honesty. A gentleman never went back on his word. Nor did he encourage others to break their sworn word or to act without fully understanding the consequences. Thus he never bedded married women of any class, never seduced maidens, never tempted green youths to game beyond their means.

But now he had reneged in an unforgivably spectacular way. Not only had he coerced Alicia into breaking her own wedding vows, he had blatantly ignored his own. It didn’t matter that he did not love Caroline. He had pledged himself to her and she deserved his respect. She had more than upheld her end of their bargain. But infidelity was hardly a form of respect. Nor could he guarantee that he would not again fall from grace if he remained in Alicia’s company. He was weak. His obsession bordered on madness. His brain ceased to function when she was near.

He took the only course left, packing his bags and bidding Graylock farewell. Within the hour he was at the ribbons of his coach, driving toward Crawley as if all the demons of hell were in pursuit. How would he ever live down this disgrace? 

If only he had left yesterday!

Chapter 7

Thomas turned his weary horses through Crawley’s gates and headed for the house. Exhaustion numbed his senses. There had been little sleep and no rest the night before, his self-flagellation continuing even into the dream world.

He was weak... weak and dishonorable... dishonorable, disrespectful, odiously undeserving of either sympathy or forgiveness... and he had dragged the world’s most perfect lady into hell. How could he have sullied both Alicia and his own self-respect?  The questions wound round and round in his head. As did the recriminations. With each repetition, his own actions seemed more reprehensible and Alicia’s purity more rarefied until he would have expressed no surprise if accused of brutally raping her. What price must he pay for his shame?  So grievous a lapse in honor would demand a harsh punishment.

He shivered.

He was nearly to the house before his brain registered the improvements wrought during his three-week absence. The estate wall and drive were in markedly better repair. A rebuilt fence enclosed the meadow where his new horses grazed. Grounds and pastures appeared less derelict. And the house offered a distinctly warmer welcome.

Another wave of guilt deepened the self-loathing he had nurtured since the debacle with Alicia. He should have been supervising Crawley instead of sporting at Graystone. It was unconscionable to stay away so long, leaving only the incompetent Tibbins in charge. Again he had proved himself a useless fribble who left it to others to carry out his responsibilities. His father had rescued him the last time. Who was bailing him out now?  The sight of three soldiers working on the stable provided a possible answer. Jacobs must have shouldered more burdens than training horses.

“Mr. Mannering, sir.” Peters bowed as he opened the door. The hall glowed with polish, an unfamiliar deal table and several chairs now gracing its expanse. “Welcome home.”

Thomas glanced through the open door of the drawing room and gasped at the difference. Gold-patterned silk and pale green paint ornamented the walls, uniting furniture, carpet, and ceiling into an elegant whole. Even the worn green velvet draperies looked better. And other accents had appeared – a pair of marble figures, several paintings, Sevrés bowls and vases, wall sconces, lamps, an ornate ormolu clock on the mantle – reminding him of his mother’s London sitting room in his youth. Clearly, Caroline had been hard at work. Guilt intensified. She was more than upholding their bargain. Given the same budget constraints, not even his mother could have produced a more elegant result.

“Thank you, Peters,” he responded. “Cramer will need help with my luggage. Where will I find my wife?”

“Mrs. Mannering took the dogcart out some time ago, sir, visiting tenants. The Griggs boy is still poorly and Mrs. Hendricks was delivered of a daughter yesterday.”

“Who is driving her?”  It could not be Willy, as the groom was even then unharnessing his coach horses. Was Jacobs wasting valuable time squiring Caroline about the estate? 

“She drives herself, sir,” explained Peters woodenly. “And quite well, I believe.”

Thomas forbore comment, his guilt now tinged with disappointment and a touch of anger. He had promised to teach her to drive, had even looked forward to it. But she had not waited. A lady relied on her husband for direction.

A country nobody,
Alicia’s voice echoed.

He stifled the sound, but the thought remained.

“Is Tibbins about?”  With Caroline gone, he might as well move to the next order of business – releasing the bailiff. Graylock had recommended a competent replacement who would arrive in a few days.

Peters flushed. “Ah–  Mr. Tibbins is not on the estate at present, sir.”

“Why?”  Surprised by the butler’s hesitation, his own unstable emotions lent sharpness to his voice. “Come, come, man, what is going on?  Did he run off with the silver?”

Peters coughed discreetly and resumed his wooden mask. “Mrs. Mannering sent him on an unimportant errand to Squire Hatchett of Sheldridge Corners. He was becoming a nuisance, sir, raising unreasonable objections whenever she needed cooperation, particularly over the hiring of additional grounds staff and the repair work she ordered to the drive and water meadow.”

His anger increased. At himself for his absence. At Tibbins for short-sighted incompetence. At Caroline for interfering in estate business. He thrust it down. Gossiping with the butler added yet another crime to his growing list of transgressions.

But by the time he reached the library his temper had abated. Whatever her faults, Caroline had not shirked her duties. Evidence of care abounded – clean, inviting rooms in which worn furnishings were overshadowed by judiciously chosen new wallcoverings, upholstery, or draperies. The attics must have been a treasure-trove, for everywhere he discovered objects he had never seen before.

The morning room contained a pair of watercolors depicting Crawley in better days. One showed the manor, its front magnificently set off by manicured shrubbery, riotous plots of colorful flowers, and a well-maintained sweep of drive. The other depicted the panorama of lake and hills seen from the west terrace, the view framed by the graceful arch of an elm tree. Again, the gardens and grounds displayed a perfection that would require years to restore. He studied the paintings for several minutes before choking out a gasp of surprise. The signature on each was
Caroline Mannering
. Shaking his head, he turned his steps toward the library. Her talents had again exceeded his expectations. While not up to Alicia’s standards, the pictures were quite passable, far better than he would have expected from a vicar’s bluestocking daughter. Few dedicated students had the time to pursue female accomplishments.

The library, too, was transformed, its shelves rearranged so that his own books occupied prominent, easily accessible positions. A portrait of one of his Tudor ancestors hung above the fireplace. The estate records lay open on his desk. A glance showed that Jacobs was following his instructions, that the worst estate problems were being addressed, and that several new employees had been added to both the house and the grounds staffs. He nodded approval. Not until he turned to leave did his eyes suddenly fly back to the ledger. Every entry since his departure was in Caroline’s hand.