Bronwyn Scott - The Regency Season - Wicked Rakes - How to Disgrace a Lady / How to Ruin a Reputation

Her foibles? Alixe’s temper rose. ‘My work is important. I am restoring history about our region. This is as much the history of Kent as it is the history of our family.’ Her family knew that. ‘You think it’s important as long as Jamie’s the one doing it.’

‘It’s not appropriate for a woman. No man wants a woman who is more interested in ancient manuscripts than she is in him.’ Her father stood up and strode around the desk. ‘I know what you’re thinking, miss. You’re thinking somehow you’ll get out of this, that you’ll reject every suitor St Magnus finds and you’ll find a way to run him off at the very last. If you do that, I’ll cut you off without a penny and you can see exactly how it is for a woman on her own in this world without the protection of a man’s good name.’

That was precisely what she was thinking: the driving-the-suitors-away part anyway. The last bit worried her. Her father would do it, too. He was furious this time. If it was possible, he was even more furious over this than he had been about her rejection of Viscount Mandley.

She had to throw him a proverbial bone if she meant to renegotiate this. ‘I’ll go to London after the house party and finish out the rest of the Season, without St Magnus.’ That should appease him.

‘No. You’ve had a chance, more than one chance, to turn London to your favour.’ Her father sighed, but she did not mistake it for a sign that he might be relenting. ‘The arrangement isn’t all bad. St Magnus has a certain savoir-faire to him; he’s stylish and charming and he’s risky without being a full-fledged black rake, although he skates pretty close to the edge. Being with him will bring you a cachet of your own, it will help others see you in a different, in a better light. There’s no real chance of actually marrying him, thank goodness. Use him and drop him, Alixe, if he’s so distasteful to you. Everyone has a place in this world. It’s time you learned yours.’

So much for her father’s version of sympathy.

Alixe cast a beseeching glance her mother’s direction, only to receive a slow shake of the head. ‘Your father and I are together on this, Alixe.’ No help from that quarter. Perhaps she could cajole Jamie into pleading her case. There were any number of stories he could likely tell that would persuade her father to keep her as far from St Magnus as possible.

‘One more thing,’ her father added. ‘We are to say nothing of this to Jamie. It would create a grievous rift in his friendship. We’ve all agreed to keep this incident quiet.’ There went her last hope. Now all that was left was to appeal directly to St Magnus. Surely he was no more enamoured of the tangle they found themselves in than she was.

Chapter Six

It was over. Her bid for freedom was truly over this time. Alixe sank down on a stone bench in the flower garden, setting her empty basket beside her. She was in no mood to pick flowers for the vases in the house, but it gave her a useful excuse to be away from the gaiety of the party. Most of the guests were still lingering over breakfast before preparing to ride out on a jaunt to the Roman ruins.

Her father had meant it this time. There would be no reprieve. In all honesty, he’d been generous in the past. He’d tolerated—she couldn’t say forgiven—tolerated her rejection of Mandley and, before that, her rejection of the ridiculous Baron Addleborough. He’d tolerated—she couldn’t say supported—what he viewed as her oddities: her preference for books and meaningful academic work. She knew it had all been done in the hope that she’d come around and eventually embrace a more traditional, accepted life.

Only it hadn’t worked out that way. Instead of deciding to embrace society on her own after realising the supposed error of her ways, she’d retreated. The retreat had started simply. At first, it had been enough to stay in the country and devote her efforts to her history. Then it had become easier and easier to not go back at all. Or perhaps it had become harder to go back. Here, she was less bound by the conventions of fashion and rules under the censorious eyes of society. Here she could avoid the realities of an empty, miserable society marriage. Here, she was happy.

Mostly.

The truth was, for all the solace the country offered, she’d been restless even before St Magnus’s foolish wager. She’d spent the summer roaming the countryside, looking for...something. Restlessness and loneliness were the apparent going prices for the relative freedoms afforded by the isolation of the countryside. Now, all of that was about to change and not for the better. She should be more careful what she wished for.

‘There you are.’

Ah, her unlikely fairy godmother had come to make a silk purse out of sow’s ear. She met St Magnus’s easy demeanour with a hard stare. In that moment she hated him, truly hated him. After a night that had upended whatever future he had imagined for himself, he looked refreshed and well dressed, a rather striking contrast to the picture she knew she presented with her dark circles and plain brown gown.

She hadn’t slept at all and she hadn’t taken any pains this morning to disguise the fact. But St Magnus was impeccably attired for riding in buff breeches, polished boots and deep forest-green jacket. The morning sun glinted off his hair, turning it platinum in the bright light. It was the first time that she had noticed his hair was almost longer than convention dictated, hanging in loose waves to his shoulders, but not nearly long enough to club back. Or was it? Hmmm.

‘Is something wrong with my face?’ St Magnus enquired, lifting a hand tentatively to his cheek.

‘No.’ Alixe hastily dragged her thoughts to the present. Wondering about his hair would serve no purpose, no useful purpose anyway.

‘Good. I’ve come to discuss our predicament.’ St Magnus set her empty basket on the ground and sat down uninvited beside her on the little bench. She was acutely aware of his nearness in the small space and of the other time they’d been so close.

‘Do you think this is a good idea?’ She tried to slide apart, but there was no place left to slide.

‘Discussing our situation?’

‘No, sitting so close. The last time was a disaster.’

He eyed her with a wry look. ‘I think that’s the least of your worries, Alixe. It’s certainly the least of mine.’

Alixe. The sound of her name on his lips, so very casual as if they were friends, as if working together last night had meant something instead of being contrived to steal a kiss, sent a small thrill through her until she remembered why he was there. She folded her hands in her lap. ‘I imagine you’re quite concerned about the little matter of your wager.’

‘I am and you should be, too.’ He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his booted ankles. ‘If I fail, your father will see us married. Neither of us wants that, so tell me who you want to marry and I’ll see to it that you have him.’

Alixe snorted. This was like a bad fairy tale. ‘How do you propose to do that? You can’t wave a magic wand and conjure a husband out of thin air.’

‘No, but you can. I can teach you what you need to entice your man of preference. So, name your man. Who do you want?’

Alixe stood and paced the path. ‘Let me think... He should be moderately good-looking, moderately young. I don’t want anyone too terribly old. He should be intelligent. I would want to have decent conversation over a lifetime of dinners. He should be respectful and he should appreciate me for who I am—’

‘No,’ St Magnus interrupted.

‘No? He shouldn’t be respectful or able to make decent conversation at meal time?’

His blue eyes flashed with irritation at her recital of characteristics. ‘No, as in I don’t want a list of qualities. I want a name. For example, Viscount Hargrove or Baron Hesselton.’