Nicola Cornick - The Notorious Lord

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.