The Rake's Reflection Read online

  "I did not mean it so," she said. He had deliberately misunderstood her words. "I have my charities, I work for them. And I study the pianoforte, and Greek, and...and things."

  "I meant no insult." His ravaged face lightened in intensity. "But you must see that there is little of benefit that you can do at this moment. And I merely spoke of something I thought you enjoyed to do. You have undoubted skill with your needle."

  "You would be an uncomfortable sibling," she said. She had said it also a few days previously, and meant it most sincerely. Her head was spinning with contradictions.

  "I hope at least to prove that I am not your brother," he ground out. He rose. "I will not be in to supper."

  "Ever the rake?" she queried sweetly acid.

  He paused, half way to the door, and looked back. "Always," he said. "Take care, your tongue is become as sharp as mine."

  ***

  The cold grew more intense over the next days. Like some great primeval creature it held London in its icy grip. Frost glittered in errant sunbeams that escaped through strands of billowing smoke. It snowed with great flakes that delighted even the most pinched of young crossing sweepers. Stocks of wood and coal were quickly bought up. Roasted potatoes and chestnuts sold briskly in the streets. Despite the hardship that the weather undoubtedly brought, there was an atmosphere of carnival about the city.

  The earl noted it. It was at variance with his own grim mood. He proceeded to investigate his father's past. He spoke with aged gentlemen in White's and Boodle's. Some regarded him with suspicion, some with nostalgia, a few with surprise at his discreet, casual inquiries. He took to attending at the House of Lords, though not so often as to cause sensation. Between sessions, he queried those who had been his father's friends. He returned to Grosvenor Street always weary. It occurred to him that sobriety and earnestness caused him to feel more fatigued than ever gaiety had.

  Delia was the reason for his efforts. She was his one comfort. Her residence and her activities in his elegant townhouse seemed unaccountably to make it a home. She was seldom without her needlework or a book in her hand. She was of a disorderly nature, so both appeared randomly, occupying chairs and tables in the drawing room, the morning room and even the dining room. The shelves of the library showed signs of disarray. Her letter writing left discarded quills and paper in her wake. Often she hummed a snatch of song as she moved from room to room. Occasionally a delicate scent of tuberose hung in the air after she had passed by. Inescapably Torgreave was conscious of her presence. He came gradually to doubt whether he wished to clarify the mystery surrounding their relationship. He began to wish only to discover whatever would require her to remain in his home another week or another month.

  Delia found herself equally conscious of his propinquity, with less joy. He was an unhappy man, she thought emotionally, haunted by his past decisions and mistakes. "I find myself wishing upon occasion that I may be his sister," she confided to Morag Lochmaddy one evening as they sat together in the drawing room. "I could perhaps make him more comfortable, assist him to seek more joy in life."

  "Ye cannot reform a rake," her companion said.

  "Surely he cannot be so very bad." Delia selected a primrose silk and threaded her needle, after drawing a lamp closer. "We have seen little evidence of it. He lives quietly enough."

  "We have seen little of him, these past days," Morag pointed out dourly. "The Good Lord alone knows where he goes. Mrs. Inniskip has told me tales of revelries here... Well, I would not relate them to you. She has had to lock the maids in their rooms to protect them, and has taken the precaution to lock herself in as well."

  Delia was momentarily silent. "I will not believe such gossip and you must not encourage her to discuss his lordship," she said. She wondered at her own vehemence.

  Her companion accepted the reproof with a grim nod and lapsed into silence. It was broken moments later when the object of their disagreement strolled in.

  "You may leave us," Delia instructed her companion. Morag gathered her things, and with only a slight bow to the earl, departed.

  He looked after her in sardonic amusement.

  Delia observed him covertly. He wore evening dress, the dark cloth and white linen accentuating his striking colouring. There was a blazing sapphire in his neckcloth mimicking the colour of his eyes.

  "I had thought she had begun to like me," he observed. He turned back to Delia, who smiled at him with lifted brows.

  "She likes you very well. You have charmed her. But she does not trust you."

  "I cannot suppose there is anyone save Bowland, who does," he said unemotionally. He dropped, with a tired sigh, into a chair near the fire.

  Delia noted with concern that he seemed always weary.

  "She does not believe that siblings may be alone together?" he added idly.

  "She does, of course. But she will not feel comfortable until she has seen proof that we are siblings."

  "Perhaps she is right." He reached out a long hand, and took hers from her needlework. "She has need to be careful with such beauty."

  Her slim fingers trembled ever so slightly in his before she withdrew them. She bent her head until her luxuriant black curls concealed her face from him. She wondered if she imagined a light touch upon them.

  "You may reserve your charm for those who appreciate it. A sister does not," she said. Her manner was determinedly bright and calm. "What I would appreciate is some diversion. I am without news to write to Edinburgh, and am accustomed to be abroad more than I have been these past days. Morag and I ventured once out to the shops." She looked up then, and met his gaze with candour and with humour. "I have a number of attractive veils, and some pretty bonnets. I solemnly promise to conceal my face, but do pray accompany me out!"

  Rare amusement lightened his face. He said, "In truth, you have seen but little of London, which was after all your only reason for traveling south. Perhaps we could to some degree remedy the matter. I might escort you wherever your veil would not occasion comment. Not to the opera or theatre, but surely to Bond Street, the Tower, or the Egyptian House. I regret I did not myself think of it."

  Delia said, "I have seen in the newspaper that the Thames is frozen quite solid. There is talk that a Fair may be held upon the ice. I should like to see it. And I have heard from Bowland that people are skating. I enjoy that of all things."

  The earl looked startled. "A Frost Fair. You would wish to attend?"

  "Oh come, you must not be high in the instep," she laughed at his expression. "Do you know I was used to imagine a libertine would be the most merry and lighthearted of persons? He has after all no sense of what is right and proper. You have corrected my impression."

  He laughed but without real humour. "I was used to imbibe freely so to be merry and light-hearted. Shall I begin again?"

  "No indeed," she responded, aware of the ring of truth in his words. "Do let us shall go to the Fair tomorrow though."

  ***

  The cold was too intense for an open carriage the next day. The coach was ordered for eleven o'clock. Delia donned her fur-lined cloak as well as her warmest pelisse. She noted with approval the earl's many-caped drab olive greatcoat.

  "You gentlemen have a great advantage in your tall Hessians," she said. Morag assisted her to wrap a veil about her blue velvet bonnet.

  "And wool stockings as opposed to silk," he mocked, accepting his beaver from Bowland.

  "I have worn my stoutest boots," she protested. She displayed the elegant leather laced about her trim ankle.

  "But lace stockings, I see," he teased.

  She blushed as she dropped her ruched skirt.

  "You should have your muffler, my lord," Mrs. Lochmaddy said. She held out the finely knit woolen.

  "Should I?" he queried. "I thank you for your concern." He accepted the scarf, and tossed it casually about his strong neck.

  Morag flushed to the roots of her ginger hair.

  When Bowland had closed the door behind them, Deli
a said, "That was too bad of you."

  They stepped into the coach and he settled opposite her. "What was too bad of me?" he queried.

  "Bewitching poor Morag." She wavered between amusement and annoyance. "I suppose you scarce note it, it comes so naturally to you."

  "Not at all," he commented, relaxed in her company. "I have to concentrate to be charming. I need Mrs. Lochmaddy as an ally. It is worth any sacrifice." He shrugged, and added, "I have directed Cullen to Blackfriars Bridge, he will leave us for two hours and retrieve us at London Bridge."

  Delia peered from the window of the coach with an excess of curiosity. The streets from Mayfair to Fleet Street were uncommonly quiet. The poor crowded around makeshift fires, bundled in layers of rags. The few wealthy that were abroad were wrapped in furs. The contrast caught at her heart as always. She hoped the poor had a place where they could obtain hot food. She resolved to query by post her friend, Jane Whitborn, if their soup kitchen in Edinburgh had sufficient reserves. She realized with regret that her new concerns had drawn her attention from her long-standing involvements,

  Near the Thames existed a bustle of activity. The coachman left Fleet Street and pressed through the traffic on New Bridge Street toward Blackfriars Bridge. Delia was distracted from her preoccupation by the slowing of the carriage. It was surrounded by hawkers and barrows, pedestrians, coaches and horsemen. A jangle of voices, shouting, calling and swearing, beat against the carriage doors. When they drew up, Torgreave stepped down, and handed Delia from the coach.

  They approached the stairs that led to the river, and the sight spread before them was remarkable. The great river was completely frozen from bank to bank, and as far as they could see towards London Bridge, with rough, icy folds. The couple descended the icy steps with care, Torgreave going before and Delia clinging to his extended hand. At the bottom, a waterman desperate for income charged the earl a toll to enter the fair. Delia saw a crown change hands and the waterman beamed.

  They reached the river's edge and paused in astonishment near a barge frozen into the river. People thronged the rough ice which was crowded with booths and entertainments. Roughly dressed folk were dancing to the music of fiddles on the decks of some vessels that were frozen into the ice. Oyster-wenches called to the earl, and a stall holder offered him a go at skittles. Torgreave seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of ha'pennies in the pocket of his greatcoat. He handed them out freely but refused most of the goods offered in return. It was a nonchalant charity, easily offered, easily accepted. He did take a broadside printed before their eyes on a press which threatened the ice's stability. The paper offered a crude view of the scene before them. The earl presented it to Delia with a quirk of his brow.

  They wandered down 'City Road' toward London Bridge. Delia stared up at the City which seemed to hang above them anchored by the dome of St. Paul's in a cold, steel- gray sky. They examined the cheap wares the stalls and barrows displayed for sale. There were toys, and books, even chalkware ornaments, all bearing the words, 'bought on the Thames'. The smell of warm gingerbread teased Delia's cold nose. She followed the scent, ignoring all others, with Torgreave in tow. When she located the gingerbread seller, she purchased two sizable pieces with his pennies.

  "Come let's eat it. It will warm us," she urged Rupert. She loosed and drew aside her veil to consume her share, after ensuring that they were surrounded by only those of lower classes. There were just a few fashionable folk abroad so early in the day. No one paid them any heed; all were intent on the wonders of the Fair. Across the 'road' squatted a tent selling spirits. Raucous laughter spilled from it.

  Oblivious to their surroundings, Delia reached out and pulled the earl's muffler closer about his ears. Their gazes met and tangled.

  "Are you warm enough?" he queried. Concern echoed in his voice. He reached out to touch her rosy cheek then pulled away before doing so. He redirected his gaze with visible control.

  "Yes, but for my feet." Delia managed a whisper.

  "We shall attend at the shops, some time soon," he declared with a false jollity. "We will purchase you some woolen stockings. I believe I know where some may be got."

  "You know where ladies' stockings may be purchased?" She shook her head, matching his change in manner. "I could wish you did not, you shocking creature."

  As she readjusted her veil, she spied a look on his face she could not decipher. She almost thought it was regret, but it was quickly concealed.

  "Do let's walk on." He stamped his booted feet, and drew her gloved hand through his crooked arm.

  "It was delightful," she confided to Morag later in the day. She handed the broadside to her companion. "See, this is a passable representation. We walked the length of this road. It was rough in places, but serviceable. The ice was very dirty, all manner of things frozen in it. The water must be very unpleasant.

  "There even were swingboats though we did not approach them. Torgreave said they must surely overburden the strength of the ice." She opened a small, paperbound parcel. "And he bought me this." She withdrew a crudely carved wooden doll, with a pretty painted face and a gay calico gown. "Note the tag?"

  Morag took a cursory glance at the toy. "Aye, well, your feet feel near frozen. Sit you down." Her attendant wrapped the offended appendages in a warm blanket near the bedroom fire.

  "It was worth it. It was lovely to be out, and to hear Rupert laugh so freely." Delia sat the little doll on a nearby table. "Do you notice the novelty of being in a masculine household, Morag? I do. His heavy tread on the stairs and his deep voice in the passage sometimes startle me. And the scent of leather boots and beaver hats mingles with the smell of polish and coal fires. I encountered Bowland in the upper passage yesterday with his arm draped over with fresh neckcloths. He was mortified. I do think it might be delightful to have brothers."

  "I had six. They were naught but nuisance," her companion grumbled. "As for Bowland, he was asking me about starch for those neckcloths. He enjoys the activity in the house, I've no doubt, the busy wee man."

  Delia laughed gaily, then grimaced. "My feet do sting. Why do I not have any woolen stockings, Morag?"

  "Because ye have always previously been wise enough to stay within doors in the bitter cold in Edinburgh. Ye've not needed them."

  "Well Rupert is determined I shall have some." A tiny smile curved her generous mouth. "I do think today was the first time he has truly relaxed since we met. He enjoyed himself at the Fair." She thought over the matter. "He has said he was used to imbibe immoderately."

  "Mrs. Inniskip will confirm that."

  "I believe he had made the decision for change, before ever we appeared."

  "We should go home, home to Edinburgh now, tomorrow," Morag suggested suddenly.

  Delia surveyed her plain, intent face in surprise. Her own secret smile lingered. "Why? Because Rupert has charmed and teased you?" she queried.

  "No!" exclaimed Morag. "Because he is in a fair way to charming you, and if he be your brother, that is truly immoral. I am fair torn with indecision these days. If you are siblings I may, I suppose, safely leave you unattended in his company. But if you are not siblings, then you must surely not be left alone with him, because of his iniquitous attentions. They are those of a rake indeed."

  "Enough," Delia interrupted with rare temper. Her pleasure in the day was destroyed. "We will not be leaving tomorrow or in the foreseeable future. Now I wish to be undisturbed." She picked up her book deliberately.

  Morag Lochmaddy, tight-lipped, retired from the chamber.

  ***

  Her companion's words troubled Delia greatly over the next days. She worried over them in solitude when Torgreave was abroad. She examined them as she strolled the library one cold afternoon, searching out a book with which to distract her thoughts.

  True to his word, the earl had escorted her to each of the places he had suggested, and had organized further outings. Delia, because of Morag's strictures, had striven to reestablish formality in their dea
lings. It was difficult to do, for she was more in his company. She had developed a concern for the unhappy man she had discovered behind his reserve and elegance. She felt for his weariness. As she enjoyed his society, she had more than once to remind herself that she scarcely knew him. Certainly any feeling of charity must be engendered by their similarity. She reassured herself that her behaviour had been no more than sisterly. Surely her feelings were only familial. His sentiments she could not determine, but his 'iniquitous' attentions must, she felt certain, be figments of Mrs. Lochmaddy's imagination.

  She idly spun the orrery which sat on the central library table, then firmly put her thoughts aside. Crossing to the shelves, she selected a book at random, and took it to the blazing fire for consideration. A nasty north wind rattled the windows and she drew her Paisley shawl more closely about her.

  There was a commotion in the passage, laughter and the sound of booted feet. Delia lifted her head. Deep masculine voices sounded, distant then suddenly nearer. The door burst open.

  "Out of the way, man, we'll announce ourselves."

  She rose and turned to see Bowland following three gentlemen into the room. "I am sorry, Miss Tyninghame. I could not..."

  "Good God!" burst from one of the gentlemen.

  "It is alright, Bowland, you may go," she said. She waved off his further attempt at expostulation. "Send Mrs. Lochmaddy to me if you please." She calmly surveyed the gentlemen staring at her.

  Two were in uniform; one in elegant day attire. The tallest was a massive gentleman with guileless grey eyes, just now full of astonishment. The others were much of a height, one slender and chestnut-haired, the other a compact amalgam of muscle and energy with a shock of red hair.

  "Our humble apologies," the slender gentleman spoke. "We assumed Torgreave -- the earl -- was at home. We are his friends."

  "And most heartily embarrassed at bursting in upon you." The giant spoke in earnest concern. "I am Major Gideon Rhyle. May I introduce the Honourable Hugh Taunton," this was the slender gentleman, who bowed deeply. "And Captain Sir Egon Finglas," he indicated the other uniformed gentleman.