The Notorious Lord

Chapter Two

It felt like a full minute later, but was possibly only a few seconds when Rachel became aware that Cory was still holding her hand and was waiting for her response with a faintly concerned expression on his face. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, pushed her feelings of self-consciousness back down where they belonged and looked him up and down. Cory might be fully clothed now, but he still looked completely disreputable. His boots were scuffed, his shirt neck open to reveal the strong, brown column of his neck, and on his tawny hair was a hat so disgusting that Rachel thought it fit for nothing but the bonfire. Concentrating on Cory’s personal shortcomings served to steady her somewhat. He was a friend, and one of the privileges of friendship was that she could say whatever she chose to him.

‘How do you do, Cory?’ she said primly. ‘I am very well, thank you, though I have to say that you scarcely look better with your clothes on than without. That jacket looks as though it has been slept in.’

‘It is delightful to see you too, Rae.’ A slight edge had come into Cory’s voice now. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek lightly. ‘I am glad that you have overcome your discomfiture and are back on astringent form.’ He held out the tartan rug to her. ‘I must thank you for the loan of your blanket. I can have it laundered for you before I return it, if you would prefer.’

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘I shall ask Mrs Goodfellow to arrange it.’ She took the rug and folded it over her arm.

Cory gestured to Castor. ‘Perhaps you could show me the way to the stables?’

‘Of course,’ Rachel said. She touched her mother’s hand. ‘I will see you later, Mama. Remember to make Papa wear a hat, and please do not forget that luncheon is at twelve sharp. Oh, and leave your bead necklace with me. You would not wish to get it caught on one of the buckets.’

‘A good idea, my love,’ Lady Odell said, beaming. She slipped the bead necklace over her head, put it into Rachel’s outstretched hand and adjusted the battered hat that sat askew her faded brown hair. ‘We shall see you shortly, Cory,’ she said. ‘Arthur will be so delighted that you are here!’ And with that she strode off to the stile in the picket fence, threw a leg over and started across the fields towards the excavation.

Rachel sighed. She turned to see Cory watching her with amusement in his eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked, a little ungraciously.

Cory shrugged lightly. ‘You. You cannot resist managing them, can you? It is always the same.’

Rachel felt a sharp stab of irritation. She thought it rather impertinent that Cory, who should understand her situation, should be the one to criticise. He had known her parents for almost as long as she had, and knew perfectly well that, left to their own devices, they were incapable of managing anything practical at all.

‘Someone needs to take charge of them,’ she said, ‘or they would both starve. That is if the sunstroke did not catch them first.’

Cory shrugged again. A hint of a smile still hovered at the corner of his mobile mouth. ‘Then you must be pleased to be settled in Suffolk for a space, rather than the Nile Delta. It is considerably less dangerous.’

Rachel set off towards the five-barred gate that separated the drive from the stable yard. ‘Settled? We are no more settled here at Midwinter Royal than we were in the twenty-five places that went before. Once the excavation is finished we shall be on the move again. Papa was speaking of Greece for the winter, hoping that it would be safe to travel on the continent again.’

‘That seems like a particularly bad idea with Bonaparte running rampage abroad and the danger of invasion growing stronger each day,’ Cory said. He unlatched the gate and stood back to allow her to precede him through. ‘Can they not go to Cornwall instead? I have unearthed a very fine Iron Age fogou in the grounds of Newlyn.’

‘Congratulations,’ Rachel said politely.

‘You are the only person I have met recently who does not need me to explain what a fogou is,’ Cory said wryly, ‘or is it that you are simply not interested, Rae?’

‘Fogou-an underground passage or tunnel that is a feature of the Iron Age landscape, function unknown,’ Rachel said economically. ‘Please do not encourage Mama and Papa to go to Cornwall, Cory. The Midwinter villages are very pleasant and I wish them to stay here for a while.’

‘Poor Rae,’ Cory said. His tone had softened a little. ‘You really hate it, don’t you?’

Rachel turned slightly. Cory was a tall shadow against the sun and she could not see his expression. ‘Hate what?’ she said tightly.

‘All the travel. They adore it and you detest it. You have been dragged all around the world, staying in-how many was it?-twenty-five different places and you hate it.’

Rachel relaxed a little. Cory’s tone was gentle and she realised that he did not intend to make fun of her. Strangely, although his passions were the same as those of her parents, he actually understood how she felt. His own interests might be diametrically opposed to hers, but they did not blind him to the things that were important to her.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she said.

‘Antiquities are not to everybody’s taste,’ Cory continued gravely.

‘Indeed not,’ Rachel said. ‘I wish that you would leave them where you find them!’

Cory looked vaguely offended. ‘The amassing of a collection is a gentleman’s pursuit, Rachel. There is nothing wrong in it.’

‘I did not say that there was,’ Rachel said. ‘I speak only of my own opinion. I dislike antiquities and I detest the necessity of living out of a packing case and leasing residences the length and breadth of the country.’

‘And to make matters worse, some of those residences are not even houses,’ Cory said sympathetically. ‘Some of them are only tents!’

Rachel looked at him, saw the smile in his eyes, and suddenly they were both laughing and the slightly prickly tension between them had evaporated like frost in the sun. Rachel pushed open one of the stable doors and led Cory inside.

‘Oh dear, I suppose I do sound a misery,’ she admitted. ‘And it is lovely to see you again, Cory, even if I cannot approve of you. You know you are a bad influence.’

Cory removed the horse’s tack, reached for the curry brush and started to rub the grey down. He shot her a smile. It was a smile that would make many a débutante tremble in her satin slippers. Rachel felt a slight quiver shake her and reminded herself that she was indifferent to Cory.

‘I am a bad influence on whom, Rae?’ Cory asked. ‘Your parents were off digging for antiquities all over the world when you and I were mere children. If anything is true, it is that they influenced me into the sort of life I lead now, not vice versa.’

Rachel leaned against the doorjamb and watched him work. She knew that what he said was true. The Newlyns were bankers, not explorers. It had been Cory’s encounter with the Odell family, when he had been eleven and she had been five, which had sparked his fascination in travel and exploration. Arthur and Lavinia Odell, who had failed so singularly to excite in their own child an interest in antiquity, had had spectacular success with the young Lord Newlyn. He had joined their excavations in his school and university holidays and, as soon as he had reached his majority, had taken to travelling all over the globe.

Rachel watched Cory with an indulgent smile. He was engrossed in his task, speaking softly to the horse as he worked. As on many occasions in their lives, the silence between them was comfortable now. They had plenty of news to catch up on, but it felt as though there was all the time in the world to do it.

Rachel felt warm as she watched him. He was the closest thing to a brother that she had ever had, flashing across her life at various points, lighting it up and then disappearing off on another outrageous adventure. On one hugely memorable occasion he had arrived unexpectedly for her come-out ball, and all her débutante friends had almost expired with excitement. Rachel smiled now, remembering the stir Cory had caused when he strode into the ballroom, so handsome in his austere black and white evening dress. It was such a far cry from the filthy clothes he wore to work that she had had to look twice to make sure it was the right person. Cory had come straight up to her and had cut out the gentleman with whom she was supposed to be dancing. For a second, just a very small, split second, Rachel had thought Cory the most extraordinarily attractive man that she had ever met. Her whole world had trembled on its axis as she considered this new idea. And then he had smiled at her and started to talk to her in the same way he had always done, and the world had steadied and he was just Cory again.

‘You make Mother over-excited,’ she said now. ‘That is why I disapprove of you.’

‘I apologise.’ Cory looked at her with an expressive lift of the brows. ‘It is the effect that I generally have on women.’

Rachel made a noise of disgust and threw a brush at him. It skittered away across the cobbles and Cory put a foot out to stop it.

‘You know what I mean!’ Rachel said.

‘Actually, I do know what you mean,’ Cory said. He rubbed one lean brown cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Your mother is superstitious and you think that I encourage her and that it is nonsense.’

‘Precisely. You encourage her to believe in foolish stories like the Midwinter Treasure.’

‘There may be more to the Treasure than a mere myth,’ Cory pointed out. ‘The very name Midwinter Royal suggests a connection to the burial of a king. And we know that the treasure existed once-and may one day be found again.’

‘Rubbish!’ Rachel said. ‘Complete nonsense. If one gave credence to all the tales of buried treasure that we have come across, then the entire country would be like a gold mine.’

Cory shrugged. ‘Your mother likes to believe it. And she thinks that I bring good luck to a dig.’

‘She thinks that that smelly Egyptian cat brings good luck as well,’ Rachel said crushingly, ‘but I fear I have consigned it to the cellar.’

‘Ah.’ Cory straightened up and pushed his hat back from his forehead. ‘Well, you need not concern yourself to find me house room, Rae. I am staying at Kestrel Court.’

Rachel paused. She had not expected this. Generally Cory lodged with them when he was working with the Odells. ‘You are staying with the Duke of Kestrel?’ she said. ‘Is he come to Suffolk, then?’

She saw Cory’s eyes narrow in amusement. Although the interior of the stable was cool, she could feel her face getting hotter although she was not entirely sure why she felt embarrassed. Perhaps it was something to do with Cory’s quizzical expression-and what it implied, as though she was one of those silly girls who occupied themselves in pursuing eligible gentlemen.

‘Yes, Justin is in Midwinter,’ Cory said, after a moment, ‘although he does not intend to stay here for the entire summer. Are you particularly desirous of meeting him, Rae? I would not have thought him to be the type of gentleman who interested you.’

Rachel gave him a haughty look. ‘I confess that I do not seek out the company of rakes,’ she said. ‘I told you that earlier. I was merely thinking that the Midwinter villages will be set by the ears to hear that the Duke is to be among us.’

‘Not only Justin,’ Cory said laconically, ‘but several of his brothers as well.’

‘How will all the young ladies contain their excitement?’ Rachel said. ‘Especially as you are visiting Midwinter as well, Cory!’

Cory’s lips twitched. ‘I have no doubt that Suffolk society will survive,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘We are not the only visitors this summer. I hear that the Northcotes are in Burgh and Sir John Norton is at Drybridge. Suffolk seems the fashionable place to be.’

Rachel frowned slightly, searching her memory. ‘Norton…I have heard of him. Is he not the polar explorer?’

‘That’s right. He has just returned from an attempt to reach the North Pole.’

‘How very pointless!’

Cory grinned. ‘No doubt you cannot imagine why he should bother?’

‘I can imagine why he would try,’ Rachel said, with asperity, ‘since no doubt he is as mad as the rest of you.’ She shivered. ‘I merely think it must have been prodigiously uncomfortable.’

‘You may ask him yourself,’ Cory said. ‘I am sure that he will be happy to bore the ladies with tales of his exploits. The anecdote about his escape from an enraged polar bear is particularly good.’

Rachel tutted. She had heard enough tales of male bravado to last a lifetime. ‘You are all the same! Will you not find it rather slow in Suffolk after hacking through the ice, or seducing women from Constantinople to China?’

Cory pulled a face. ‘No doubt we shall manage. There is the sailing, after all, not to mention the races at Newmarket. And Justin has persuaded me to join the Suffolk Rifles.’

Rachel looked at him sharply. A bumblebee was trapped in the window, buzzing loudly as it beat against the cobwebby glass. She had just been thinking that it reminded her of all that was warm and safe and familiar about an English summer, but now Cory had cast a shadow across that.

‘You have joined the Volunteers?’ she said. ‘Does that mean that you think these rumours of French invasion have some substance to them?’

Cory shrugged. ‘Who knows? The Suffolk coast is but a day’s sail from France in fine weather.’

Rachel stared. ‘Yes, but surely with our fleet to protect against the threat…’

Cory shrugged again. ‘It is true that we have command of the seas.’ He straightened, resting one hand on Castor’s broad back. ‘I would not wish you to alarm yourself, Rae. I think that we are safe enough.’

Rachel was not so sure now. She had thought the Midwinter Villages a sleepy place, but they were only a few miles from the sea and even here she had been aware of the rumours of war and the threat of invasion. There was a garrison in Woodbridge, across the Deben, and the talk in the town had been full of the failure of the Peace of Amiens and the resumption of hostilities with France. Besides, she could suddenly see another and very different reason for the presence of Cory Newlyn and his friends in Midwinter, for along with the stories of Cory’s exploits as an adventurer and explorer were tales of other, more shadowy, deeds. He had never spoken of these to her and she had never asked about the other errands his travelling could cover. Now she looked at him from under her lashes.

‘You must be a prodigiously fine shot to have been invited to join the Suffolk Rifles, Cory,’ she said, ‘for they are very proud of their reputation. What did you do to deserve that?’

Cory gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was about and that she would learn nothing. ‘I have no notion,’ he said evasively.

‘And your friend the Duke of Kestrel,’ Rachel pursued. ‘Does he not have connections at the Foreign Office?’

Cory grinned. ‘Lord Hawkesbury is a cousin of his, yes.’

‘And one of the Duke’s brothers is an Admiralty man,’ Rachel said, ‘and another is in the regular army…’

‘You are very well informed, Rae.’

‘And you are all here in Midwinter this year. How very interesting. There must be an extremely powerful reason that so many important men are gathered in this one place.’

A lazy smile curved Cory’s lips. He put the curry brush down and came towards her. To her surprise, Rachel found herself feeling slightly out of breath as he backed her into a corner of the stable.

‘You are too quick, Rachel Odell,’ Cory said, with an expressive lift of the brows. ‘I always said that education in a woman was a mistake.’

Rachel laughed. She tilted her head to look up at him. ‘No, you did not, Cory. You are not the man to feel threatened by an intelligent woman.’

Cory’s smile deepened. ‘Maybe not. Nevertheless, I could wish you to see a little less clearly in this. Justin Kestrel is here for the summer merely for entertainment, as are his guests.’

‘I see,’ Rachel said. ‘Well, you will not hear me contradicting that, Cory.’ She sighed. ‘Could you step back, please? This corner is very dusty and I do not wish my gown to be spoiled.’

‘Of course,’ Cory said. He held her gaze for a moment and then moved away, picking up the brush and resuming his work on the horse. ‘So, is society here to your taste, Rae?’

‘Oh, yes, I like it extremely,’ Rachel said. She gave a sigh. ‘It is so peaceful. So very staid and normal. Or at least I thought it so until you put me right.’

Cory gave her his brilliant smile. ‘What do you do with your time?’

Moving over to the manger, Rachel pulled a handful of hay and proffered it to Castor, who gobbled it eagerly.

‘I read and write letters, and take tea with the ladies of the villages, and go shopping. It is quite delightful. And then there are the balls and assemblies in Woodbridge…’

‘The town plays host to the 21st Light Dragoons these days, I hear,’ Cory said.

‘Oh, they are prodigiously unpopular.’ Rachel laughed. ‘The soldiers get drunk and cause fights, and take over the theatre and all the amusements. One can scarcely move for red coats.’

‘It sounds as though they find no more favour with you than my friends and I shall,’ Cory observed.

‘I do not suppose that you will repine,’ Rachel said, smiling. ‘Your arrival will cause a huge commotion amongst the wives and daughters of the military.’

Cory laughed. ‘You imagine them to be ladies more susceptible than yourself, Rae?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘I would think so. I confess I do not find adventurers attractive.’

‘Most other ladies do not agree with you.’

Rachel gave him a speaking look. ‘So I have heard. It is a pity you did not meet them by the river rather than myself.’

Cory was laughing at her, his grey eyes bright with amusement. ‘Did I disturb you so much that you cannot put it from your mind, Rae?’

Rachel realised her mistake. ‘Not at all,’ she said with dignity. ‘I was quite able to manage.’

‘In your usual practical manner?’ Cory put his head on one side. ‘I do not believe I have ever seen you so ruffled before, Rachel. It was…interesting.’

There was something in his eyes that suggested that if Rachel had seen him in a different light, then so had he seen her. For a long instant they held each other’s gaze whilst the warm, heavy excitement beat in Rachel’s blood again. She broke the contact with deliberation and dusted the bits of loose hay from her skirts.

‘I was certainly not expecting ever to see you in such a manner,’ she said. ‘It was like-’ she struggled a little with her feelings ‘-like knowing too much about my own brother!’

Cory was watching her. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable.

‘So your feelings for me are brotherly?’ he asked.

Rachel fidgeted, pulling a sliver of wood from the doorframe. She felt rather hot and awkward, without really understanding the reason why. ‘What else would they be, Cory?’

She saw Cory’s expression change and had a sudden feeling of panic at the thought he might actually answer her-and that the answer might not be to her taste. She could hardly deny that their scandalous encounter by the river had had a wholly unexpected effect on her. Yes, she had been shocked, but she had also been captivated, tempted, excited…Her thoughts broke off in utter confusion as she saw that Cory was smiling at her with speculation in his eyes.

The clock on the tower chimed ten and Rachel felt almost faint with relief. ‘Oh! I must go. I am promised to the reading group at Saltires at half past.’

Cory paused, brush in hand. ‘At Saltires? Lady Sally Saltire hosts a reading group? Well, I’ll be damned!’

Rachel paused. ‘Do you know Lady Sally?’

‘Everyone knows Sally Saltire,’ Cory said. ‘She is a most prominent London hostess. In fact, she is the only woman I know who has made being bookish a fashionable occupation. I believe that she was known as La Belle Bas Bleue when she was younger.’

‘The beautiful bluestocking,’ Rachel said, smiling. ‘That is pretty.’

‘It is a soubriquet that could equally be applied to you,’ Cory said, his gaze warming.

Rachel blushed. ‘Thank you, Cory, but you know that I look no more than well to a pass.’

Cory’s eyes narrowed and once again Rachel felt a quiver of panic at what he might be about to say. For a moment he looked quite angry.

‘What are you comparing yourself with, Rae? A classical Greek statue?’

‘We were speaking of Lady Sally Saltire, not myself,’ Rachel said hastily.

‘So we were,’ Cory said. ‘I believe society was amazed that she chose to bury herself in the country this summer rather than visit the fashionable resorts.’

Rachel smiled a little. ‘But surely everyone knows that Lady Sally seldom does the expected thing?’

‘Those who know her well, perhaps.’ Cory cocked his head. ‘Had you met her before then, Rae?’

‘We met in Egypt,’ Rachel said, ‘several years ago. Just before Napoleon’s invasion.’

Cory nodded. ‘Of course! I remember. Your father has a talent for choosing to excavate in precisely the place you would wish him not to be.’

Rachel smiled. ‘Papa is so unworldly. He barely notices the great events unfolding around him. When we were forced to flee Egypt, he merely complained that Napoleon’s army had forced him to lose a year’s work.’

‘You were lucky that you got away with your lives,’ Cory said drily.

‘I know. It was far too exciting for me. Which is why I prefer Midwinter Royal and Lady Sally’s reading group.’

‘What is the text that you are studying?’ Cory asked.

‘I have only been to one meeting of her reading group,’ Rachel said, ‘but we are currently discussing The Enchantress by Mrs Martin.’

She thought that she saw Cory’s shoulders shake slightly. ‘Why, what is the matter?’

Cory straightened and gave his horse a final pat. ‘Your classical education has no doubt been magnificent, Rachel-I know of no other young lady who can read Hebrew and Chaldean-but your literary one is sadly lacking. I believe The Enchantress to be a Minerva Press publication.’

Rachel raised her chin. She did not care to have Cory make fun of her reading tastes. ‘So? It is a charming book. I dare say that you have not read any Minervas, Cory, so you do not know what you are talking about.’

Cory inclined his head. ‘There you have me. I do not. I beg your pardon. They are probably excellent publications.’

‘You are suspiciously quick to retract your views. Either you are humouring me or else you are still secretly laughing at me!’

Cory raised a hand in mock surrender. ‘Acquit me, Rae. I would not laugh at you. What is the plot of The Enchantress?’

Rachel shot him a mistrustful look, certain that he was still funning her. ‘It is a most edifying tale,’ she said. ‘The hero, Sir Philip Desormeaux, has just put an advertisement in the newspaper in order to find himself a wife.’

‘A most practical gentleman.’ Cory quirked his brows. ‘No doubt you approve of such a sensible approach to matrimony?’

‘Naturally,’ Rachel said. ‘I have a lowering feeling, however, that he will succumb to romance in the end.’

Cory grinned. ‘Is that what gentlemen generally do?’

‘In fiction, certainly.’ Rachel said. ‘In real life, I doubt it.’

‘Yet you advocate sense over sensibility yourself?’

‘Of course.’ Rachel said. ‘Romance is like travel.’

‘Exciting, daring, and dangerous?’

‘Uncomfortable, inconvenient and hopefully of short duration,’ Rachel said. ‘Good day to you, Cory.’

His laughter followed her as she went out of the stable and into the bright sun of mid-morning. Already the heat was building and the white doves sought the shadow of the clock tower. Rachel, who intended to walk the couple of miles from Midwinter Royal House to Saltires, went to fetch her parasol. In the hallway her mother’s packing boxes were still half-full and Rose, the only housemaid who had agreed to take the job, was laboriously polishing the banisters, wheezing as she worked.

Rachel went up the wide staircase, turned right where it branched, and entered the second door on her left. Midwinter Royal was only a small house and she had chosen for her own a bedroom on the west side with a view across Midwinter Common to the forest beyond. She had given her parents the biggest bedchamber on the south side of the house, for although Rachel knew that they would not have noticed if they had been sleeping in a trench, she wished them to be comfortable. They had a view across their beloved burial mounds to the river, the Winter Race, beyond.

Rachel’s room was bright and full of sunshine. The curtains rippled in the breeze from the open window. She went across and extracted her parasol from the white-painted wardrobe in the corner. All of her belongings had been stacked away neatly upon arrival. Nothing spoiled the pristine neatness of her bed, for although she had to share a maid with Lady Odell, she would never have countenanced leaving her clothes draped about the room as her mother did.

It was as she was closing the wardrobe door that she turned and caught sight of Cory Newlyn strolling down the path that cut through the shrubberies towards the fields at the back. He had his hands in the pockets of his disreputable jacket and he was whistling under his breath. As Rachel watched, he took off his battered old hat and thrust his hand through his fair hair, pushing it back from his forehead. Then he looked up at her window, saw her watching and raised one hand in casual greeting. The sun was on his upturned face as he smiled at her.

Rachel stepped back from the window suddenly. It was odd but she felt as though she had been caught in the act like a peeping Tom. Yet surely there was nothing wrong in looking out of her own bedroom window…

When she dared to look again, Cory had disappeared around the corner of the house. With a small sigh, Rachel tied the blue ribbons of her wide-brimmed straw hat under her chin, donned her light spencer and checked in the mirror that she looked neat and tidy. She did. Her russet-brown hair was braided ruthlessly to subdue the curl in it and there was not a thread out of place on her pale blue promenade dress.

She picked up her parasol and hurried down the stairs. Cory had disturbed her morning in more ways than one. Now she was going to be late, and in a strange way, it felt as though it was all Cory’s fault.