Nicola Cornick - The Notorious Lord

‘Good morning again, Rachel,’ Cory said. He gave her a smile that was slightly more quizzical than the one he had bestowed on Lady Odell. The smile deepened the creases at the corners of his eyes and for a moment it seemed that the morning sunlight was trapped in their silver depths. ‘Are we to pretend that we have not yet met?’

He took her hand in his and Rachel was shocked and more than a little disconcerted to find her pulse racing at his touch. Two images flashed before her eyes: the real one of Cory standing before her now, fully dressed, and the other of him stark naked as he emerged from the river, the water rolling down his skin…She felt all hot and shaky again, as though she had sustained a sudden shock. Her knees actually trembled.

She swallowed hard, closed her eyes and by dint of sheer willpower banished the picture. This had to be an aberration. She was determined that her thoughts would not be haunted by the image of Cory’s virile, unashamed nudity. She did not wish to think of her childhood friend in that manner.

But even so, she suddenly had the lowering feeling that it was going to be a far more complicated summer than she had ever imagined.

It felt like a full minute later, but was possibly only a few seconds when Rachel became aware that Cory was still holding her hand and was waiting for her response with a faintly concerned expression on his face. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, pushed her feelings of self-consciousness back down where they belonged and looked him up and down. Cory might be fully clothed now, but he still looked completely disreputable. His boots were scuffed, his shirt neck open to reveal the strong, brown column of his neck, and on his tawny hair was a hat so disgusting that Rachel thought it fit for nothing but the bonfire. Concentrating on Cory’s personal shortcomings served to steady her somewhat. He was a friend, and one of the privileges of friendship was that she could say whatever she chose to him.

‘How do you do, Cory?’ she said primly. ‘I am very well, thank you, though I have to say that you scarcely look better with your clothes on than without. That jacket looks as though it has been slept in.’

‘It is delightful to see you too, Rae.’ A slight edge had come into Cory’s voice now. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek lightly. ‘I am glad that you have overcome your discomfiture and are back on astringent form.’ He held out the tartan rug to her. ‘I must thank you for the loan of your blanket. I can have it laundered for you before I return it, if you would prefer.’

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘I shall ask Mrs Goodfellow to arrange it.’ She took the rug and folded it over her arm.

Cory gestured to Castor. ‘Perhaps you could show me the way to the stables?’

‘Of course,’ Rachel said. She touched her mother’s hand. ‘I will see you later, Mama. Remember to make Papa wear a hat, and please do not forget that luncheon is at twelve sharp. Oh, and leave your bead necklace with me. You would not wish to get it caught on one of the buckets.’

‘A good idea, my love,’ Lady Odell said, beaming. She slipped the bead necklace over her head, put it into Rachel’s outstretched hand and adjusted the battered hat that sat askew her faded brown hair. ‘We shall see you shortly, Cory,’ she said. ‘Arthur will be so delighted that you are here!’ And with that she strode off to the stile in the picket fence, threw a leg over and started across the fields towards the excavation.

Rachel sighed. She turned to see Cory watching her with amusement in his eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked, a little ungraciously.

Cory shrugged lightly. ‘You. You cannot resist managing them, can you? It is always the same.’

Rachel felt a sharp stab of irritation. She thought it rather impertinent that Cory, who should understand her situation, should be the one to criticise. He had known her parents for almost as long as she had, and knew perfectly well that, left to their own devices, they were incapable of managing anything practical at all.

‘Someone needs to take charge of them,’ she said, ‘or they would both starve. That is if the sunstroke did not catch them first.’

Cory shrugged again. A hint of a smile still hovered at the corner of his mobile mouth. ‘Then you must be pleased to be settled in Suffolk for a space, rather than the Nile Delta. It is considerably less dangerous.’

Rachel set off towards the five-barred gate that separated the drive from the stable yard. ‘Settled? We are no more settled here at Midwinter Royal than we were in the twenty-five places that went before. Once the excavation is finished we shall be on the move again. Papa was speaking of Greece for the winter, hoping that it would be safe to travel on the continent again.’

‘That seems like a particularly bad idea with Bonaparte running rampage abroad and the danger of invasion growing stronger each day,’ Cory said. He unlatched the gate and stood back to allow her to precede him through. ‘Can they not go to Cornwall instead? I have unearthed a very fine Iron Age fogou in the grounds of Newlyn.’

‘Congratulations,’ Rachel said politely.

‘You are the only person I have met recently who does not need me to explain what a fogou is,’ Cory said wryly, ‘or is it that you are simply not interested, Rae?’

‘Fogou-an underground passage or tunnel that is a feature of the Iron Age landscape, function unknown,’ Rachel said economically. ‘Please do not encourage Mama and Papa to go to Cornwall, Cory. The Midwinter villages are very pleasant and I wish them to stay here for a while.’

‘Poor Rae,’ Cory said. His tone had softened a little. ‘You really hate it, don’t you?’

Rachel turned slightly. Cory was a tall shadow against the sun and she could not see his expression. ‘Hate what?’ she said tightly.

‘All the travel. They adore it and you detest it. You have been dragged all around the world, staying in-how many was it?-twenty-five different places and you hate it.’

Rachel relaxed a little. Cory’s tone was gentle and she realised that he did not intend to make fun of her. Strangely, although his passions were the same as those of her parents, he actually understood how she felt. His own interests might be diametrically opposed to hers, but they did not blind him to the things that were important to her.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she said.

‘Antiquities are not to everybody’s taste,’ Cory continued gravely.

‘Indeed not,’ Rachel said. ‘I wish that you would leave them where you find them!’

Cory looked vaguely offended. ‘The amassing of a collection is a gentleman’s pursuit, Rachel. There is nothing wrong in it.’

‘I did not say that there was,’ Rachel said. ‘I speak only of my own opinion. I dislike antiquities and I detest the necessity of living out of a packing case and leasing residences the length and breadth of the country.’

‘And to make matters worse, some of those residences are not even houses,’ Cory said sympathetically. ‘Some of them are only tents!’

Rachel looked at him, saw the smile in his eyes, and suddenly they were both laughing and the slightly prickly tension between them had evaporated like frost in the sun. Rachel pushed open one of the stable doors and led Cory inside.

‘Oh dear, I suppose I do sound a misery,’ she admitted. ‘And it is lovely to see you again, Cory, even if I cannot approve of you. You know you are a bad influence.’

Cory removed the horse’s tack, reached for the curry brush and started to rub the grey down. He shot her a smile. It was a smile that would make many a débutante tremble in her satin slippers. Rachel felt a slight quiver shake her and reminded herself that she was indifferent to Cory.

‘I am a bad influence on whom, Rae?’ Cory asked. ‘Your parents were off digging for antiquities all over the world when you and I were mere children. If anything is true, it is that they influenced me into the sort of life I lead now, not vice versa.’

Rachel leaned against the doorjamb and watched him work. She knew that what he said was true. The Newlyns were bankers, not explorers. It had been Cory’s encounter with the Odell family, when he had been eleven and she had been five, which had sparked his fascination in travel and exploration. Arthur and Lavinia Odell, who had failed so singularly to excite in their own child an interest in antiquity, had had spectacular success with the young Lord Newlyn. He had joined their excavations in his school and university holidays and, as soon as he had reached his majority, had taken to travelling all over the globe.

Rachel watched Cory with an indulgent smile. He was engrossed in his task, speaking softly to the horse as he worked. As on many occasions in their lives, the silence between them was comfortable now. They had plenty of news to catch up on, but it felt as though there was all the time in the world to do it.

Rachel felt warm as she watched him. He was the closest thing to a brother that she had ever had, flashing across her life at various points, lighting it up and then disappearing off on another outrageous adventure. On one hugely memorable occasion he had arrived unexpectedly for her come-out ball, and all her débutante friends had almost expired with excitement. Rachel smiled now, remembering the stir Cory had caused when he strode into the ballroom, so handsome in his austere black and white evening dress. It was such a far cry from the filthy clothes he wore to work that she had had to look twice to make sure it was the right person. Cory had come straight up to her and had cut out the gentleman with whom she was supposed to be dancing. For a second, just a very small, split second, Rachel had thought Cory the most extraordinarily attractive man that she had ever met. Her whole world had trembled on its axis as she considered this new idea. And then he had smiled at her and started to talk to her in the same way he had always done, and the world had steadied and he was just Cory again.