The Rake's Reflection

  The Rake's Reflection

  A Regency Romance

  By Lesley-Anne McLeod

  * * *

  Published by Awe-Struck E-Books

  Copyright ©2002

  ISBN: 1-58749-344-6

  Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

  * * *

  "Dearest Aunt, We are Within a day now of London, and Morag is Uneasy about our Welcome. I have indeed been Froward in depending upon a family I have not met, despite my Father's association. But I wished for Adventure and now I have it. It continues very cold."

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the dark, frozen streets of London, frost glittered viciously in the feeble lights of torches and lanterns. Smoke from a million coal fires hung in noxious billows about the substantial buildings. The pavements were almost deserted. The few people that were abroad were mufflered and greatcoated so much as to be unrecognizable to their dearest friends.

  Miss Cordelia Tyninghame leaned forward to stare from her coach window. The comfortable but very chill traveling coach lurched on the frost-slick cobbles into a street lined with important residences.

  "The city does not look as I imagined it, Morag," she said ruefully to her companion, a plain, competent woman some twenty years her senior.

  "Ye would travel in January, miss. Ye had a desire to see London. Here it is. No doubt the place has a pleasanter aspect in May," Mrs. Lochmaddy replied, "'Tis gone seven o'clock -- the cold has slowed us."

  "Then the welcome will seem doubly warm. It was kind of the old earl to invite us to reside in his home while we find our bearings."

  "I did think some lady of the household might have written. We could go immediate to an hotel."

  Delia smiled at her attendant's worried comment. "Indeed we might, but my father's old friend was firm in his invitation. We shall do very well here. Come Morag, where is your spirit of adventure?"

  She drew her bonnet's georgette veil across her face as the coach drew to a stop. The coachman pulled open the door and she gathered her fur-lined crimson wool cloak more closely about her. The man's broad face was red with cold, and he had to draw down his muffler to speak.

  "Shall I knock, Miss?" he queried, his Scots burr reassuringly familiar.

  "Yes, Cullen, if you please, and do close the door."

  The coachman obeyed quickly -- the air within the coach was warmer than that without but would not long remain so. Delia peered excitedly from the window, and watched him cross the paving, mount two shallow stairs, and ply the knocker.

  The heavy door was opened by a short, plainly dressed man. Delia glimpsed a dimly candle-lit entry hall. There appeared to be a brief conversation, and the coachman trod back down the stairs.

  He opened the coach door again and spoke as he let down the step.

  "Yon wee man had doots about your arrival, but the housekeeper is within the hall, and she says she expected ye."

  Morag Lochmaddy busied herself gathering up Delia's reticule and her cushions, the baskets and bandboxes -- all the odds and ends of their long journey. Her silence was eloquent comment on the doubtful wisdom of her mistress's impulsive journey.

  Delia entertained no qualms. She stepped down, delighted to be arrived at last. She was well aware that Morag had long thought her inclination to visit London quite mad. She would admit that her choice of the winter season for travel had been questionable, but she regretted nothing at this moment.

  The horses were steaming in the frigid night air, and the groom at their heads looked chilled to the bone. The 'wee man' descended the steps with a stout housemaid, and Delia nodded to them as they took possession of various articles of her baggage. She paused beside her coachman.

  "Cullen, you have been most helpful all journey -- you and Nairn. I thank you. You have earned some rest; I will ensure your accommodation is provided. I am sure the...er...that man will direct you to the mews." The coachman nodded gratefully and mounted his box once more.

  "Come Morag, all will be well," Delia said gaily. She ascended the broad stairs, with the Scotswoman in her wake.

  The entry was now thoroughly illuminated, and as Delia entered, it felt most comfortingly warm after the chill of the coach.

  The earl's housekeeper was a woman of more than middle age, gray-haired and grim-faced. She greeted them reservedly. A footman bore away Delia's crimson cloak immediately, but before she could put back the veil on her feather-trimmed velvet bonnet, and look about her, the housekeeper spoke.

  "I am Inniskip, Miss Tyninghame. The earl is in the library, if you will follow me."

  Delia had been about to introduce Morag Lochmaddy, but she abandoned the attempt and trailed the spare figure of the older woman across the entry, slightly discomposed.

  The housekeeper paused before the door of the bookroom. Delia wondered at her hesitation. She experienced unease as the woman beckoned to Morag, who was supervising the disposal of the trunks.

  "Your maid must come in with you, Miss, and I shall remain, rather than only announce you, if you do not object. The earl may be a little...irritated...by your arrival."

  Delia's slender frame tautened apprehensively.

  "But why? What is amiss? His lordship's letters were welcoming," she faltered. The housekeeper would not meet her worried gaze.

  Morag hurried across the passage, concern and protectiveness merged in her expression.

  The housekeeper had already entered the book-lined chamber. It was but dimly lit by a single branch of candles. Across an expanse of fine India carpet, there was a gentleman seated at a massive walnut desk, a dark haired man who did not lift his head at the opening of the door.

  "What is it, Inniskip?" He seemed to snarl rather than speak. A glittering decanter and an empty goblet stood at his elbow. He plied a quill determinedly.

  "Guests, my lord." The housekeeper seemed to brace herself -- for what reason Delia could not imagine.

  She directed her anxious gaze from the housekeeper's tense, worsted-clad back to the gentleman at the desk. He appeared much younger than she had expected of the fourth earl of Torgreave.

  "Guests? The hell you say." He flung down his quill, and lifted his head.

  Delia drew in a deep, shocked breath, as she stared at his fine-drawn, dissipated face. His features were as familiar to her as her own. She reached for Morag, who was immediately to hand and seemed as dazed as her mistress. They supported each other wordlessly.

  "This is Miss Cordelia Tyninghame, my lord." The housekeeper hurried into explanations, apparently unaware of the distress of the visitors. "She wrote in November to the late earl your father, believing him still to be alive. The late Viscount Tyninghame was a friend of the fourth earl. Miss Tyninghame asked if she could prevail upon that friendship to visit London from Edinburgh for a few weeks, before the Season. Knowing you would not respond to the letter, I did."

  Torgreave replied slowly, only his clenched hands revealing his immediate understanding, and his anger.

  "And you believed I needed company, that this would waken me to the error of my ways and change my life." The fifth earl's face was sardonic. "Damn you Inniskip. Who do you think you are -- my mother?" He corrected himself. "No, you care more for me than my mother ever did. But this is too much -- you have overstepped yourself." He rose, displaying a richly brocaded banyan drawn carelessly over dark pantaloons and a fine lawn shirt. He was above an average height. Though lean to the point of emaciation, he exuded a latent strength.

  "And have our guests no tongues?" he mocked, as he rounded the desk. Delia shra
nk away, imagining a threat in his proximity. "Do Scotswomen not speak in the presence of men -- or has the discovery that your host is not some doddering fool unnerved you? It cannot be that my reputation has traveled to the Athens of the North."

  "Miss Tyninghame deserves your respect, my lord," Morag snapped bravely.

  "God preserve us, another interfering servant," jibed the fifth earl.

  Morag's words gave Delia strength. "My lord," she said, "I have suffered a severe shock. It goes beyond your discourtesy and the discovery that the fourth earl had naught to do with my invitation to London. I beg Mrs. Inniskip will close the door, and that she and Mrs. Lochmaddy remain with us. Morag knows what I am about to reveal. Your astonishment will equal my own."

  "What the devil can you mean?"

  Delia lifted gloved hands to put back her veil.

  "Good God!" he exclaimed. The housekeeper gasped as she saw Miss Tyninghame's face.

  No blemish or deformity caused their dismayed response. On the contrary, her countenance would always be described as beautiful. But what had shocked Delia and her companion silenced the gentleman and left Mrs. Inniskip speechless.

  Even in the dim light of just six wax candles, Miss Cordelia Tyninghame and the fifth earl of Torgreave looked enough alike to be brother and sister.

  The abundant darkness of her black hair crowded within her gray velvet bonnet was matched by his own thick, disordered raven locks. The brilliant blue of his eyes was repeated in the sapphire of hers, and their straight black brows were mimicked each by the other. There were dissimilarities -- their noses declared some divergence in heritage. His jaw was uncompromisingly square, hers was not. Her skin was silken smooth where his was creased and lined by harsh emotion and dissipation. Nevertheless, the likeness was remarkable and would always attract attention and comment.

  The housekeeper was the first to speak, in a hushed frightened tone. "Had I known of this I never, ever would have interfered. How can it be?" She shook her gray head with her pale eyes wide. "As you thought, my lord, I sought only to draw you from self- serving lethargy. I had no notion that Miss Tyninghame from Scotland could, could -- ." Words failed her.

  Morag Lochmaddy said, "May my mistress sit and warm herself? Despite the problem before us, we have had a long and cold journey, and would welcome refreshment."

  The earl and Miss Tyninghame were silent, powerless to move and apparently unable to refrain from examining each other's face.

  With obvious effort, Mrs.Inniskip recovered a stern calm. "Mrs....ah...Lochmaddy has the right of it, my lord, and the drawing room is warmer. If you will, Miss Tyninghame?"

  The earl spoke suddenly, without taking his eyes from Delia's pallid face. "You deserve I should turn you off, Inniskip."

  The housekeeper blenched but waited silently for him to continue.

  "However, I cannot. Have Bowland bring refreshment to the drawing room. Miss Tyninghame, may I escort you upstairs? Do you wish to remove your bonnet? I assume you will stay and discuss with me this extraordinary coincidence?"

  Delia finally found her tongue and some degree of control. She shivered, and not, she thought, from cold.

  "I see no alternative, my lord." She untied her bonnet and handed it to Morag. "I cannot like Mrs. Inniskip's deception. If we did not appear to be siblings, I should remove from your home immediately. I feel now I must not leave until we discuss this resemblance."

  As the older women moved to depart, the earl snapped over his shoulder at his housekeeper, "I assume you have prepared chambers for 'our' guests. Take this woman," he indicated Mrs. Lochmaddy,"to them. I will have no discussion of this coincidence, Inniskip, by any of the staff. If word goes beyond this house, be assured I will turn you off."

  Wooden-faced the housekeeper dropped a curtsey. She led the Scotswoman to the entry hall.

  The earl offered his arm to Delia, and with reluctance she placed her gloved fingertips upon it. In silence, they crossed to the door, traversed the passage and climbed the broad stairs to the first floor. They entered an immaculate, elegant drawing room. Unlike the bookroom, it was well lit with candles in every sconce and stick.

  Delia accepted a tall, winged chair before the flaring fire with relief. She could not imagine that her resemblance to the earl was coincidental. It was too complete, too significant. But if it was not coincidental, it indicated that they were related. If they were related, they were half siblings. And if they were half siblings, at least two of their four parents had been living a lie.

  She wished with all her heart that she had not left Edinburgh. Her life-long happy confidence had been utterly destroyed in an instant.

  Her shivers were replaced with trembling. With a muttered curse, the earl poured a glass of wine from a tray of decanters and thrust it into her hand. She drank it off, sensing that he would not move away from her chair until she had done so. When she set the glass down, the earl seated himself across a Pembroke table from her. Unwillingly enthralled by the sight of her own face cast in masculine form, she stared at him.

  At length she broke the silence. "I am at a loss, my lord. I must suppose you to be unfamiliar with my family, as you did not read my initial letter. I assure you your father and mine were friends. My father often spoke of the fourth earl. I believe they traveled on the Continent together in the '80s. I was born in and have passed all my life in Scotland. Last month as I approached my twenty-second birthday, I conceived a desire to travel a little. Having no other acquaintance in London I wrote, I thought, to your father. I hoped I might call upon him if I visited the metropolis. He responded, at least so I supposed, almost at once. He said I would be most welcome to reside here until I chose an hotel. There was some indication of other family members, ladies, who would be of assistance -- I cannot precisely remember..."

  She searched Torgreave's ravaged, fine-drawn face for some indication of his emotions and saw only anger. She added, half fearfully. "Why should your housekeeper do this?"

  "For the most misguided and, I suppose, goodhearted reasons." His frown lightened only a little and he stared into the fire. Some of the harshness drained from his voice, and revealed its deep tones to be curiously mellow. "She was my nurse in infancy, and became my housekeeper when I set up my own establishment. She has disliked the path I have chosen. I surmise she saw your letter as an opportunity to change my way or at the least to shock me into thought." He seemed ill disposed to reveal any more about his life. "I have never heard the name Tyninghame before. I would have said that my family has no connection in Scotland whatsoever." He lifted his head to stare directly into her wide sapphirine eyes. "So it entirely escapes me why we, separated by half a country, and with no knowledge of each other, should look so much alike."

  "To my certain knowledge, our fathers corresponded, though you knew nothing of it. But my parents never left Scotland after their marriage in 1794," Delia offered.

  "To my knowledge, the earl and countess never went further north than Leicestershire from London after their betrothal in '85," he countered.

  "Were your parents happily wed?"

  "As much as any couple I suppose." He shrugged. "And yours?"

  "I believed them to care deeply for each other, and our family."

  "Then someone was living a lie -- probably two people." His frown deepened.

  "I find it disconcerting -- nay, distressing -- to look at you and see myself," Delia admitted. "I don't even know your name."

  "Rupert Deverall Manningford." He brushed her query aside. "I will admit to discomfort at seeing an image of myself seated across from me. Though you must be accredited a beauty in Edinburgh society."

  She coloured. "You were -- could be -- very handsome."

  He grinned wickedly. It was the first smile she had seen on his countenance and it was not one she cared for.

  "I was as beautiful as you, in my salad days. I am still accounted highly presentable by most ladies. I am a debauched, discredited rake; you had as well be warned."

&
nbsp; She was appalled into silence and wondered if he spoke the truth. Debauchery would explain the devastation of his handsome features, but she could not decide on his honesty.

  There was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Inniskip and Morag Lochmaddy entered. One carried a tray of food, the other a tea tray.

  Delia responded to a querying look from her maid. "I have rallied, thank you, Morag." She continued, attempting to attain a degree of normality. "The earl and I must explore this strange coincidence. You and I will be staying. If possible I would have you attend in my bedchamber. If a bed could be placed in the dressing room perhaps, Mrs. Inniskip?" She offered a small smile to the dour housekeeper, "I am sure you will see that my coachman is lodged suitably."

  The housekeeper responded apparently approving of Delia's returning self- possession. "Bowland has seen to your groom and coachman, Miss, already."

  "Bowland?"

  "My valet." Torgreave nodded at the two women. "We will ring when we require you again.".

  "Thank you." Delia softened the dismissal, and began to brew the tea.

  The earl apparently intended to ignore the tea, for he poured himself a glass of Madeira from the crystal decanter. "We must be brother and sister," he declared.

  Delia flushed.

  He continued, "But I cannot understand how that is possible."

  "Perhaps I should return to Edinburgh -- we will pretend we have not met and endeavour to forget the whole matter. It cannot make a difference after all. It does not interfere with your inheritance, or mine." Delia lifted a delicate china cup and found her slim hands shaking again.

  "Is that what you wish?" He lounged in his chair, booted feet stretched to the fire, his posture contradicted by the tension in his long legs.

  "It is devoutly what I wish," she assured him. She chose a cake from the plate on the table, and bit into it hungrily. After a moment's reflection she added, "But I am not of a nature that will permit me to choose that path. I must know why we appear to be of the same lineage, when to my knowledge my family has never strayed south of the Borders."