Authors: Sally Orr
When a Rake Falls
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Copyright © 2015 by Sally Orr
Cover and internal design © 2015 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover art by Judy York
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Apart from well-known historical figures, any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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London, 1825
Lord Boyce Parker felt a sudden urge to sing. The brisk morning air, the glorious sunshine, and the presence of a hundred or so excited gentlemen milling around him could only mean a remarkable day ahead. Boyce knew he'd be mocked if he broke out in song, but sometimes happiness just bubbled up from somewhere down in your toes and overwhelmed a fellow. “My candle burns brightâ”
“Goes without saying you learned to sing by reading a book,” said George Drexel, one of Boyce's oldest friends. “Right now I could be in bed with the lovely Widow Donhurst. Instead, I'm standing here amongst the rabble of London, far too early for any sane man, following another one of your bacon-brained schemes.”
Boyce ignored him and kept his gaze fixed on the balcony of Stainthorpe House. Yesterday, the Earl of Stainthorpe had placed an advertisement in all of the newspapers inviting London's finest bachelors to gather in Royston Square. Although the details in the advertisement were few, it hinted fame and five thousand pounds might be gained by winning one of several “challenges.” As the son of a wealthy marquess, Boyce had no need for the money, but he longed for a chance to impress his father. “It's not my bacon-brained scheme; it's the earl's. Cheer up. You will be the friend of the victorious Lord Boyce Parker.”
Drexel turned to glare at the pressing horde of eager young gentlemen behind them. “You don't even know what the old man's challenges are. They could all be a hum, like a scavenger hunt to find his great-uncle's tricorne hat or his aunt's lost poodle.” Drexel dressed in somber colors without fancy cravats or fobs, so his words had the gravity of a humorless man no one would willfully cross. This morning, his rumpled clothes, dark whiskers, and obvious lack of sleepâno doubt due to a long night of amorous adventureâmade him appear grumpier than normal. “I hardly think the earl's tomfool challenges will make you famous.”
“You don't sound cheerful.” Boyce grinned at his old school friend. “I'm confident the earl's challenges will be significant and my assured victory will pave the way to restoring my father's esteem.”
Drexel spat on the ground. “Chasing your brother's fame? Richard is a glorious war hero. I'm sure winning some silly challenge won't compete with his elevated consequence.”
“You're wrong. When my name is printed in the newspapers, my father will have to speak of me with the same admiration he gives Richard.”
“I don't think winning a challenge will change the marquess's opinion of youâ”
“Look.” Boyce pointed upward.
The Earl of Stainthorpe stepped to the edge of his balcony overlooking Royston Square. “My friends, I understand there are no great men left in England.” Silver wisps of hair escaped the earl's old-fashioned queue and blew over his forehead, but he ignored them as he squarely confronted the men below.
The audience surged forward and yelled retorts to the earl's audacious remark.
Boyce had arrived an hour early so he would be close enough to hear his lordship's every word. But if this hubbub continued, he might not catch what the earl had to say. He turned to the man yelling behind him. “I'll give you a pound, my good fellow, if you can shout louder.”
The man smiled and shouted.
“Definitely not louder, unfortunate loss indeed,” Boyce said. “Now I suggest you hush and let his lordship speak.”
Standing two steps behind his master, the earl's butler vigorously rang a handbell to gain the attention of the boisterous crowd.
“The earldom of Stainthorpe owns numerous and diverse holdings,” the earl bellowed. “Therefore, upon my death, my daughter will be the richest woman in England.”
The crowd cheered.
The earl waited for them to settle down. “What I'm trying to say is, Lady Sarah Stainthorpe needs a husband. But so far, none of the Eligibles paraded before her will do. She refuses to marry and claims all the gentlemen in London are rogues, dandies, or worse. The point is, she's a bluestocking and might fall in love with some bloodyâ¦a poet. I tell you, my friends, that Byron fellow has a lot to answer for.”
As the youngest son of a marquess, Boyce was considered an Eligible. Only, Lady Sarah had rejected him, and all the other Eligibles, seconds after they had presented themselves at Royston Houseâan unfortunate circumstance, since he believed Lady Sarah would make an excellent wife and a very pretty one too. After a moment of reflection, he realized every lady of his acquaintance would make a pretty wife. One or two may have a feature some might call “unfortunate.” Nevertheless, he always found something pretty in every female countenance.
“Are all the gentlemen I see before me rogues or dandies?” the earl shouted. “Of course not. One or two maybe, and several of you are shockingly loose in the haft.” His lordship pointed to a young man wearing a violet greatcoat, hanging by one arm on a streetlight. “Especially you, sir.”
With his free hand, the man doffed his top hat.
“Yes, I mean you,” the earl said. “My condolences to your poor father.”
All of the Parker men possessed a fine figure, so he knew even a poorly tailored coat hung well upon his shoulders. The many compliments he received had gained him a reputation as an expert in masculine fashion. Therefore, Boyce felt his lordship should show more sympathy to a man wearing a lamentable violet greatcoat, since the earl wore an old square coat and baggy breeches.
“Where was I?” The earl paused to scan the crowd. “Besides an obvious bone-breaker or two, you gentlemen are the embodiment of the character traits that make Englishmen the greatest people on earth. So I am challenging youâthe finest Englishmen aliveâto a race. A race to Paris!”
The crowd cheered.
“This is not a race where the winner arrives first,” the earl said. “No, it is a test to discover the gentlemen who possess England's greatest traits.”
“Gin drinking, gov?” someone shouted.
The crowd laughed and called out a few additional “traits.”
The earl ignored their comments. “And I mean
English
character traitsânot British. That country was some tomfoolery created by meddlesome politicians. This is a race for Englishmen only. Now, my race will have five challenges and five winners. Each winner will win a prize of a gold cup and five thousand pounds.”
The mob erupted in huzzahs; top hats flew into the air.
Under his sky-blue waistcoat, Boyce's heartbeat escalated. This race presented him with his best opportunity to distinguish himself. He would win at least two of the earl's challenges and earn a reputation as a prime example of English manhood. “Huzzah!” He too threw his beaver hat in the air.
The butler rang the handbell for a full minute before the crowd settled down.
The earl held up his hands. “Here are the details of the fiveâcount themâfive challenges. You have one month to reach Stainthorpe House in Paris. Each gentleman will write about his journey and provide the name of a witness. The man whose travels provide the best example of an English trait wins a challenge. Once the winners promise to spend the remainder of the summer in our company, they will be rewarded with a gold cup and five thousand pounds. With such excellent examples of true English manhood escorting Lady Sarah around Paris, she must certainly fall in love with one of you unlicked cubs.”
The assembled men danced in circles. Each one of them was probably dreaming about how he would spend his winnings.
Eager to hear the details, Boyce frowned at the clamorous riffraff behind him. The earl was right; they all appeared to be a lot of rag-mannered coves, so he gained complete confidence that he could best any of their English traitsâwhatever those traits may be. Once he reached Paris, Lady Sarah would discover he was the finest of fellows and they would fall in love. Women seemed naturally to favor him over other gentlemenâwonderful creatures, women.
The earl's voice boomed across the square. “What are the character traits that make Englishmen so great, you ask?”
The young men below the balcony tendered several improper suggestions.
“No.” The earl waved his hand. “Not physical features. Traits like courage and intelligence. So the challenges are thus: The first gold cup will be given to the gentleman who represents English courage. We are the country of Nelson, so bravery and courage course through every one of our veins.”
Someone shouted the nature of what was coursing through his veins.
The earl continued without hesitation. “The second gold cup will be given to the gentleman whose journey represents classic English sportsmanship. Any Englishman alive can out hunt, out fish, and out ride all other races of men. So to win the second cup, some outstanding feat of sportsmanship will rule the day. Extra consideration will be given to the best example of a journey completed under difficult circumstances.”
Boyce huffed. “Well, his lordship is wrong. The true nature of English sportsmanship is not victory over adversity, but our support for the dark horse and sense of fair play. We are, by nature, a generous people.”
Drexel slapped him on the back. “For once I agree with you. But considering your history in the field, I suggest you don't try for the sportsmanship cup.”
“Sportsmanship can be demonstrated by means other than fishing or shooting every magnificent creatureâfor example, by boxing or gaming. I practice my pugilistic skills at Jackson's twice a week now. You cannot tell me his place is not full of sportsmen. Or how about when a fellow loses a fortune gaming at White's and faces his loss with the grace and good humor of a gentleman? That's sportsmanship under pressure, if you ask me.”
“Yes, but the earl believes boxing is for professionals and only women play cards.”
Boyce widened his eyes. “In my opinion, his lordship's definition of
sportsmanship
is rather limited.”
The handbell sounded again before the earl continued his speech. “The third gold cup will be given to the gentleman whose journey best exhibits loyalty to the king or service to a lady.”
One man yelled, “I'd be delighted to service all the ladies on my way to Paris.”
Others in the crowd shouted similar generous offers.
“If you do so, sir,” the earl replied, “you will be shown the door. Loyalty means old-fashioned manners, being polite, and keeping your distance from your betters. Of all the challenges, I believe service to the Crown is the greatest honor any man could desire. And considering the manners I've witnessed here today, I'd say the challenge of this cup will remain unmet.”
Jeers filled the air.
Boyce wondered how a fellow could show loyalty to the king in a race. He supposed a gentleman might salute the king's profile on a sovereign with every step of his journey, but dismissed it as an absurd notion. No, he'd be better off trying to provide a service to some lady.
His lordship nodded, and the handbell rang again. “Now quiet down. The fourth cup will be given to the man whose journey provides the best example of our English intelligence. We are the land of Newton and Davy, so the greatest brains of civilization are English. Except for that da Vinci fellow and one or two Greeks, but we can afford to be generous and let the rest of the world have a little luck now and then.”
Boyce elbowed his friend. “Yes, yes, that's the cup for me. Bet I'll win too. What do you say, fifty?”
“Agreed,” Drexel said. “I will also wager by the end of this whole flummery, Lady Sarah will reject all the winners out of spite. I would, if I were her.”
Boyce refused to believe Lady Sarah would object to any of the winners, once she knew them well. The lady wanted to be married, didn't she? “No, no, young women are full of tender affection. I have never met one who did not want to fall in love and make her family happy.”
Drexel rolled his eyes. “I suspect that is because there are so many unmarried ladies dangling after you, you cannot imagine one refusing. And from the stories I heard yesterday, I'll wager that if I throw a pebble into the crowd at the next assembly, it will hit a widow who has, or wants to be, in your bed. And believe me, those ladies are not expecting marriage.”
“You're being vulgar in public,” Boyce said. “All of the widows I have everâ¦met were delightful. Deep in their hearts, they want to be married again, I'm sure.”
“So why haven't you married one of these delightful ladies?”
“Never understood how fellows choose one to fall in love with.”
“If I know the marquess, the best way to impress him is to give him grandchildren. My father becomes unhinged with even the thought of grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren? Grandchildren are far in the future. A great public achievement is my best and only chance to regain my father's respect. You'll see. When I am crowned the victor of more than one challenge, my achievements will be the toast of London. Then all of England will think of me differently. I will no longer be just one of the seven anonymous brothers of the war hero Richard. Worse yet, if people do recognize me, they remember I'm the Parker son who published a scandalous book and then received the cut direct from his fatherâhis own father. After my victory in the challenges, everyone will have to refer to me as the intelligent, courageous Lord
Boyce
. Don't you understand?”
Drexel winked at his friend. “Tell me, which of the great English traits do you represent best? Sounds like only Service to a Lady, and believe me, your service is the wrong type as far as the earl is concerned.”
“Ah, that's my secret. But you will be a witness to my victory, won't you?”
After pulling off his hat, Drexel took a full minute to smooth the beaver nap on the brim. “I'll consider it.” A wide smirk broke across his dark, handsome face. “You've persuaded me to join the race too.”
“No!”