The Rake's Enticing Proposal. Lara Temple
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‘It’s only a few weeks, Ellie. In fact, it’s dashed good news Chase has come. My aunt always resented Huxley’s strong ties to the Sinclairs. After his wife passed, he spent much more time with them and their widowed mother in Egypt than he ever spent here and when they did come to visit they always managed to rub her the wrong way. Perhaps you could flirt with him and then...’
‘No!’
‘Oh, very well. It was only a thought.’
‘A typically noddy-headed one, Henry! Though if I were at all sensible I should encourage anything that will hasten your plan. I couldn’t bear it if Edmund lost everything because I failed. I had it all planned, you know. All we needed were a few more years of decent harvests and for nothing terrible to go wrong with the livestock or the tenants, then poor Mr Phillips fell ill so of course we could not press for rents and then there was the drought last year and...’
Her voice cracked as she recalled the last summons to meet with Mr Soames at the bank. He’d been regretful, but very clear. They’d shown far too much leniency already. Problems of their own... Pressure from the board... Fiscal duty... Three months...
Three months...
Her head and stomach had reeled and halfway back on that endless walk from town she’d hurried into the bushes and been viciously ill. She’d only told Henry because he’d been waiting at Whitworth to tell her of Huxley’s passing and somehow the truth tumbled out of her. So when he said it was fate and proposed this mad plan she’d agreed. For once, just for once, she wanted someone to swoop in and save her, like a sorcerer in a story.
She’d forgotten that most swooping-in sorcerers tended to exact a hefty price for their services.
But three months...
She felt another wave of weariness and fear beat at her embattlements. It was even stronger now that she was away from Whitworth where she didn’t have the constant reminders of her duty. Even coming here felt like a betrayal despite the fact that this was her only hope of saving her family’s home. She didn’t know what to think any longer.
Just that she was so very, very tired. And scared.
‘Oh, God, Henry, I’m so frightened,’ she whispered and the tears began to burn. She would not cry. She hadn’t cried since her mother and baby sister died that horrible day five years ago and she would not begin now.
‘Dash it all, Ellie, don’t come apart at the seams now,’ Henry said, his eyes widening in alarm, but he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. ‘You’re the indomitable Eleanor Walsh, remember? Nothing is too difficult for you. So buck up, everything will come right in the end. Word of honour. I...’
‘Henry Giles Whelford! I will have none of that in my household!’
They both jerked apart at the command. For such an ancient house, the door hinges were well oiled—neither had noticed the door open. Lady Ermintrude stood flanked by Drusilla and Fenella Ames, their cheeks flaming, and behind them, as out of place as a panther in a litter of kittens, stood the dark and impassive Mr Sinclair.
Ellie’s face flamed in embarrassment and lingering misery, her pulse tumbling forward as it had when he appeared behind her in the Folly. It was not quite fear, more like the sensation of waking in the middle of a vivid dream, her mind struggling to separate fact from fiction. She had an utterly outrageous thought that he was not really there, just a figment of her imagination—that if she blinked he would disappear and all she would see were the three disapproving women.
‘I didn’t...we weren’t...’ Henry stammered, but Lady Ermintrude waved a hand, cutting him off as she turned.
‘Supper is in an hour. Do not be late.’ She sailed away and the cousins trailed in her wake, but Mr Sinclair remained, leaning on the doorjamb. As the silence stretched the absurdly fanciful sensation that he was not quite corporeal faded, but he still looked utterly out of place. He must only have entered because he was still wearing his greatcoat and Ellie noticed his buckskins were as streaked with dust and grime from their fall as her skirts.
Peculiarly, this mundane observation reassured her a little, but when she looked up he smiled and her well-developed inner alarms began pealing once more. Instinctively she donned the supercilious look she reserved for visits from creditors and bank officials, but his smile merely deepened and he turned to Henry.
‘Hello, Henry. You really must train Aunt Ermy to call you by your title now. Hard to establish your authority when she’s calling you Henry Giles.’
Henry stood and tugged at his waistcoat, his face flushed.
‘I don’t need to establish my authority. I’m Lord Huxley now. Why didn’t you send word you were arriving today? Will you be staying here or in town?’
‘Well, that puts me in my place.’
Henry’s stiff look crumbled.
‘Oh, deuce take you, Chase. I hope you are staying here because we need to even the odds.’
‘I hadn’t realised I was being enlisted into battle again. Aren’t you planning to introduce me to the other troops, by the way?’
The mocking edge was gone from his smile and Ellie felt her own lips curve in answer. She wasn’t surprised Henry found it hard to be annoyed at his cousin—no doubt this man was accustomed to deploying his easy humour to smooth his path. It was probably not genuine, but it was very effective.
‘Eleanor said the two of you already did that,’ Henry replied. ‘So, how long shall you be staying?’
‘I have to see what awaits me in the East Wing. If it is anything like the chaos of the Folly, it will take more than a couple of days, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, Good. Supper last night was dreadfully dull, but hopefully now you are here you will liven things up. I’m dashed glad you’re here, Chase.’
Chase Sinclair’s gaze flickered past Henry to assess Ellie’s less-welcoming expression.
‘Well, that makes one of us, Henry.’
Ellie paused halfway down the stairs, wondering how she had sunk so low that her stomach was contracting just as nervously at going down to supper as it did when facing Mr Soames at the bank. Henry called her indomitable, but she could not seem to find her balance now she was away from Whitworth.
Now she would not only have to face the combined hostility of Lady Ermintrude and the two Misses Ames, but also the mocking and perceptive Chase Sinclair. It would be a wonder if the masquerade didn’t unravel that very evening.
She didn’t even have any finery to hide behind. Her one good dress was pathetically dowdy compared to the cousins’ ostentatious mourning dresses and the under-chambermaid assigned to assist her had no experience being a lady’s maid, so Ellie had simply twisted her hair into a bun at her nape as she always did. At Whitworth none of this mattered, but here...
Perhaps she should plead a headache?
She sighed, gathering her courage as Pruitt opened the door to the yellow salon just as the clock finished chiming the hour.
‘You are late, Miss Walsh. I said five o’clock.’ Lady Ermintrude announced before her foot even crossed the threshold.
‘But...’
Henry raised his hands behind his aunt’s back and Ellie swallowed her words.
‘My apologies, Lady Ermintrude.’ She curtsied, something she had not done in years, wobbling a little on the way up. Henry stood by the window next to Mr Sinclair and the setting sun encased the two men in a red-gold halo, making Henry look more angelic than ever, in stark contrast to Mr Sinclair’s sharply hewn face, deep-set grey eyes, and black hair. Together