Rescued By The Forbidden Rake. Mary Brendan
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know that we won’t hear a word against you or the children.’
‘I know I can rely on you both,’ Faye said huskily.
Mrs Gideon nodded vigorously and set about cutting pastry cases.
Faye suddenly remembered something that might lighten the atmosphere; Mrs Gideon was frowning fiercely while running the rolling pin this way and that.
‘Anne Holly told me that Valeside Manor has acquired a new owner.’
‘Him!’ The housekeeper gave a loud tut. ‘A vicar’s wife had no right bringing that fellow into a decent conversation.’
‘You knew about Mr Kavanagh and his lady friend being at Valeside Manor?’ Faye sounded surprised.
‘Indeed, I did! I hope he’ll soon take himself off to London where the likes of him and her are sure to be better received.’ Mrs Gideon returned her attention to the tartlets she was filling with blackcurrants. ‘What with those Romanies turning up as well we’ve got more than our fair share of rogues in the neighbourhood lately.’
Faye remained quiet for a moment. From her housekeeper’s strong reaction she took it that her friend Anne had not overstated Mr Kavanagh’s ill repute.
‘Apparently he is very affluent. Local people might benefit from his patronage.’ Faye felt an odd compulsion to find something good to say about the new master of Valeside. ‘The manor has been empty for quite some time, it’s sure to need repairs and additional staff. Mr Kavanagh might call on villagers to fill vacancies.’
‘No decent woman would enter that house no matter what pay he offered. The only females likely to benefit from his patronage are those working in the room above the Dog and Duck.’ The housekeeper turned florid, regretting having let her tongue run away with her.
Faye picked up her lemonade and took a gulp. She knew that a couple of harlots entertained clients above the taproom in the Dog and Duck. The hostelry was situated on the outskirts of Wilverton and was shunned by decent folk who supped in the White Hart tavern on the green instead.
Still, Faye felt an odd inclination to give the benefit of the doubt to Mr Kavanagh. ‘He had a very well-behaved team of horses and his servant was nicely turned out, and polite, too. The boy made a point of raising his hat to me as I passed by.’
‘You managed to get quite a good long look at Mr Kavanagh, did you, miss?’ Nelly Gideon asked. ‘Did you see the scar on his face?’
‘He was too far away for me to see more than that he is a tall gentleman with very dark hair. I was talking to Anne across the road and he’d disappeared inside the drapery with his companion by the time I passed his curricle.’
Nelly put down a spoon stained with blackcurrant juice. ‘Got a scar from here to here, he has...’ She striped one side of her face from cheekbone to lip with a forefinger. ‘Duelling over a woman, so I heard. Killed a man.’ She shook her head. ‘It makes me wonder what else might yet come out about his wickedness.’
Faye’s eyes widened, but still she was reluctant to condemn too quickly. Today she’d had a taste of what it was like to be the butt of gossip and it wasn’t pleasant. Despite what her friend Anne Holly had said about people’s sympathy for her, there would doubtless be some private sniggering at her lack of judgement.
‘You’d better keep your distance from the new master of Valeside Manor, miss,’ Nelly said over a shoulder, sliding the tarts into the oven. ‘Your fiancé won’t want you associating with such a rogue.’
‘Who is a rogue?’ Claire had just entered the kitchen, eyes alight with interest at what she’d overheard.
‘The new master of Valeside Manor,’ Mrs Gideon informed darkly. ‘Big handsome chap Mr Kavanagh may be, but he’s got a black heart, so you all stay clear of that place.’
‘Show me your hat then.’ Faye changed the subject, thinking Mr Kavanagh had been a topic of conversation for long enough.
‘What do you think?’ Claire held aloft the bonnet, twirling it on her fingers so the blue ribbons flew out like flags.
‘Very pretty...’ Faye said, picking up the jug of washing water. ‘I won’t be long getting ready, then we’ll get going. A storm’s brewing for this evening and we won’t want to be out in the thunder and lightning.’
* * *
Walking through long, murmuring grass with the warmth of late June on one’s shoulders was one of life’s wonderful pleasures, Faye thought as she picked seeds from her cotton skirts. She watched her brother and sister, chasing to and fro and throwing grassy darts at one another. Faye smiled wryly; her sister was still a child at heart and it was a shame to think of hurrying her to womanhood with a premature debut.
Claire wouldn’t be seventeen until the middle of next year. She’d already said she was eager to be launched before her next birthday rather than wait until the following Season. Faye had worried that her half-sister might not be ready for such an important milestone at sixteen. But things had changed for them all. She could no longer afford to be so finicky.
Faye was obliged to tighten the purse strings on the family kitty and there was no denying that Claire might be better off now under a husband’s protection than her sister’s.
Turning her face up to the golden sunbeams, Faye sighed, loosening her straw bonnet to let the breeze cool her skin. It was easy to feel lulled by the pastoral melody of birdsong and bees swarming nearby.
‘That man’s staring at you. Who is he?’
Faye’s eyes flicked open and she saw her brother, flushed from his game of chase, ambling at her side.
‘His name is Mr Kavanagh,’ Faye said hoarsely, feeling rather shocked to see him again so soon. And at much closer quarters. Mrs Gideon had called him a big handsome man, and indeed he was broad of shoulder and very good looking. She could also see the thin pale mark dissecting his bronzed cheek that her housekeeper had spoken of.
‘We mustn’t have anything to do with him,’ Claire whispered, having joined them. ‘He’s a black-hearted rogue, Mrs Gideon said so, and she knows everything.’
‘What has he done?’ Michael asked, agog.
‘You’re not old enough to know,’ Claire replied, hoping to sound mysterious and knowledgeable.
‘Hush...that’s enough gossip.’ Faye tore her eyes away from a steady, narrowed gaze. She was quite sure that the black-hearted rogue knew they were talking about him.
‘Perhaps he’s a highwayman or a smuggler.’ Michael turned to Faye, eyes dancing with glee. ‘He might be delivering kegs of brandy at dark of night or he might be like Dick Turpin with his own Black Bess.’
‘He is probably quite an ordinary character in reality,’ Faye interrupted, attempting to dampen down Michael’s excitement. She wouldn’t put it past her half-brother to dash across the field and quiz Mr Kavanagh about his dastardly exploits. But she doubted that her description of the man as ordinary was any more valid than were her brother’s fanciful imaginings. Ryan Kavanagh might not be a model villain, but neither was he a tame fellow. She set a brisker pace, hoping the children would run ahead again and forget about their intriguing new neighbour.
‘He must be rich,’ Michael said, content to dawdle. He glanced over a shoulder at the fellow propped against an oak with a magnificent black stallion tethered to a branch by his side. ‘He has a fine horse.’ He frowned. ‘I remember Papa had a similar beast.’
‘He is a beast...’ Claire hissed, determined to shock her younger brother.
‘For goodness sake, turn around and stop staring, you two. Look...there’s a juggler.’ Faye distracted Michael’s attention to the harlequin entertaining a group of youngsters.
They were now close to the fairground and the noise and appetising aromas caused the children to finally lose interest