The Rake's Reflection Page 2
"I have a brother who does not appear so much like me as do you," he commented. He refused a cake as she offered the plate.
She paused in drinking her tea. "And does he too reside here?"
"He does not." There was a note of finality in the earl's rich voice, and she did not question further.
"I believed I had no siblings alive." There was sorrow in her tone. "I had once both a brother and a sister."
He said, with a shade of kindness in his voice, "We must be of close relationship to be so similar. Perhaps half-siblings. It is impossible that you are a child of my parents, given away, or I the child of yours. We must not share two parents, but one."
"But I favour both my parents. My father had black hair, and my mother blue eyes," she interpolated.
He paid no heed but continued his line of thought. "'Tis unlikely we might claim the same mother. Therefore we might share a father. Was it yours or mine that wandered, do you suppose? Could one of these friends have cuckolded the other? Would your father have come to Leicestershire in 1784 to visit and got me upon his friend's wife?"
Delia gave a croak of distress.
He disregarded her. "Or was it my father? My lady mother died on the birth of my brother. He is older than you. I wonder did my father travel to Scotland, perhaps in '94? The most likely event is that my father met your mother after her marriage to his friend."
"My mother..." stammered Delia, her throat closing unhappily. It caused her to choke a little on another cake.
His grin was almost a leer. "Are you a properly virginal young lady with no knowledge of human weakness or how children are conceived in this world?"
She cast him a fiery glance that held her answer.
"Well, consider then -- can there be another solution?"
"Some other family connection?" she offered uncertainly. "My parents...they appeared contentedly wed. My mother died two years ago, my father some years earlier."
There might have been a gleam of sympathy in his blue eyes, so like her own, but he said brusquely, "It will require some adjustment -- no, a great deal of adjustment -- this discovery. If it is difficult for you to accept your mother's frailty, consider me." He barked a laugh. "I cannot feature my father adventuring, for he painted himself impeccably virtuous. I only wish he were alive so I might cast it up to him."
This last was said with such obvious ill will that Delia was shocked. She looked past the resemblance to herself in his face, and discovered that the man she saw was of a sort unfamiliar to her. A rake, she realized and, she fancied, distasteful to her. She rose stiffly.
"I will retire if you will excuse me. I feel quite exhausted by this evening's revelations."
He rose to his feet and bowed, the barbaric banyan swirling about him. He crossed to the door to have her companion, Morag, summoned but she was just outside. Torgreave turned back to Delia.
"Good night," was all he said, his fine ravaged features congealed by coldness. She murmured what was proper and moved to the door. Looking back briefly she saw him stand before the fire, staring broodingly into its heart, and she shivered.
Neither she nor Morag spoke until they reached the comfort of their chambers. The rooms were very comfortable. They were expensively furnished in old walnut and new mahogany, with silk hung in panels of yellow and green on the walls. A bright fire burned in the substantial grate. Delia sank down wearily on the soft bed and stared at her ginger-haired attendant.
"I had only a desire for a little travel. Was it so very dreadful?" she questioned. "I feel as though I have been punished for it. My world is turned upside down."
"Not dreadful but foolish and unnecessary," Morag stated trenchantly, "That's certain. You being a toast of Edinburgh society and all. Ye could have knocked me down with a feather when his lordship lifted his head."
"And I," Delia agreed, removing with Morag's assistance her blue merino traveling gown. "For a moment I thought I must faint, and I am sure I never have in my life. And what was his housekeeper about to deceive me, and him, by her letter?" She stood in her shift, staring sightlessly at the flowered carpet.
Morag slipped a beribboned robe over Delia's shoulders and urged her to sit to have her hair unpinned and her earrings removed.
"As to that, Mrs. Inniskip is a good enough woman. And he by all accounts is a rogue. He was her nursling and she's fond of him. He's gone a bad road these last eight or nine years. She'd no thought, but that a new face or a shock might benefit him. That it's a shock we'll none of us get over, she cannot credit. She's a close mouthed soul I think, in ordinary times, but she confided in me, being shaken as she is."
"Did she say anything else?" Delia crept wearily into the broad bed after donning her nightdress. She found a desire in herself to remain there indefinitely.
"Naught but that she's glad you must be sister and brother, for otherwise she would not trust him, him being a rake, and you so very lovely." Morag tidied the room deftly and drew the bed curtains.
"We cannot be brother and sister," Delia said half to herself, "I cannot like him. I cannot believe it of my mother."
She choked back a sob and questioned, "Is your comfort assured? And that of Cullen?"
"Aye, that wee man Bowland has seen to it all. I am within your call," the older woman answered.
"I will not claim him for brother," Delia said softly but firmly.
***
Delia rose late in the next morning feeling rested, for despite her belief that she would not sleep, she had, deeply. Morag preserved her customary silence as she dressed her mistress. Delia chose her blue striped gown and deeply fringed Norwich shawl carelessly, but Morag took care with her mistress' appearance, and extra time with her heavy raven-silk hair.
Delia's composure had returned to such a degree that, as she descended the stairs, she could reflect on the decoration and furnishings of the earl's comfortable townhouse. It held nothing that was not in the newest and most luxurious style, yet it had an air of unappreciated coldness.
The man, Bowland, was in the lower hall, and he gave her a polite bow as he opened the door of the dining chamber for her entry. She slipped in, her face turned from him.
The earl was beginning his meal as she entered. He rose and regarded her keenly.
She said composedly, "Good morning, my lord. Pray continue your breakfast."
"Thank you, Cordelia." His voice was as rich as the Devon cream before them on the table. She had not been mistaken in her impression the previous evening.
"You had as well call me Rupert," he continued. "There will be no keeping distance with this resemblance."
In the act of serving herself from a dish of buttered eggs, Delia considered that and found she agreed.
"Very well, Rupert," she said calmly, "you may make free of my name. I am known as Delia. I admit no connection between us as yet."
"Coincidence is it, our likeness?" he commented ironically. "Such scepticism may aid our inquiries, I suppose."
They ate in silence. Delia had a good appetite. The earl ate sparingly, she noted. He was without the barbaric banyan this morning, yet still did not wear a coat. His full sleeved shirt, damask waistcoat, and buff pantaloons displayed his physique. Despite his leaness, he showed a strong leg and shoulder.
"My servants may be trusted with our secret," he said minutes later. "They know better than to speak of my affairs. What of yours?"
"My servants respect privacy and are very loyal; there is naught to fear from them. Morag is more than my maid. She is frequently my companion, and always my friend." She lifted her eyes to discover him contemplating her, and she coloured uncomfortably.
"There is no point in not looking at each other," he commented. "The similarities will not go away, and the more one reflects the more differences one sees."
Delia searched his face then for the first time that day. "What age are you?" she asked. Curiosity was ever her besetting sin.
"Nine and twenty."
"You look older."
"You would be an uncomfortable sibling." Delia had finished her breakfast and rose, as did he.
"My brother has always found me so," he agreed bitterly.
He rounded the table to stand before her. Involuntarily, Delia took a step back. She was of medium height. He was several inches taller. Despite his leanness, he gave an impression of strength that unnerved her.
He appeared not to notice her action.
"You had best wear a veil if you desire to go abroad," he stated. "We shall not wish to make explanations before we know them."
"I agree, but I shall not go out today. London's charms hold little appeal for me in light of what has happened. I have letters to write."
She moved to the window to stare into the busy frosty street below.
"And what shall you say? Who have you left behind you?"
He was watching her again. She could see his dark reflection in the window glass. She drew her fine woolen shawl protectively around her.
"I live with a dear aunt, my mother's sister, and I have a host of relatives on my father's side." She faltered over the word 'father'. "I will tell them of my arrival and little else. It would be impossible to explain this..." She gestured with a slender hand at his face and her own. "...on paper. Oh, and I shall not be a charge on you though I shall want your frank. You may wish to know I am a considerable heiress, though my...Lord Tyninghame's land was entailed to a male heir."
He paced restlessly to the end of the room and returned to stand at the window beside her. "How have you reached two and twenty without marriage? And what did you hope to accomplish with this visit?"
She responded before she realized that she owed him no explanation. "I have found no gentleman whom I thought might improve my happiness. My only thought in traveling south was to see the sights of countryside and road and visit the wonders of London."
"In January?"
"You know the roads are best now, if one may avoid snow, and I did not regard the cold. I did not wish to miss celebration of Hogmanay at home or the delights of spring. I have no interest in the London Season. I have all that society can provide in Edinburgh. Summer, I hear, is unbearable in this city, and autumn -- ah, the shooting parties at home. That is why I came in winter," she said vexed to discover herself explaining again.
It was chill by the window and she crossed the room to the fire.
"I thought the fourth earl was an elderly man possibly with daughters or granddaughters with whom I might go about. The letters hinted at it," she added staring at the fire's yellow flames.
"Alas for your innocent hopes."
He was mocking again, and Delia detested him at that moment.
He continued to pace the chamber, apparently aware that she disliked to have him near her.
"We should go into Leicestershire," he said suddenly.
She swung about to stare at him. "Why, in the name of heaven?"
"There may be answers to be had from my brother who resides there. Or perhaps Manningford Tower, my family's seat, holds a clue. We must begin our inquiries somewhere, and Manningford is closer than Edinburgh." He frowned. "I have also an uncle who might be of help, but he is traveling abroad."
"I...inquiries in Edinburgh?" she stammered. "My aunt...oh surely my aunt would not have kept such secrets from me."
He disregarded the interpolation. "Do I understand you traveled in your own coach, with your own coachman?"
She nodded and turned back to the fire.
"We will have need of them if we set out together in this cold. I keep no such, for I always drive myself. I would not travel post, with hired help, in this situation." He stopped his pacing beside her and interrupted himself. "You are a woman of few words. That, in my experience, is unusual. Do you agree with these plans of mine?"
"Few words does not indicate few ideas," she countered. "But yes I do agree, though I regret the necessity for further travel. I should like a few days for rest and reflection, before we depart."
He nodded, and she wondered if he was understanding or indifferent.
She added, "I shall be glad of Cullen's assistance. He is my aunt's coachman. And wherever we travel, Morag Lochmaddy must attend me."
"Very well."
They stared at each other once more. She did not this time flinch from his examination.
"It will be a difficult journey," he said.
There was a depth to his words that she could not understand.
***
The Earl of Torgreave saw little of his guest over the next two days. He was acutely aware of her presence. There was a workbasket spilling silks in the drawing room, and the writing desk showed signs of use. He heard her light step above stairs, and her melodic voice in the quiet of the late evening. She took meals in her chamber, so there was no doubt that she was avoiding him. He inquired after her health when he encountered the maid, Morag Lochmaddy, in the upstairs passage one morning. He received gruff assurances that indicated to him that neither maid nor mistress liked or trusted him.
He did not care. But he hoped Miss Tyninghame's reflections gave her more peace than his gave him. He found himself by turns angry, worried, intrigued and disgusted. He could not reconcile his feelings over the appearance of this new sibling.
If she was a sibling, he brooded, in his library one frost-bitten morning. He sat before the fire with a book on his knee and a table by his side. He stretched out his hand for the decanter that usually stood at his elbow. He withdrew it immediately, for the decanter was not there.
He had recently developed a distaste for the wine-sodden haze in which he had conducted much of his life for the past four years. In fact, in the past six months he had made many decisions concerning his future. He had thought as recently as three days since that his life was in order for the first time in a decade. Now this woman -- this lovely young woman with his face -- had put all his plans in jeopardy.
He stretched his long legs to the fire. Bowland opened the door abruptly. Torgreave shifted and turned in irritation.
"Major Rhyle, my lord, is come," the valet announced. He returned his master's unfriendly stare stoically.
"And will not be denied," boomed a massively built, fair-haired man on the threshold. Bowland bowed with dignity, assured the major of his welcome and departed.
The earl waved his uniformed friend to a substantial chair and said nothing.
Major Gideon Rhyle, of the 11th Dragoons, assigned to the Depot of Military Knowledge, held his hands to the fire. "Demmed cold out there. Colder than an opera dancer's heart. And where have you been these past two weeks? Drinking yourself into a stupor now Boney's beat and your work is over? Or has Bowland hid the brandy?"
"Damn you for a light-hearted fool, Gideon," Torgreave responded. "I swear you'd jest if you froze to death. The brandy is on the desk."
"You're sober," the major marveled. "Come to think on it, you have been sober the greater part of the last six months. And demmed little pleasure you seem to derive from it. You're more solemn than a Chapel preacher."
The earl, who would not have entertained these strictures from anyone else, laughed, albeit with a bitter note.
"You shall have to accustom yourself, my friend." He rose to his feet, stretching. He poured Rhyle a glass of wine. He did not take one himself. "I am set on a new course."
The major accepted the glass. He searched the earl's face with a sudden, surprisingly keen look.
"You are serious, Rupert? What's to do?"
"The war is over. It is a new world for everyone, including me. I am going into Leicestershire tomorrow."
"Manningford?" the major frowned. "You swore never to set foot in it again."
"I think that was a mistake." Torgreave could be candid with his old friend. "My father's ghost is no longer there."
"And Charles?"
"I hope to be reconciled."
"He was a
fool." The major's words were harsh, but not condemnatory.
"He was young and grieving. He is my brother."
"Aye, well, I can see you've been thinking. First time you've done that these seven years."
Rhyle's words surprised a crack of laughter from his host. "You could be right," the earl admitted.
The major tossed back his wine and heaved himself from his chair. "Short visit. I only came to see how you went on. Looked for you at Watier's, the opera, and that place near Birdcage Walk. No one had seen you this age."
"I am touched you were worried." Torgreave allowed acid mockery to tinge his words.
"Don't come the nasty with me, my lad," the major reproved him. He entered the passage. "Not if you are turning over a new leaf."
"Old friends cannot be deceived," the earl agreed, relenting, "but they are appreciated." He shook his friend's hand warmly.
At that moment, a female voice echoed unintelligibly from above stairs.
The major had picked up his shako, but paused and shot his friend another of those disconcertingly keen looks. "That was not a maidservant," he observed, moving to the door.
Torgreave strove to appear unconcerned. "A new leaf, Gideon, you said it. I have female relatives staying. Nothing more dramatic."
"Aye, tis a good enough tale. Except that you have no female relatives." The major peered up the stairs, but no one was visible.
Torgreave glowered at his friend.
Rhyle grinned. "Aye, well, we shall look to see you on your return from the country."
"I shall report," the earl said, gently mocking.
With a brisk nod, the major departed.
***
Delia, in response to a request from the earl, joined him in the paneled dining room for dinner that evening. She had purposely avoided him in the days since her arrival, the better to consider the shocking change in her circumstances without his disturbing countenance and presence. She had found solitary reflection fruitless, however, and discussion with Morag Lochmaddy equally so. Although she had shed many tears, she had found no answers, arrived at no decisions. She came to dinner, therefore, with a reluctant hope that the earl might have solutions to offer.