The Rake's Enticing Proposal. Lara Temple
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did he say?’ Fen whispered as they left the supper room. ‘Something about sparrows in autumn and insomnia?’
‘Precisely. His Latin is quite atrocious,’ she lied, grateful that the darkened corridors masked her blush. The thought of hot dreams warming cool hearts did not sound quite as innocently romantic as when she and her sister Susan read that particular section of the Ars Amatoria. ‘He was merely trying to be clever and failing.’
‘Well, I am glad he is here. He is so wickedly amusing.’
‘Fenella!’ Drusilla admonished and Fen sighed and hurried after her aunt and sister. Ellie trailed behind them, looking forward to reading a book in bed.
Her siblings were rarely amenable to retiring before dusk and she could not remember the last time she had the luxury of reading herself to sleep. Bedtime at Whitworth was always a hectic time, rather like trying to herd stampeding bulls. By the time she herself reached her room she was too exhausted to do more than fall into bed and even then her mind was a whirl of worries about debts and mortgages that leaked into her dreams.
But instead of sinking into this all-too-temporary respite from her world, she sat staring at the walls well into the night, her mind full of fear of the future and the peculiar nature of the Huxleys. And Sinclairs.
* * *
‘Thank God!’
Henry collapsed into an armchair as Pruitt closed the door after the women’s departure. ‘I don’t know how much more of that I can bear.’
‘You shall have to develop an immunity, I’m afraid.’ Chase handed him a glass of port. ‘At least until after your wedding. Then I suggest you allow your bluestocking betrothed to deliver Aunt Ermy her marching papers. Having the two of them in one house is likely to prove disastrous. How the devil did you convince that unflappable piece of work to marry you, Henry? She is hardly your type.’
‘She is more my type than yours,’ Henry snapped.
‘I don’t have a type. It limits me.’
‘Well, I do. Ellie is the best woman I know.’
‘That still doesn’t explain why you are marrying her and certainly not why she is marrying you.’
‘You leave her alone, Chase.’
Chase laughed. Having observed Miss Walsh throughout that interminable meal, he realised his initial concerns about her were probably completely unfounded. Whatever sins her father had committed and whatever hidden currents existed in her own character, that core of schoolmistress’s rectitude was not assumed. But there was still something that did not quite ring true and it pricked his curiosity.
‘Don’t worry, Henry. I don’t poach and certainly not on virgin territory. I’m merely curious. Besides, you ought to have more faith in your beloved’s constancy than your concern implies.’
‘I’m not worried she will fancy someone like you; she is far too sensible. But I don’t want you bothering her with your teasing. This is hard enough for her as it is.’
‘Very gallant of you. I am doing you a service, though.’
Henry’s brows lowered, creating a sandy bar over his blue eyes, and Chase continued.
‘The more your beloved disapproves of me, the more Ermy is likely to approve of her.’
‘Blast you, Chase, you always make having your own way sound so reasonable.’ A grin replaced his frown and he sighed. ‘I hadn’t realised how awful matters are until we arrived this week. Have you had a look at the East Wing? Is it bad?’
‘Bad enough that I’m afraid I might go missing in that bog never to be found again, but it must be done. I am certain that if I left Huxley’s belongings to the care of Aunt Ermy she will have the lot of it thrown on to a bonfire and I cannot allow that; I do have some scruples.’
‘Why not let someone else see if there is anything worth salvaging so you can run back to London and your ladies?’
‘I am between ladies at the moment. Besides, I would rather see if there is anything of more than cultural value before I hand over the remains to the dry sticks at the Museum.’
‘What, have you run aground? Even with a new heiress in the family?’
Chase gathered in his temper once more and counted to ten. Henry’s freckles dimmed as he flushed.
‘Sorry. That was uncalled for. I only... Oh, blast. I’m in over my head. I never wanted to be Lord Huxley or a landowner. I was content working with the solicitors in Nettleton and I don’t know a dashed thing about sheep or land management or...or anything.’
‘That’s comprehensive. Chin up, Henry, it will become easier with time.’
‘No, it won’t. At least not until we can revive the estate to turn a profit. Uncle might have been a brilliant scholar, but he was a terrible landlord and it’s only Ermy’s money that keeps this place afloat. He spent every penny he had on travel and curios. It really isn’t fair he left them to you.’
‘Ah, I see the point of sensitivity about heiresses. I presume Miss Walsh is not bringing funds to this union?’
Henry’s expression was an answer in itself. Clearly Fergus Walsh’s estate had not recovered with his demise.
‘You should have proposed to Dru or Fen, Henry. Two plump heiresses ripe for the plucking and emblazoned with Ermy’s approval. They suit you better than Miss Walsh, anyway.’
‘How the devil do you know what suits me?’
Chase didn’t answer. His encounters thus far with his prim cousin-to-be were not conclusive and he had nothing to support his conviction Henry was making a very serious mistake. In fact, he could not quite make sense of Henry’s engagement. The title was modest but respectable and, without Huxley draining the accounts to pay for his travels and artefacts, in a few years the estate could be dragged into profitability.
If Henry chose, he could do better than an impoverished neighbour from a scandal-stricken family, past her first blush of youth and with nothing but passable good looks and a sharp tongue to recommend her. Strangely, though, Chase didn’t think she had done the running. Or perhaps it was merely his unexpected reaction to her accidental proximity in the Folly that was colouring his judgement. And his inability to pin her down. She was... He was not quite certain what she was. In her plain dress and her hair sternly disciplined into a depressingly practical bun, she looked every inch the spinster schoolmistress. She even ate like one—as if measuring each bite for its utility and dismissing the syllabub as pure frivolity.
But though her cool haughtiness did not appear assumed, it did not accord with that burst of temper in the Folly or her sudden and unsettling flashes of humour. Under the ice he sensed there were volatile forces at work and he wondered if she suffered from any of her father’s instability of character. For Henry’s sake he hoped not.
Henry sighed and put down his glass, dragging Chase out of his uncomfortable reverie.
‘The truth is I’m glad you’re here, Chase. Don’t take it wrong, but I think Aunt Ermy might resent me and Ellie less if she has you to dislike. Ellie isn’t precisely the type of biddable females Aunt is used to.’
Chase smiled despite himself and rubbed the sore spot on his thigh. That was a mistake, as the memory of their near tumble down the stairs woke other aspects of his anatomy. Her mercurial transformation from ice maiden to scolding hellcat was a very enticing combination, dowdy or not.
‘You just might be luckier than you deserve, Henry.’
Henry stood and stretched.
‘I know. She’s a good ’un. Well, goodnight, Chase. I must rise at dawn for some absurd reason to do with sheep and pastures.’
‘You won’t object to Miss Walsh helping me in the East Wing?’
Henry