Nicola Cornick - The Notorious Lord

Rachel could remember too, in vivid detail. She struggled against the memory. ‘Then if cold water does not work, perhaps I could administer a knock on the head,’ she said sweetly. ‘It would be my pleasure. You will sleep like a baby after that.’

Cory started to laugh. ‘You are fighting hard, Rae.’

‘Against your conceit!’ Rachel spun away through the arch. ‘It is a difficult job, but someone has to undertake it.’

She could hear his footsteps following her along the gravel path. ‘I do not believe that you were so indifferent to me last night in the stables,’ Cory said, ‘whatever you claimed.’

Rachel swung around to confront him. ‘You were playing games last night, so I thought that I would do too,’ she said coolly. ‘But I am tired of that now. Go away and play with Lady Benedict instead. She appreciates these things far more than I do.’

There was a pause and then Cory laughed. ‘Very well, I concede-for now,’ he said. ‘Friends?’

‘Just that,’ Rachel said. She held her hand out to shake on it. It was a mistake. The moment his hand touched hers, something akin to a shiver ran all the way along her nerves. She saw Cory’s eyes narrow on her face, as though he were reading her mind. He rubbed his thumb over the palm of her hand, making the shivers worse.

‘You have cut yourself,’ he remarked, moving the lace edge of her cuff to one side and exposing the pale skin of her inner arm. ‘How did that happen?’

‘It is nothing.’ Rachel pulled her hand away from his and tugged her sleeve down a little self-consciously. His gesture had made her feel naked. ‘I cut myself on the jagged edge of a pot when I was helping Mama wash the artefacts this morning.’

Cory was looking thoughtfully at the scratch. ‘You should be more careful.’

‘I am not careless.’ Rachel frowned. ‘Though I thank you for your concern.’ She glanced towards the terrace. ‘We should go back before anyone comments on our absence. I do not want to give Lady Benedict the chance to make another of her cattish remarks. Do you join us for tea, Cory?’

‘No, thank you,’ Cory said, ‘I cannot bear so insipid a beverage.’

‘Then I will leave you to take your dip in the river,’ Rachel said. ‘Pray take care that no one sees you, though. Not everyone has as strong a constitution as I. The shock might be too much for them.’

‘Will you be walking home that way?’ Cory enquired with a grin.

‘Certainly not,’ Rachel said. ‘I shall take the other footpath. I would not like to repeat that experience.’

Cory put his hand on her arm. ‘Should you not?’ he challenged.

‘It seems to me,’ Rachel said, ‘that you are so entirely in love with yourself that you need no one else’s admiration, Cory.’

Cory did not say anything but he let his gaze rest on her in a manner that contradicted her most effectively, and Rachel, who had sworn that she had put the matter to rest, found herself coming out with the one thing to which she required an answer.

‘Last night,’ she said in a rush, ‘I asked you if you were pretending with me and you did not answer. You were pretending, weren’t you, Cory?’

Cory smiled. ‘You should ask yourself why that matters so much to you, Rachel,’ he said. He sketched a bow and walked away.

Rachel watched him go, eyes narrowed. She was cross with herself for lowering her guard and asking a question that would have been better left unsaid. And yet…He had not answered her the previous night and now he had declined to do it again. He might merely be teasing her, but…She walked slowly towards the terrace, but in the back of her own mind the question still echoed: ‘You were pretending, weren’t you…?’

And she knew that she should be asking herself the same thing.

‘Who would have thought it?’ Richard Kestrel said heavily. ‘One might almost imagine that they are all in on it!’

‘It is the most confounded piece of bad luck,’ Cory agreed. ‘I could scarce believe it.’

They were back in the drawing room at Kestrel Court and were capably demolishing the latest bottle of brandy that Justin had left behind on his return to London. They were also playing a desultory game of chess.

‘Lady Marney claimed to be uninjured,’ Richard said, with a smile. ‘And Miss Lang was genuinely sick according to her brother. I sent Bradshaw to find out more from the Langs’ housemaid. The girl said that Miss Lang had taken so much wine at Lady Marney’s dinner that she had to be put to bed, and had not stirred since.’

‘It could be an act,’ Cory pointed out. He moved a pawn and sat back to watch Richard’s strategy.

‘True-’ Richard sighed ‘-although I cannot see Miss Lang as a cool-headed traitor. Besides, we have more likely candidates. There was Lady Benedict and her apparent tumble down the stairs-’

‘And Lady Sally and her gardening injury-’

‘And Mrs Stratton, who was sporting a nasty slash on her hand that she claimed was from a bramble that caught her as she was out riding this morning,’ Richard finished. He grinned. ‘What about Miss Odell, Cory?’

‘Cut herself cleaning a pot her mother had dug out this morning,’ Cory confirmed gloomily. ‘I do not think that she is the one we are looking for. Acquit me of partiality,’ he added hastily, seeing the wry gleam in Richard’s eye, ‘and I shall do the same for you with Mrs Stratton!’

Richard laughed. ‘I can make no special case for Mrs Stratton other than to say that I do not think she is the guilty party.’

‘Instinct?’ Cory asked drily.

Richard shrugged. ‘My instincts towards Mrs Stratton are best not discussed,’ he said, with a sardonic smile. He sat forward and moved his castle to take the pawn.

‘Lady Sally Saltire is certainly cool enough to pull it off,’ Cory said.

‘And Lady Benedict likewise,’ Richard finished thoughtfully. ‘She left the dinner early last night, but could have waited to ambush you on the road.’ He frowned. ‘ You are more than usual preoccupied tonight, old chap. Swear you are throwing this game away.’

Cory shrugged. ‘I’ll admit to a certain distraction.’

‘Miss Odell?’

Cory groaned. ‘How does one make love to one’s oldest friend, Richard?’

Richard looked amused. ‘Thought I was your oldest friend, Cory. I’m not sure if I should be concerned or offended!’

Cory moved his knight directly into the path of Richard’s queen. Richard scooped the piece from the board.

‘You could try the direct approach,’ he suggested. ‘Tell her exactly how you feel about her-or show her!’

Cory grimaced. ‘That is a little too direct, much as it might accord with my own feelings. Rachel thinks that I am playing games if I try to kiss her. She has yet to accept the idea that we could be more than friends. I do not wish to frighten her by declaring my feelings and risk losing her before I have even started to court her properly.’

‘Then you need to be slow and subtle,’ Richard said. He grinned. ‘Think you can do that?’

Cory laughed. ‘It is hardly my modus operandi,’ he admitted. ‘I suppose if one wants a thing enough…’

‘Absolutely,’ Richard said. ‘Checkmate.’

Cory sighed. ‘At least my chess might improve if I make some progress.’

‘I doubt it,’ Richard said. ‘The greater the physical frustration, the poorer one’s concentration and the more one’s game is shot to pieces.’ He passed the brandy bottle. ‘Oh, and the greater amount of brandy one consumes. Trust me. I should know.’

Cory filled his glass. ‘So where does that leave us?’ he asked.

‘No further on,’ Richard said. He raised his glass in ironic toast. ‘To the ladies of the Midwinter reading group! One way or another, they are running rings around us!’

‘How delightful this is,’ Deborah Stratton declared, sliding into a seat opposite to Rachel in the teashop in Angel Hill in Woodbridge, and placing a large quantity of brown paper parcels on the table. ‘You have no idea, Rachel, how I have longed for different company. Oh, Olivia is the best sister imaginable,’ she added hastily. ‘No one could be more fortunate than I in their relatives, but sometimes it is pleasant to extend one’s circle of friends.’

Rachel smiled. She moved Deborah’s tottering pile of purchases carefully to one side, where they would not get splashed from the teapot or fall on the floor, and poured her a cup of tea.

They had spent an enjoyable morning in the town. First they had watched the volunteers being drilled on the green, although the Suffolk Rifles were not amongst the regiments drawn up for inspection. The riflemen practised out on the marshes where there was less danger of them injuring any innocent spectators. Deb had grumbled that this was a pity since the riflemen in their green uniforms looked the most handsome of all the volunteers. Rachel had pointed out that their appearance was immaterial if they could not shoot straight. There was a febrile air in the town, with gossip and rumour of French invasion rife. It felt a little odd to be shopping for ribbons and books and ordinary things when all about them there was the suppressed nervousness engendered by war. Rachel had found it a little inhibiting and her pile of purchases could not rival Deborah’s, for Mrs Stratton seemed to spend money with the same profligate cheerfulness with which she dealt with the rest of her life. Rachel found her excellent company, even though they could not have been more dissimilar.

Deborah was watching the fashionable crowd milling on the street outside the teashop’s bow windows.

‘This is the place to come if you wish to witness the Woodbridge scandals,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Only look at that Captain of Dragoons parading in front of the ladies! That is George Brandon Smith, who is allegedly the most handsome man in the 21st Foot! He fought a duel with another officer over a lady recently and was almost cashiered as a result. Only his connection with the Devonshires saved him and caused the matter to be hushed up.’