The Rake of Hollowhurst Castle (2 page)

Roxanne's lips twisted into a grimace of distaste and impatience at her young and over-romantic self. Sir Charles Afforde was indeed a lion nowadays; successful, courageous and independently wealthy from prize money and the family trust he'd finally taken control of, according to David's sporadic letters. Then there was that baronetcy he'd won by his own efforts, bestowed on him by a grateful country for gallant service in the late wars. His elevated naval rank of commodore might revert to a mere captaincy when he was on land and no longer in command of his squadron, but no doubt at all he'd have been made admiral if he had stayed in the navy when Bonaparte was finally defeated, even if the Admiralty had had to promote a dozen senior officers to flag rank ashore on half-pay to give such a capable and proven captain his admiral's flag.

On the other hand, Miss Roxanne Courland had fulfilled her early promise by growing up to be as dark as the fashion was fair, and far too decided a character for the ridiculous mode that demanded a lady should pretend extreme sensibility and embrace idleness. Little wonder few gentlemen had the nerve to so much as
dance with her, let alone lay their hands and hearts at her impatiently tapping feet.

Just as well she'd long ago given up her secret dream of capturing Charles Afforde's fickle heart then, for no doubt he'd choose a sophisticated beauty when he finally took a wife and not a countrified beanpole of four and twenty but, considering she doubted he possessed a heart to lose, wasn't that just as well?

She was happy enough as Aunt Roxanne now Joanna and her Tom Varleigh had made her so three times over; and she was just good old Rosie to her brother, the spinster sister who held the reins of Hollowhurst in her capable hands while he travelled to the furthest corners of the earth. So the real question was what on earth could that dashing hero Sir Charles Afforde want with her humble self? His letter lay on the delicate rosewood desk that she used for her correspondence and she cautiously considered it through the gathering darkness, as if to get closer might somehow conjure him up out of the dusky shadows.

The wretched thing had done nothing but disturb her since it arrived two days ago, its terse content worrying away at her customary serenity until she was tempted to throw it in the fire and have done with him, even if she couldn't bring herself to actually do it. Maybe something remained from the old days, then—not the illusion that she could tame the wild rover under all that rakish charm, but a dream dead and done with that was reminding her a much younger, ridiculously romantic Roxanne would probably hate the person she'd become.

W
ith an impatient sigh, Roxanne decided to put Sir Charles Afforde out of her mind until he called and told her what he actually wanted with her after so many years. There was plenty to divert her, after all, for times were hard since the end of the war and it was proving a struggle to keep Hollowhurst untouched by it all, and then there was Davy's latest letter. She shivered, sensing something new and worrying behind her brother's evasive reception of her ingenious solution to some vexing estate business.

Instead of carelessly agreeing to anything she proposed as usual, Sir David Courland wrote instead of the many charms offered by his latest landfall. Despite the late war between Great Britain and the American States, he seemed very welcome in New England and wrote enthusiastically of its many beauties, particularly those of a certain Miss Philomena Harbury, whose virtues apparently knew no bounds. Her brother was obviously
fathoms deep in love, and Roxanne hoped her family would not stand in their way.

David might be a baronet and wealthy landowner, but his constant racketing about the world would make him a challenging husband, even without the fact of him owning Hollowhurst to ensure they would be parted from her kin by a vast ocean sooner or later, if he and his Philomena married. Given that the girl would have to give up so much to marry him, how could Roxanne expect the new Lady Courland to share her strange new home with a sister-in-law accustomed to ruling it unopposed?

She'd learn to love Mulberry House, Roxanne reassured herself, picturing the neat and airy dwelling in Hollowhurst village that her uncle had purchased lest his nieces were unwed and now left to her because she was going to need it. The mistress of such a fine house would command respect in the area, as long as she learned to behave more like a lady and less like the lord of the manor. Yet she watched the quaint old gardens fade into darkness and sighed as she tried to visualise herself occupied with planning rosebeds, visiting her neighbours and good works. She'd have time to stay with her favourite aunts in Bath at last and at Varleigh with the ever-expanding Varleigh family, maybe even a duty visit at Balsover Granta with Maria, now Countess of Balsover, followed perhaps by the heady delights of London for the Season. Roxanne shook her head and wondered how she'd endure a life of idle uselessness.

‘You're very lucky, my girl,' she chided herself out loud. ‘You should be counting your blessings.'

‘Should you indeed, Miss Courland?' a deep voice spoke out of the darkness and nearly made her jump
out of her skin. ‘I always considered that a sadly futile exercise when ordered to do so by my tutors.'

‘Who the deuce are you?' she snapped back, although she would have known his deep voice anywhere.

‘What a very good question,' he replied, the devil-may-care grin she remembered so well becoming visible as well as audible when he stepped out of the shadows and into the dying light from the bay windows. ‘I remember you very well, ma'am, but no doubt I've faded into the mists of your memory by now. Charles Afforde, very much at your service, Miss Courland.'

‘Sir Charles,' she acknowledged absently, still struggling to settle the errant heartbeat the mere sound of his voice provoked.

‘Perhaps you remember me, after all, considering you take such a flattering interest in my humble career, Miss Courland?'

‘My brother writes of you in his letters, and reports of your daring deeds reach us even in a backwater like Hollowhurst, Commodore Afforde.'

‘The navy and I have parted company, so I don't use my rank, and I was only ever a commodore when in command of my squadron, you know.'

‘Do you miss it?' she asked absently, then told herself crossly not to ask such personal questions on the strength of the merest acquaintance. ‘I beg your pardon, that was impertinent of me.'

‘Not at all, our families have been friendly since before the Flood and your eldest sister is my cousin's wife, so I think we may presume on both connections and friendship, don't you? And the answer is, yes, I miss the limitless possibilities of the sea, but a battle is as grim a business at sea as on land and I'd been fighting
them for far too long. They do say a true sailor only retires when he's safely underground, or underwater, so life on shore might pall one day, I suppose.'

‘So you're giving shore life a try out, then?' she replied sharply, for his easy assumption that he could spring up out of the shadows in her own home and be offered a warm welcome was annoying now the shock had abated.

‘You think me presumptuous perhaps, Miss Courland?' he asked, apparently unmoved by her sarcasm.

‘I think you're likely to be bored and disillusioned when the novelty wears off, Sir Charles.'

‘You have become very frank in your opinions,' he replied solemnly, but she could see enough of his expression through the gloom to know he was laughing at her. ‘And what a paltry fellow you do think me.'

‘How could I when your deeds are trumpeted throughout the land? That would be presumptuous and ungracious, Captain.'

‘Then why do I think you don't care if I consider you a perfect lady or a hoyden, Miss Courland?'

‘I really don't know, why do you think so, sir? Could it be that you just walked into my home unannounced and strolled about as if you owned it? It would never do for me to be so lost to the claims of simple hospitality as to point out such a vast presumption on your part, now would it?'

‘No, particularly now that I can't stay here, as I planned, with you living alone in this scrambling fashion,' he replied, the humour fading from his deep voice as he looked surprisingly stern in the shadowed light.

‘My mode of life is none of your concern.'

‘Ah, but it is, Miss Courland. It's of very material
concern to me, since it currently stands between me and my new life.'

‘Don't be ridiculous. Nothing I do has an effect on the way you live your life, Sir Charles, and I think you're fit for Bedlam if you believe it does.'

‘Again, you are very frank,' he said, such genial amusement in his deep voice that she wished she could forget she was a lady long enough to slap him.

Then he sobered again and she saw he was eyeing her shadowy figure in the fading light. Her dark gown must be adding to the gathering gloom and her face probably appeared almost ghostly in the twilight, but that was no reason for him to stare at her as if trying to resolve a vexing riddle.

‘You haven't heard from your brother lately, I take it?' he asked softly at last and there was something in his voice that sounded almost like pity. She shivered in sudden fear as she tried to reassure herself all was well.

‘Not for several weeks,' she finally admitted as if the words had been racked out of her.

He was silent for a while as if pondering his next move and she refused to fill it with idle chatter when she hadn't even invited him to walk into her brother's drawing room and make himself at home. Anyway, she hated discussing her family with a man who was now a stranger, and the fact that she'd once heaped so many ridiculous hopes on his broad shoulders just made it worse. He was standing closer now and she'd be a fool not to notice he was more ridiculously handsome than ever. The careless glow of youth had left his face, along with any lingering innocence, and his features had hardened in maturity until he looked like a formidable
Greek god—powerful Zeus instead of careless Apollo, perhaps.

Yet he seemed almost impatient of his looks, although he probably made little enough effort to fight off the women who flirted with him whenever he ventured into society or the
demi-monde,
if rumour was true. No doubt the idiotic females lined up to be seduced by the smiling devil he was now, and they were welcome to him. Roxanne infinitely preferred the younger, less jaded Charles Afforde of a decade ago to this cynical rake.

Colours were beginning to fade from the world along with the daylight, so she couldn't tell if his eyes were as breathtakingly blue as ever, but they were certainly sharper and more disillusioned as he looked down at her as if trying to read her thoughts, which was one more good reason to keep him at arm's length. The last thing she wanted was to become an open book to him, so he could amuse himself with a list of her peculiarities whenever he had an idle hour to spare.

‘I think you'll find Davy's life has changed more than usual during that time,' he said carefully at last, as if he was weighing every word, then tempering them to avoid a hysterical feminine reaction.

Luckily she'd given up the vapours at a very early age, as Maria was far too good at them to stand competition. ‘Tell me,' she demanded flatly, suddenly knowing this was going to be one of those painful revelations no words could soften.

‘He's wed, Miss Courland. In fact, I was his groomsman, so there can be no doubting the truth of it, and a very fine wife he's won himself, as well.'

‘I'm not in the least surprised,' she returned calmly
enough, for hadn't she been thinking of that eventuality ever since that last letter from her brother was so full of his lovely Philomena? Even if she did feel shocked by the stark fact of David marrying without taking trouble to inform his family of it himself.

‘He also assured me he has no intention of returning to England for more than a visit. I'm sorry to break such news to you so abruptly, but either Davy couldn't put his soul on paper, after all, or his letter has gone astray.'

Sir Charles Afforde looked distinctly uncomfortable about being the one to tell her. She could imagine him as sternly self-composed when having to go in front of his admiral with ill news, although Davy's happiness wasn't bad news, of course, yet she was torn between joy for him and terrible anxiety for all she held dear here.

‘Not coming back?' she said at last and couldn't hold back the most important question, ‘But what about Hollowhurst?'

Roxanne had no idea why she asked him the fate of her home with an absentee master committed to another country. Maybe her reign would continue, but apprehension set flocks of butterflies aflutter in her stomach and confirmed it was unlikely. At least she hoped it was apprehension, for Charles Afforde was very close now, and she was human, even if she was also a superannuated old maid.

‘That's where I come in, I fear,' he admitted gruffly.

‘You fear? When did you ever do that, Sir Charles?' she asked stiffly, wondering just why he hadn't said all this in a letter.

‘You'd probably be surprised, but my flawed personality isn't pertinent to the facts. The truth with no frills and furbelows on it, Miss Courland, is that your brother
has sold me the castle and estate so he can invest in his wife's estates and other ventures in the country he's adopted as his own.'

Roxanne gasped and let herself feel the momentous weight of change on her slim shoulders for a long, terrible moment. Then she braced them and forced her chaotic feelings to the back of her mind as she met his eyes steadily. The appalling reality of Davy's betrayal could wait until she was alone; she refused to let her shock and grief show in front of Charles.

‘But what of legal formalities and viewing the farm accounts?' she heard herself protest, feeling as if she was listening to a stranger producing caveats as to why the truth couldn't be true.

‘No need of that between us, he named a fair price and I paid it. Your brother was ever an honest man.'

‘You call him so, but took advantage of his honesty, I dare say. He's newly in love and that's never time to take a hard look at the future,' she shot at him, fury surging through her in an invigorating tide as she looked for someone to blame and found him very handy indeed.

‘You know better, Miss Courland. I always took you for the most intelligent of your family, so you must know your brother found his inheritance a burden rather than a joy. Davy has no love of the land and takes little pleasure in being lord of the manor. It's my belief that America will suit him very well, and he already insists on being known as plain Mr Courland and is impatient with the old order for holding back the new.'

‘You don't share his Jacobin notions, Sir Charles?' she snapped scornfully, as lashing out at him staved off the painful thought that Charles Afforde knew her brother better than she did herself.

‘No, I'm quite content to command, but I was raised to it, Miss Courland, and learned early that it was my duty as an officer to lead. The life that never suited Davy will do me very well.'

Roxanne shivered again and hugged her arms about her body as if hoping to ward off the chill of the autumnal evening and this appalling news. She was having her childish dreams come true in the most twisted and cheerless fashion imaginable. Once she'd yearned for this man, striven to become a correct young lady in order to deserve him, until she finally realised he wasn't worth it. She'd wasted the painful intensity of the very young on a handsome face and now felt betrayed again. Except he meant nothing to her, so retiring to Mulberry House sooner than she'd dreaded wasn't the catastrophe it currently felt. What a relief to be spared the sight of him striding along in Uncle Granger's shoes and lording it over her beloved home.

‘My brother was raised to take command here one day,' she heard herself protest weakly and wondered why she bothered.

‘Of course he always knew he'd inherit,' Sir Charles Afforde told her carefully and Roxanne wondered if shock made his voice echo in her ears like the voice of doom.

He'd be horrified if she gave in to the painful thudding of her heartbeat in her ears and fainted, but at least the mere sound of his voice no longer made her tingle down to her toes and at too many points in between.

‘You must know he never really took to the life, though, Miss Courland,' he continued. ‘Indeed, Davy always claimed you were more suited to the role of landowner than he, but Hollowhurst would be too great a
burden for a woman to bear alone, given the nature of the society we live in.'