The Notorious Lord Page 27

  The flood waters receded slowly. Sir Arthur sat in the library and wrote articles for the Antiquarian Review and Lady Odell cleaned and packaged the finds ready for exhibition. Rachel worked her fingers to the bone to help. She went shopping with Mrs Stratton and Lady Marney in Woodbridge, went driving with Lord Richard Kestrel and refused an offer of marriage from Caspar Lang. She dragged herself through the meetings of the reading group where Sir Philip Desormeaux’s romantic difficulties in The Enchantress seemed a pale parody of her own. As she had predicted some months before, Sir Philip succumbed to romance in the end and rode through the night to claim his bride.

  She lay in her bed in her neat and tidy bedroom and thought about Cory Newlyn. She remembered the touch of his hands on her body with a shiver of pleasure she knew she would never forget, no matter how long she lived or how hard she tried. She remembered the deep, deep friendship that had turned to love and then to ashes. She wondered if she had been a fool, but then she thought with fear and misery of all the times she had uprooted herself and started again in a new place, and she turned her face into her pillow and lay still.

  Oddly, it was Richard Kestrel whose company she could best tolerate. He took her driving several times a week, and though people gossiped, Rachel did not care. She found she did not care for much these days. Often she and Richard would not even talk, but it did not matter. It mattered slightly more that the situation caused Deb Stratton to be uneasy in her company, but Rachel was too weary to try to explain to Deb that she had no designs on Richard and never would.

  One day, when they had driven down to the sea and were sitting on an outcrop overlooking Kestrel Beach, Richard did speak. ‘I want to talk to you about Cory Newlyn,’ he said.

  Rachel turned her face away and looked out to sea. The weather was fresher these days with the approach of autumn and the wind was cold on her face.

  ‘Please do not,’ she said.

  Richard sighed. ‘Very well then. If I cannot talk about Cory, then I will tell you about myself, Rachel. About the one chance that I had, and the way I threw it away.’

  Rachel turned her head sharply and looked at him. ‘Richard,’ she said, ‘you are not being in the least subtle.’

  Richard shrugged. His handsome face was moody and dark. ‘I do not believe that subtlety can reach you, Rachel, and I am a great believer in brute force where subtlety has failed.’ He took a deep breath. ‘No one will have said this to you, so I am going to take it on myself.’ He squared his shoulders. ‘You are being the greatest fool in Christendom to spurn true love where it is offered. Not only are you making yourself unhappy, but you have almost destroyed a good man, and that I find very hard to forgive. It is only because I like you so much that I am still speaking to you at all.’ He stood up. ‘I am no gentleman to say this to you, but someone had to have the courage.’

  Rachel stared at him. A tiny corner of her heart was starting to unfreeze. She could feel the warmth spreading. ‘You are right,’ she said slowly. ‘It was most uncivil of you.’

  Richard started to smile. ‘Well?’ he said.

  Rachel got up and shook the sand out her skirts. She did not look at him. She felt suddenly nervous, as though she was on the edge of a momentous decision. Richard’s words had echoed what she had been trying to say to herself for weeks; words she had been too afraid to hear. Who could tell what happiness she might find with Cory if only she was prepared to compromise on those wishes to which she had obstinately clung for years? She had been so blind, so determined that a settled home was the only thing that she wanted, so afraid to take a risk. Yet she had been more unhappy without Cory than she could ever imagine being with him by her side, even if she had to travel for the whole of the rest of her life. She loved him too much to lose him forever.

  ‘Do you ever hear news of Cory?’ she asked, without looking at him.

  ‘I keep in correspondence with him,’ Richard said drily.

  Rachel glanced sideways at him. ‘And do you know if he might be returning to Midwinter?’

  Richard gave her a very straight look. ‘It…could be arranged,’ he said.

  Rachel felt a huge smile starting and bit her lip to repress it. ‘Then if it might be arranged I…I suppose it would be good to see him again.’ Her smile faded. ‘Although he may not wish to see me, of course.’

  ‘That,’ Richard said, ‘is up to you.’

  Rachel took his arm as they started to walk down the stony path back to the curricle. The groom was walking the horses and looking slightly bored.

  ‘What was it that you were going to tell me about yourself?’ she asked suddenly.

  Richard glanced down at her and then shook his head. ‘No matter,’ he said. ‘That must wait for another occasion, I think. Let us resolve your romantic difficulties first before we even attempt a start on mine.’

  The hope and excitement and expectation bubbled up in Rachel again. Suddenly she flung her arms about Richard and hugged him hard.

  ‘I do not care what they say about you, Richard Kestrel,’ she said breathlessly, ‘I think you are a very kind man!’

  ‘Good lord,’ Richard said, ‘keep that to yourself, if you please, Rachel. If that is not death to a rake’s reputation then I do not know what is,’ and he hugged her back in full view of the astonished groom.

  It was a week later and Rachel had scarcely finished breakfast when Mrs Goodfellow informed her that her parents would like to speak with her in the drawing room. Curious but unsuspecting, Rachel put down her napkin and wandered in. Both her parents were sitting on the sofa in the window. Her mother was holding Sir Arthur’s hand extremely tightly. Rachel could see that her knuckles were white and that Sir Arthur was wincing, though he made no protest. Indeed, he had the slightly dazed look of a man who had made a miraculous discovery. And Lady Odell’s eyes were glowing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Rachel’s heart leapt.

  ‘We have something to tell you, Rachel,’ Lady Odell said. ‘Something very exciting.’

  ‘You have found it!’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘Oh, Mama, you have found the Midwinter Treasure!’

  Lady Odell frowned. For a moment she looked as though she had no idea what Rachel was talking about, then her brow cleared. ‘The Treasure? Oh, no, indeed not, my love.’

  Now it was Rachel’s turn to look puzzled. She sat down slowly. ‘No? But I thought…You seemed so excited…’

  ‘Oh, I am!’ Lady Odell smiled again. There was something softer about her face, a luminous quality in her eyes that Rachel had never seen before. ‘You see, darling-’ she shot a quick look at Sir Arthur’s face ‘-I…we…we are having a baby.’

  ‘Your mother’s enceinte,’ Sir Arthur said, his gruffness belied by the sweet smile he gave his wife. ‘Pregnant, in an interesting condition…’

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ Rachel said, ‘I understand.’ She put a hand to her head, feeling a little dazed herself. ‘This is a great surprise, Mama. I am pleased for you, of course, but…I assume that it was not what you intended.’

  Lady Odell had been watching her daughter’s face anxiously, but now her own brow cleared. ‘Good gracious, I would not wish you to think that it was an accident, Rachel! I have been wanting another child these twenty-three years past, ever since you were born. It was the greatest grief of my life that you were destined to be an only child, for your father and I wanted a large family, but as the years passed and no playmate arrived for you, we began to think that it was not to be. So we took you everywhere with us so that you were not too lonely, and we were not lonely too…’ Lady Odell sniffed. ‘We tried to make up for your lack of siblings by involving you in everything that we did, but…’ she sighed ‘…you never did care for antiquities, did you? Still, I hope that you have been happy travelling with us and seeing the world.’

  Rachel opened her mouth and closed it again. This was not the moment to shatter her mother’s illusions about her happy childhood and love of travelling. Indeed, it seemed that such confidences would
never be exchanged now, for Rachel saw very clearly that she had made some wrong assumptions. Sir Arthur and Lady Odell had kept her with them at all times because they were desperate for a family and she was all they had. And also because they were afraid that she would be lonely, the only child with no siblings. They had always wanted children. They had always wanted her.

  Rachel swallowed the huge lump in her throat. ‘I am so happy for you, Mama! Papa-’ she turned to Sir Arthur, who was beaming benignly ‘-oh, Papa, this is wonderful news!’

  Lady Odell stood up to embrace her and Rachel rushed around the table so that her mother should not be obliged to come to her.

  ‘Pray sit down and put your feet up on the stool, Mama. You must take matters very carefully now! No more excavating for the time being, and no shifting heavy objects…’

  Lady Odell hugged her tearfully. ‘We are giving up the excavating and the travelling, Rachel. We feel that it is time to retire. With a new family, you know, there will be much else to do. We thought that we should like to stay at Midwinter Royal, at least for a while, and then if your father decides that he needs to do some more work he will have the burial ground on hand.’

  ‘Young man’s game,’ Sir Arthur grunted. ‘I leave all that to Cory.’

  Rachel looked at him sharply. ‘Is Cory returning to Midwinter Royal, Papa?’

  Sir Arthur looked shifty. ‘Coming to consult with me on my paper for the Antiquarian Review,’ he said. ‘Did I not tell you?’

  Rachel felt a mixture of exasperation and sheer nervousness. ‘No, Papa. No, you did not tell me. You never remember to tell me anything!’

  Sir Arthur looked a little taken aback at her vehemence. He checked the clock. ‘Should be here soon,’ he offered. ‘Thought I should let you know. I need some coffee first though. All this emotion, you know. You’ll find me in the library if you want me.’

  The door closed behind him. Rachel stared wildly at Lady Odell.

  ‘Cory is coming here…now? This morning?’

  ‘Yes, my love,’ Lady Odell said. She sat back and closed her eyes wearily. ‘I believe he is to call at Kestrel Court first. I feel a little tired. I think I will take a rest.’

  Rachel was already halfway to the door, but she paused with her hand on the knob and looked back at her mother sitting peaceably by the fireside.

  ‘Mama,’ she said suddenly, ‘I wondered about names. If it is a girl…’

  ‘We shall call her Aethelflaed,’ Lady Odell said contentedly, without opening her eyes. ‘We thought it appropriate to honour the Anglo-Saxons.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Rachel said. Perhaps, like her, Aethelflaed would have a sensible second name that she could use.

  ‘And if it is a boy?’ she said. ‘Tostig, perhaps?’

  ‘That’s good!’ Lady Odell said, opening her eyes and looking at her daughter thoughtfully. ‘Very good, Rachel. But we had already decided upon Edgar. What do you think?’

  ‘It could be much worse,’ Rachel said, smiling. ‘I should like to have a little brother called Edgar.’

  ‘Edgar Ptolemy,’ Lady Odell said. ‘It will be perfect.’

  ‘Can I offer you some coffee, old fellow?’ Richard Kestrel said to Cory Newlyn, steering him solicitously into the study at Kestrel Court. ‘You look as though you have been riding hard. Don’t want to send you off to see Sir Arthur in such a state of disarray.’

  Cory took the proffered cup and drank half of it down without really noticing. He felt exhausted. He had spent a poor night at the Star and Garter near Colchester where he had tossed and turned in a flea-ridden bed. Prior to that he seemed to have spent endless sleepless nights for weeks and weeks, lying in his bed listening to the sounds of London by night and thinking incessantly about Rachel Odell. During the day he had dragged himself to the British Museum and spoken of relics and antiquities and hieroglyphics, and dry-as-dust matters that suddenly seemed dead and empty to him. Life had had no spark without the promise of Rachel’s presence. It seemed there was no joy any more. Not even the prospect of travelling could light the enthusiasm that once he had possessed.

  And now he was to see her again. A part of him did not want to and another part was determined to put his fate to the touch one more time. One more chance to persuade Rachel to his point of view. With one major difference…

  Richard was offering to refill his cup. Cory took the coffee and tried to concentrate on the matter in hand.

  ‘Sir Arthur…’ he said abstractedly. ‘Yes…’ He frowned. ‘I must confess that I was somewhat surprised to get your letter, Richard. Sir Arthur has never required my help previously in putting together an article for publication. Indeed, he is the acknowledged expert in the field.’

  He thought that Richard looked innocent, which was in itself suspicious, but when his friend spoke he sounded completely sincere. ‘Is that so?’ Richard said. ‘I would not know, of course. I merely agreed to pass on his request to you.’

  ‘Mmm…’ Cory frowned at him. His abstracted look was lifting and a more familiar look of acute intelligence taking its place. ‘And then there was this curious errand for Justin,’ he continued. ‘Told me that he had some urgent intelligence to pass on to you that he could not possibly commit to the postal service and could I possibly deliver it whilst I was here.’

  ‘The latest intelligence from Whitehall on the dangers of invasion in the locality,’ Richard said, crossing his legs at the ankle. ‘It was too sensitive to send any other way.’

  Cory produced a package and set it down on the table beside him. ‘Here it is. I slept with it under my pillow last night. No one can have tampered with it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Richard murmured. He gestured his friend to take a chair. ‘Won’t you sit down for a minute? No point in rushing over to Midwinter Royal whilst the family is still at breakfast.’

  Cory sat. He drank his coffee. He fidgeted. He was aware of Richard watching him with amusement.

  ‘Richard,’ he said suddenly, ‘how much would you be prepared to give up for a woman?’

  Richard was silent for quite a while. ‘Any woman or the right woman?’ he queried lightly. ‘The answers are very different. For the first I’d venture very little. For the second, I’d give everything I have.’

  Cory got up again. He went over to the window and stared out sightlessly. ‘You would give up everything?’ he repeated.

  Richard shrugged. ‘Sometimes you have to lose all to gain all, Cory. And very often the thing that you fear is nowhere near as bad as you imagine. Sometimes-’ he smiled wryly ‘-you gain everything in the world.’

  Cory closed his eyes for a second. ‘I thought that I enjoyed taking risks,’ he said, ‘but this is an entirely different matter.’

  ‘I am told,’ Richard said, smiling, ‘that it is not as dangerous as it sounds. My sister Bella calls it the art of compromise.’

  ‘Compromise.’ Cory tried the word out. ‘I own that is not a familiar concept.’

  ‘Not for any of us, old fellow,’ Richard said drily. ‘We are for the most part selfish beings and we have always had the means to indulge our desires. Until we come up against something that is so valuable that it requires us to reconsider what is truly important, we do not even need to think about it.’

  Cory was silent for a moment, then he turned and looked at his old friend. The worn look had lifted slightly from his face. ‘How the hell did you get to be so wise anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘Native perception,’ Richard said airily. ‘Is there anything else I may do for you, or would you like to be on your way?’

  Cory moved decisively to the door. ‘I think I may as well go,’ he said.

  After he had gone out, Richard sat back in the chair and unwrapped the parcel from his brother. There was a brief covering note from Justin that he perused with a grin. Then he unfolded the contents of the package. There were several copies of The Times and the Gentlemen’s Magazine and nothing else at all. Richard opened the paper at the racing page and settled back in his
chair.

  ‘Splendid,’ he said.

  After Rachel had sat in the window for fifteen minutes staring down the lime avenue for a glimpse of Cory’s arrival, she found that she could sit still no longer. Her stomach was knotted with nervousness and she felt quite ill with anticipation. Despite the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do or even to say to Cory when she saw him, she decided to confront the dilemma head on. She slipped on her spencer, took up her parasol and went outside. In her preoccupation she totally forgot to change her shoes.

  She hurried along the drive and through the stone gates that led on to the road. Here a little stream, an offshoot of the Winter Race, ran beside the road amongst the brambles and the nettles. The river level had subsided now, but the stream still ran higher than usual, splashing over stones and sparkling in the sun. The day was quiet, the sun out again, but less hot than it had been before the storm.

  For a hundred yards Rachel kept up a punishing pace, but after a while she was obliged to slow down and moderate her speed a little. Her hair was starting to come down and her skirts were already stiff with dust. At this rate she would arrive at Kestrel Court looking like a vagabond.

  She stopped in the shade and took several deep breaths, putting her hands on her knees and bending over in an unladylike but effective manner, to regain her breath. How foolish she had been to rush off like this to Kestrel Court on foot. It was several miles and she so ill prepared. Already she needed a drink.

  Rachel clambered carefully down the bank to the brook and cupped her hands in the refreshingly cool water. She raised it to her lips and it ran down over her chin, splashing on her dress. She looked at the stain and shook her head. No matter. She was already too untidy to care. And she was wasting time.

  She straightened up and a dazzlingly bright light struck across her eyes from the surface of the stream. Something was reflecting the sun directly at her. She put a hand up to shade her gaze and almost tumbled into the water. The Midwinter chalice, perfect replica of all the pictures that she had ever seen, was sitting amidst the brambles much as she imagined King Richard III’s crown might have sat on the thorn bush after the Battle of Bosworth.