Louise Allen - The Disgraceful Mr Ravenhurst

‘Tomorrow at ten, then? Thank you for my day.’

‘And for the new gowns?’

‘I reserve judgement on those until I see what they look like.’ She laughed back at his smile and set off up the hill, her porter at her heels.

* * *

Theo caught Hythe’s eye and nodded almost imperceptibly before the man set off in Elinor’s wake. He tipped his hat over his eyes, leaving just enough room to see under the brim, and leaned back against the backboard, apparently asleep. It was a useful trick, and had served him well in the past.

That had been an unexpected day. Unexpected, different and quietly pleasant. It had left him with the desire to set a match to the entire contents of his aunt’s study, though. Poor Cousin Elinor. No—he had started out feeling sorry for her, but that, he acknowledged, was not the right emotion.

She was intelligent, amusing, artistically talented and really rather lovely, if she could ever be brought to see it. On the other hand, her very unconsciousness of her looks was part of her charm.

Or was it just him? Certainly no other gentleman had shown her overt attention in the past or she would not have been so completely relaxed in his company. It seemed she vanished at will behind a mask that disguised her as spinster bluestocking and both she, and all the men she came in contact with, accepted that.

When he thought of the liberties he could have taken with her—probably would have taken with someone of more sophistication—he shuddered. The feel of her, her waist trim between his palms as he lifted her down from that chair in the church. Her hair, glossy under his hands as she let him handle it. Her total relaxation as she slept on the riverbank beside him. And her warm, long-fingered hand trusting in his as they walked back.

Through his narrow viewpoint Hythe came into sight, striding down the hill. ‘That the same cousin, guv’nor?’ he asked when he was up on the seat and Theo was lifting the reins.

‘The same. Why?’

‘Thought her a bit of a drab piece yesterday. Different today, bit of a sparkle about her.’

‘She needed some fresh air,’ Theo said. Fresh air, a change of scene and someone to appreciate her. Perhaps Count Leon would take a fancy to her; that would distract him nicely.

Was there any danger, taking his aunt and cousin into that chateau? No, surely not. Even if it were the count who had robbed him of the ch—the object . Even to himself he did not name it. It seemed hard to believe that he was the culprit, the man who had struck Theo down and murdered the old count, his father. If he was innocent, then the danger would come when whoever did have it attempted to sell it back to the count. Theo could send the women packing as soon as that happened.

His hand went to the small of his back where the pistol was wedged into his belt and then down to check the knives slipped into his carefully made boots. Things were safe enough now. His mouth settled into a thin smile that did not reach his eyes.

‘Good afternoon, Elinor.’ Lady James hardly glanced up from her work table as Elinor came in, a rustic jug with the wild roses in her hands. She looked around for a free flat surface, then gave up and stood them in the hearth.

‘Good afternoon, Mama. Did you have a good day?’

‘Passable. Those sketches of yours are acceptable, I do not require any of them redone. What was the church at St Père like?’

‘Of as late a date as you supposed,’ Elinor said indifferently. At least she did not have to spend any more time squinting into shadows in the basilica. ‘There are the ruins of the old church next to it, but nothing of any interest remains.’

‘You were a long time.’

‘Cousin Theo and I went for a walk. I found the exercise invigorating after so much time spent drawing.’

‘Very true. A rational way to spend the day, then.’ Lady James added a word to the page, then looked up, apparently satisfied with the sentence she had just completed. ‘What have you done to your hair?’

‘Oh.’ Elinor put up a hand, startled to find the softness against her cheek. ‘My hair net caught on a twig and was torn. I had no hair pins, so braiding it seemed the best thing to do.’ In for a penny… ‘I ordered some new gowns while I was in the village. Cousin Theo’s landlady is a dressmaker.’

‘Nothing extravagant, I trust. There is plenty of wear in that gown for a start.’ Clothing, especially fashionable clothing, was not just an unnecessary expense, but a drug for young women’s minds, in Lady James’s opinion.

‘They are well within my allowance, Mama—a positive bargain, in fact—and they are practical garments.’ She had lost her mother’s attention again. Elinor half-stood, then sat down again. Normally at this point she would retreat and leave Mama in peace, but today, after the experience of spending hours with someone who actually understood the concept of a reciprocal conversation, she felt less patient.

‘Mama, Cousin Theo tells me that there is a most interesting chateau in St Martin, a village beyond St Père. He has an introduction to the count and thought you may like to accompany him tomorrow and see the building.’

‘Hmm?’ Lady James laid down her pen and frowned. ‘Yes, if that is the Chateau de Beaumartin, I have heard of it. I believe it has an unusual early chapel, a remnant of an earlier castle. Tomorrow is not convenient, however.’

‘It is the day Cousin Theo will be visiting. That and no other, he says, so I am afraid we will have to be a little flexible if we are not to miss the opportunity.’

‘Flexible? He obviously has no concept of the importance of routine and disciplined application for a scholar. Very well. I never thought to see the day when I would have to accommodate the whims of a scapegrace nephew.’

‘I believe he is calling on business, not for pleasure, Mama. And he is a most accomplished artist,’ she added, feeling the need to defend Theo in some way. He would be amused to hear her, she suspected. Somehow he seemed too relaxed and self-confident to worry about what one eccentric aunt thought of him. ‘He will be here at ten, Mama.’

‘Indeed? Well, if we are to spend tomorrow out, then we have work to do. Those proofs will not wait any longer, not if I am to entrust them to what passes for the French postal system these days. It pains me to find anything good to say about the Corsican Monster, but apparently he made the mails run on time.’

‘Yes, Mama, I will just go and wash my hands.’ It did not seem possible to say that she would rather spend the remainder of the afternoon while the light held in working up some of the rapid sketches she had made during the day. The one of Theo drawing, for example, or lying stretched out on the river bank with his hat tipped over his nose, or the tiny scribbled notes she had made to remind her of the way that blue creeping flower had hugged the ground.

Never mind, she told herself, opening the door to her little room on the second floor. They would still be there in her pocket sketchbook, and her memory for everything that had happened today was sharp. All except for those soft, vague minutes while Theo had been plaiting her hair and she had fallen asleep. That was like the half-waking moments experienced at dawn, and likely to prove just as elusive.

She splashed her face and washed her hands in the cold water from the washstand jug without glancing in the mirror. She rarely did so, except to check for ink smudges or to make sure the parting down the middle of her hair was straight. Now, as she reached for her apron, she hesitated and tipped the swinging glass to reflect her face. And stared.

Her nose was, rather unfortunately, becoming tanned. Her cheeks were pink and her hair… She looked at least two years younger. Which was probably because she was smiling—not a reaction that looking in the mirror usually provoked. Or was it that?