The Disgraceful Mr. Ravenhurst Read online

  ‘When do you intend to wed?’ Monsieur Castelnau enquired.

  ‘We have not decided—’ Elinor began, but Theo cut in smoothly.

  ‘It will be a while. Naturally we want my father, the Bishop of Wessex, to marry us and I would hope our cousin the duke will be able to attend, although he rarely travels south. And her Serene Highness, the Grand Duchess of Maubourg, who has recently joined our family, is naturally subject to many commitments.’

  ‘A large Society wedding, then?’ Sir Ian asked.

  ‘Huge,’ Theo said expansively, warming to his theme. Elinor sat quietly eating while he talked. If anyone there had not fully comprehended just who Theo was, and how well he was connected, they knew now. And, as his cousin, they must realise this applied equally to her. He was taking out insurance, she realised, making it very clear that anyone who harmed or insulted them would have the entire Ravenhurst clan to deal with.

  She allowed herself to fall into a daydream of walking down the aisle of the cathedral on Theo’s arm, as his wife. The organ would be filling the space with joyful sound, the entire family would be beaming, she would be looking beautiful in cream silk with almond trimmings. The scene ground to a shuddering halt at this point, as though the actors had been turned to stone. She was never going to make a fairytale bride, the bishop would never agree to marry them, the family would be aghast at Theo making such a poor match as a spinster bluestocking. And, above all, Theo did not want to marry her anyway and this was all pretence.

  To her horror, tears began to well up in her eyes. ‘Oh. Oh, forgive me, I feel a little—’ She bolted from the room, hearing Ana’s voice, rich with mock concern, just as the door closed behind her.

  ‘I do hope she is not feeling sick.’

  Oh my God, she means morning sickness. Elinor found herself in the inner courtyard and sat down, trembling. Well, they’ll see, I’ll be fine every morning after this.

  ‘Elinor?’ It was Theo. ‘What is it? You were doing so well.’ He sat down and took her hand. The warm, familiar grasp made the tears gather again and she jerked it away, furious with herself.

  ‘Have you got a handkerchief?’ Wordlessly Theo produced a large white square and she blew her nose.

  ‘I am just tired and I do not feel very…very…’ She ran out of inspiration and sat twisting the linen between her hands, forbidding herself to produce one more sniffle.

  ‘Oh, that,’ Theo said calmly. ‘I’ve got sisters, I’m quite used to regular, um, moods.’

  He thought she was having her courses! Elinor was not sure whether to simply melt into the ground with embarrassment or seize thankfully on the excuse for her loss of control. Theo seemed to be taking it in his stride, so she decided to simply ignore the whole thing. She blew her nose again, conscious that it had probably turned pink, and folded the handkerchief away. ‘What are you going to do today? We cannot search during daylight hours.’

  ‘I was going to take advantage of the count’s invitation to browse in his library. There probably isn’t anything there, or he wouldn’t be so open about it, but there might be some volumes of value I might be able to persuade him to sell.’

  ‘Can you afford it?’ Elinor asked. ‘If you have to repay Lord X, that will be very expensive won’t it?’

  ‘Very,’ he agreed grimly. ‘I won’t be able to afford a wife, I’m afraid.’

  He was joking, of course, despite his very straight face. ‘Well, that will give us a good excuse to break it off,’ she said. ‘I don’t wish to figure as a jilt—not that anyone would believe I would be so foolish.’

  ‘Really?’ Theo looked bemused. ‘Why on earth should anyone imagine I would be a good catch?’

  ‘Don’t fish for compliments,’ Elinor said, her lips twitching, amused despite herself that she had made a pun.

  Theo grinned back. ‘Go on, flatter me, my morale needs boosting.’

  ‘You are very well connected, healthy, intelligent, well-off—provided you do not have to repay Lord X—and moderately good looking, assuming one discounts the hair of course.’

  ‘I suppose I should be glad of the moderately,’ he said with mock gloom. ‘Go on—is there anything else on the plus side of the account?’

  ‘You are a talented artist, have good taste and a sense of humour. And you—’ She broke off, confused at where her list was taking her, and bit her lip.

  ‘And I what?’ Theo was watching her mouth.

  ‘You kiss very well.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said gravely. ‘And might I ask what basis for comparison you have, Miss Ravenhurst?’

  ‘None, except Leon, but I do not think he can be very good. He kissed me and I did not feel a thing.’

  ‘Indeed? Excuse me for a moment while I fight the urge to feel smug. But I feel bound to point out that he was kissing you in a dark and gloomy dungeon, which might well have dampened your feelings of ardour.’

  ‘You kissed me on a study floor,’ Elinor pointed out. ‘And that was very stimulating.’

  ‘For both of us.’ Theo got to his feet. ‘Are you going to stay here and rest?’

  ‘Rest?’ It took Elinor a moment to remember he thought her to be feeling delicate. ‘Goodness, no. I think I will escape for a walk before Mama finds me and gives me something dreary to do indoors. Those woods look beautiful. I thought I would climb up through them and see if there is a view of the basilica from the top.’

  ‘May I come with you? The library can wait for a wet day, if one ever comes. The weather is so beautiful it seems set to be like this for ever.’

  ‘I will see you at the front door in fifteen minutes,’ Elinor said. ‘How lovely to get out of here and away from all those sharp tongues and prying eyes.’

  She was before him, hurrying through the hall, enjoying the freedom of her new divided skirt and not noticing the other figure standing there until she was almost upon them.

  ‘Marquesa.’ Ana was wearing the original of Elinor’s garment.

  ‘Miss Ravenhurst. And where did you find the pattern for your habit, might I ask?’

  ‘Theo drew it for me,’ Elinor said cheerfully. ‘He was able to describe it in detail.’

  ‘So I should hope, he has removed it often enough.’

  ‘Were you his mistress for very long?’ Elinor enquired, refusing to gratify the woman by showing any embarrassment.

  Ana drew in her breath in a sharp hiss. ‘He is my lover—I was never his mistress. There is a difference.’

  ‘I am sure there is.’ Elinor gave no sign that she noticed Ana’s use of the present tense, although a sharp stab of jealousy knotted her inside. ‘What fun for you, to find a man so much younger than yourself.’

  ‘Comparing fashion tips, ladies?’ It was Theo, his satchel over one shoulder. He reached out and took Elinor’s easel. ‘Come on, my love, let’s take advantage of this light.’

  He nodded to Ana as he swung the heavy door open and Elinor went through, not looking at the other woman, but hearing her indrawn hiss of angry breath.

  ‘Not tactful to call one woman my love in front of another who has just declared you are her lover. Present tense.’

  Theo swung the easel on to his back and grimaced. ‘She isn’t.’

  ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me.’ Elinor walked through the arch under the gatehouse and turned uphill along a steep track. She was feeling decidedly flustered. She had stood up to Ana on instinct; now she was realising that she was way out of her depth, sparring with a woman of the marquesa’s experience. ‘We aren’t betrothed. Remember?’

  ‘What you think matters to me.’ Surprised, Elinor looked back over her shoulder and slowed her pace. ‘I respect your opinion and your judgement.’

  ‘She is a beautiful woman and an intelligent one. I imagine she is stimulating company.’ Elinor tried to be fair. ‘You must enjoy the freedom you have. I imagine it exceeds even what a gentleman might expect in England.’

  ‘Yes.’ Theo climbed beside her in silence for a w
hile. ‘Freedom, of course, is everything.’

  Elinor was about to retort that it was not, that, precious though it was, there were other equally important things in life, and then the edge of bitterness in his voice struck her. How many lovers, how short a time with each? So much intimacy of the body—how much of the mind? No ties, no responsibility. No one to care about and no one to care about you.

  ‘I don’t agree,’ she said. ‘Not at the price of love.’

  ‘Who do you love?’ he asked harshly.

  ‘My mother. I loved my father. I love my friends and our cousin Bel.’ I love you. ‘Don’t you love anyone?’

  He was silent so long that she thought he was not going to reply. They climbed on, up through the woodland, past a group of foresters stacking logs, up the last steep pull and out on to open scrubby meadow.

  ‘I do not intend ever to marry,’ Theo said abruptly. He stood still, shading his eyes, apparently orientating himself, then strode off along the crest.

  Confused, Elinor stared after him. He had not answered her question. But that statement was clear enough. Why not? She bit her lip, watching him. It could only mean he loved someone he could not marry.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Elinor watched Theo walk away. Should she follow him? Did he want to be alone with his thoughts? So he was in love. Not with Ana. Not with herself, obviously. A hopeless love, then, one that was not returned. Or perhaps she was a married woman. No wonder he sought companionship from lovers and felt no attachment to any of them. It was lonely, unrequited love, she was discovering. At least Theo was not being tormented by daily contact with the object of his affections as she was.

  It was better, she decided, not to marry at all rather than to marry someone one didn’t love, while all the time there was someone you did care for and could not have. No wonder he had reacted so strongly when she had come to his room, and had been so clear about their present masquerade being merely for convention.

  He had stopped, dumped her easel and his satchel on the ground and was standing, hands on hips, looking out over the view. Elinor straightened her back, adjusted her own bag on her shoulder, and walked to join him, indulging herself with the opportunity to study the tall figure unobserved.

  When she reached him, she realised he had found a fine view out towards the basilica perched on its hill. ‘Do you want to sketch?’ he asked without looking at her.

  What she wanted was to talk. But did he? She studied his unresponsive profile. ‘Not just yet. That was a steep climb, I think I’ll sit over there on that outcrop of rock and enjoy the view for a while.’

  It took almost quarter of an hour before he joined her. Elinor lifted her chin from her cupped hand and smiled at him. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello.’ He folded down on to the turf at the foot of her perch, presenting her with the unreadable back of his head. ‘I must apologise.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Brooding. You did not come up here to put up with me moping.’

  If she reached down, she could run her fingers through his hair, smooth it down where the breeze had caught and tossed it into disarray. If she slid down the smooth rock, she could be in his arms. Elinor sat still and made herself smile so her voice would sound cheerful. ‘I would hardly call that moping. Or brooding. I’m your friend, Theo, we can talk to each other about things that matter to us, or we can be silent in each other’s company. It doesn’t matter.’ His shoulders dropped, as though he had relaxed. ‘There is someone, isn’t there? Doesn’t she love you? Or can’t she marry you?’

  ‘Doesn’t love me, doesn’t want to marry me,’ he said, tipping his head back against the rock. ‘Not that I’d ask. Can you imagine the sort of married life she would have to put up with, stuck in England while I’m away so much?’

  ‘Naval wives put up with it,’ Elinor said. ‘And in any case, why wouldn’t she travel with you? I would.’ Theo went very still. ‘If I was in love with you, that is. Or wanted to marry, for that matter.’

  ‘You, Nell, are unique. I can’t imagine any other woman I know living out of a trunk for months at a time or pulling a pistol on a pair of thugs. And what about the children?’

  ‘You would just have to get a bigger travelling coach,’ she said robustly. ‘Or a second one for some of the children and the nurse, so they could rotate with you. Of course, as the children got older, you’d need a schoolroom coach as well.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t put all the children together to give my wife and I some peace and quiet?’ He sounded as though the fantasy was cheering him up. ‘I thought you didn’t like children.’

  ‘I’m not over-fond of my nephews and nieces, they have been thoroughly spoiled and indulged. I wouldn’t mind mine, and I’m sure yours would be delightful.’ And ours would all have red hair and tempers to match and would be a complete handful in a coach! But such fun… This was edging into dangerous ground. ‘I think I’ll draw now. Can you pass me my things? Not the easel, I’ll just use my sketchbook.’

  Theo found himself a rock to sit on and balanced his own sketchbook on his knee. God! That had been dangerous and painful and very illuminating, that flash of realisation at the top of the hill. Of course he loved Nell, his red-headed cousin who just wanted to be his friend. Why hadn’t he realised it sooner? Perhaps he had and had simply denied it to himself. She was perfect for him, in every way, but she was not in love with him, did not want to marry him.

  Was it worth risking asking her? What would happen if he told her the truth, convinced her he meant it and it was nothing to do with compromising her? But she would say no, and their friendship would be spoiled and he would lose even that. He glanced across at her and found Elinor was sitting biting the end of her pencil and looking at him. She grinned, tossing back the heavy plait that hung over her shoulder.

  There was no point in entertaining false hopes. If she felt anything for him, she would never have reacted so violently to the suggestion they might have to marry and she would never have discussed his love for another woman with such frankness. Nor would she be so open with him about sex—it was obvious that she had none of the self-consciousness on the subject he would have expected if her feelings for him were involved.

  He squinted at the landscape and found no inspiration there. Then he began to doodle in one corner, the image taking shape with speed under his hand. After a few minutes he moved to another part of the sheet and began another sketch, then another, aware that his spirits were lightening, too focused to see any danger in what he was doing.

  Soon the pages were filling with a procession of travelling carriages of all shapes and sizes, luggage piled on top and falling off behind and from each window a child was hanging, dropping toys, waving, fighting with a sibling. The top of two adult heads were vaguely discernible in the chaos and a pack of dogs ran behind, barking madly. In the middle was his self-portrait looking desperate, his arms full of precariously piled precious objects while infants rampaged around his feet.

  ‘Show me what you have done.’ It was Nell, somewhat tousled from having slid down the rock.

  ‘No.’ He flipped his book shut, realising he must have filled five or six pages with his fanciful sketches.

  ‘But I want to see.’ She tried to tug it out of his hands, but he held firm, pulled it free and sat on it.

  ‘No,’ he said, reaching to pick up her sketch book.

  She too had been caught up in the foolish fantasy. There, on the first page, was Elinor’s impression of his travelling family, a circle of carriages drawn up like a gypsy encampment. Children of all ages had been sketched in, noses in books, playing with kittens, chasing each other in a wild game of tag over and under a collection of scantly draped classical statues, the subjects of which looked on in frozen marble hauteur. In the middle, in front of a camp fire with a kettle suspended over it, was a woman drawn from the back, her sun bonnet tipped back, her feet on a box, a fan in her hand. A wickedly accurate sketch of himself showed him sitting in one of the carri
ages, head in hands.

  He flipped the page and found the children sitting in a circle, solemnly listening to Elinor herself, perched on a box while she read to them from a book. Her hair was dishevelled, she was wearing the divided skirt and she had dotted in a fine array of freckles across her own nose.

  ‘Give me that back!’ She made a grab for her sketchbook and missed as he held it over his head. ‘I thought perhaps you would employ me as a governess,’ she explained.

  ‘They seem to be paying you a great deal of attention,’ he said, finding his voice was, inexplicably, not quite steady. ‘Elinor.’

  ‘Yes?’ She was a little pale, but that was probably explained by the time of the month. He shouldn’t have let her come on this strenuous walk, he wanted to wrap her up and cosset her. Even as he thought it, he realised that she would hate it, that what she wanted was freedom, the freedom he had. The freedom he could give her. Hell, he would risk it.

  ‘Elinor, why don’t we get married. Really get married?’ He dropped the sketchbook and pulled her to him. ‘There is no one else for us. We are friends. We have this.’ She was so still in his arms that she seemed frozen.

  Her mouth under his was warm, tremulous. He coaxed with his tongue, slid his lips across hers, trying to show her how he felt without saying the words that would place such an emotional burden on her.

  For a moment she melted, swaying into his body, her lips parting to let him in and he was dizzy with triumph, then she pulled back so she was straining against his grip. ‘No, Theo. No. I do not want to marry you. I told you, I meant it.’ He let go and she took three steps away from him, her back turned. ‘There has to be love, Theo,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I am a fool to be such a romantic when I thought myself rational, but there you are.’