Fallen Angel

1

On a cold, d
rizzly morning in mid-December, Gabriel Rainsford, Lord Sherington, was comfortably ensconced in the study of his London residence. Rereading the latest correspondence from his agent in Calcutta, he considered the merits of investing in additional property in India.

His ruminations on the potential benefits of outright purchase versus long-term lease were interrupted by Kirkson, his butler, who entered the library and informed him that Lady Ottillia Cudmore wished to speak with him.

Mildly surprised to hear that his aunt was
calling
at such an unfashionable hour, Gabriel said, “Put her in the rose salon, and tell her I shall join her as soon as possible.” Then his thoughts returned to his business affairs in India, which were complicated enough to demand his complete attention.

Three-quarters of an hour later, he entered the rose salon to find his aunt positively seething with indignation. Since that was her normal condition whenever she was near him, he did not bother to apologize for making her wait.

“Would you like some brandy, Aunt Cudmore?” he asked politely, pouring himself a stout measure, then moving to lean negligently against the mantel.

“Certainly not,” she snapped. “In the first place I do not indulge in strong spirits, and in the second place I did not come here to socialize.” Her more than ample bosom was heaving with emotion, and the long, underslung Rainsford jaw was jutting out even farther than
usual, making her resemble nothing so much as a pugnacious bulldog.

“Forgive me, Aunt, but I am still at a loss as to why you are here.”

“I have come,” she said, making a grotesque effort to smile at him, “to offer you my assistance.”

“I was not aware that I stood in need of your assistance,” he replied.

“Well, you certainly cannot be expected to handle everything that must be done. Why, Christmas is only a week away, and it would appear that you have not even sent out the invitations yet. I suppose you have assumed that all the relatives know who is to come for a week and who for a full month, but it is still only good manners to send out proper invitations. They must be written out in good copperplate, too, you know, because if a thing is to be done at all it must be done properly.”

“Are you sure you do not touch strong spirits, Aunt Cudmore? You seem remarkably bosky to me. Since I entered this room, not a word you have uttered makes the slightest sense.”

“I am talking about Christmas at Sherington Close,” his aunt said, giving him a withering glare. “I am here to help you make plans for the holidays, for despite your lack of proper education, you must know that entertaining upward of fifty people is not a matter to be undertaken lightly.”

“Indeed, Aunt, I do not plan to undertake it at all.”

“I do not follow your meaning,” she said, her expression one of total bewilderment, whether real or feigned he could not determine. Not that it mattered to him one way or another; his mind was already made up.

“Then I shall speak more plainly. I do not intend to invite fifty relatives to spend Christmas at Sherington Close, nor do I intend to invite ten, nor even one. In short, you may all of you make other plans for the holidays.”

“But—but—but, this is preposterous!” she said, struggling to her feet.
“You know perfectly well that it is a custom of long standing for all the
Rainsford family to spend Christmas at Sherington Close. How dare you
even consider breaking with tradition! It is not to be thought of!”

Gabriel was completely unmoved by her histrionics. “Now that is patently false. The entire family has not always gathered at Sherington Close. Need I remind you that I am one of the family—indeed, due to circumstances beyond my father’s control, I am now head of the family. And I have not spent Christmas at Sherington Close since I was eight and my father sent me off to sea.”

His aunt came nearer and glared up at him. “You are
not
one of the family, and my brother, the late earl, was not your father.”

For the first time she captured his interest. “Pray explain yourself, madam.”

“Your mother played my brother false, and you are the result of her adulterous liaison. Heaven only knows who your father was, because so abandoned was she to virtue, I doubt she even knew which of her lovers fathered her son.”

If she expected to see him taken aback or even cast into despair by her words—and indeed her expression indicated she thought she had dealt him a mortal blow—she was doomed to be severely disappointed. “That no doubt explains why I was not blessed with the Rainsford jaw,” was all he said, and the amusement in his voice only served to increase her rage.

“As dark as you are, I should not be at all surprised if her lover was some groom or a common seaman on shore leave,” his aunt said. “Your mother had not a shred of good taste when it came to such matters.”

“Ah,” he said, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment, as if a great light had suddenly dawned, “so that is why she accepted your brother’s offer. Indeed, I have always wondered why she chose to marry into such a havey-cavey family, but if she had remarkably bad taste in men that would explain it.”

His aunt—or rather, his legal father’s sister—was turning an alarming shade of red, quite like a boiler being stoked with too much wood. “You are nothing more than a bastard,” she screeched up at him, “and
you have no moral right to call yourself Lord Sherington.”

Feeling not the least bit insulted, he smiled down at her, which only made her face redden even more. “But under the laws of England,” he pointed out, “I am the seventh Earl of Sherington, and setting aside questions of morality, I am the legal owner of Sherington Close, and there is nothing you can do or say to alter that, even if you yourself had been an eyewitness to my mother’s adultery and were willing to appear before the court and describe my conception in explicit detail.”

“You, sirrah,” she said, waving a finger in his face, “are no gentleman to speak so to a lady. I cannot think where you learned your manners.”

“Why, at sea, Aunt Cudmore, at sea. On board ship one has no time for pretty compliments and clever dissembling, which is what passes for manners ashore. You must keep in mind that I did not attend Eton and Oxford like my brother did. And in the merchant marines, the penalty for failing to learn a lesson properly is a watery grave.”

For a moment his aunt was silent, glaring up at him. Then she spoke slowly and distinctly, emphasizing every word as if she were uttering a curse. “It is downright wicked that you are still alive and your brother is in his grave. He would have spared no expense entertaining the entire family this Christmas, whereas you are completely heartless—no, your heart is as black as Lucifer’s, and so you should have been named, for you are the devil’s spawn. I cannot think what my brother was about to allow your mother to name you Gabriel, for there is nothing saintly or angelic about your character. You are arrogant, rude, and selfish beyond measure, and I am amazed that you are accepted by the ton.”

“Have you forgotten that due to my own efforts I am also disgustingly rich? I have found that money can make the most execrable manners tolerable, even among the ton.”

“Bah! You are nothing more than an adventurer—a pirate—a
tradesman
.” She said the last word with absolute loathing.

“How short your memory is, Aunt Cudmore. Must I keep reminding you that I am also the seventh Earl of Sherington? You will find that such an old and respected title allows even the highest stickler to overlook the fact that I am in trade.”

She was gathering herself for another attack when reinforcements arrived in the person of Phillip Rainsford, Gabriel’s cousin and legal heir. There could be no doubt as to Phillip’s paternity, because although he had not inherited the title, he
had
inherited the Rainsford jaw in full measure.

“Before you likewise attempt to convince me that it is my moral duty to entertain the entire Rainsford clan at Sherington Close this Christmas, let me tell you that my mind is quite made up,” Gabriel said as soon as the butler left them alone.

Gabriel’s words were not without effect, but with visible effort, Phillip managed to maintain a surprising degree of equanimity.

“You need not bait me, cousin. I should not presume to dictate to you whom you should or should not invite for the holidays,” he said with no real conviction. “I have other, more important matters to discuss with you.”

“Indeed,” Gabriel said, “I am all aflutter to know what has driven you to the desperate extreme of seeking me out before noon.”

His voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion, Phillip said, “I have just heard the most preposterous rumor—you will doubtless laugh when you hear it.” He paused, but when Gabriel merely waited silently, he continued. “It is being bruited about London that you have not yet paid off the mortgages on Sherington Close. Astonishing, is it not, what petty-minded people will say?”

Lady Ottillia gave a shriek and fell backward onto the settee. “No, no, even you would not be such a villain!”

Phillip hurried to her side and began patting her hand.
“
Rest assured, Aunt, it is without doubt all a scurrilous lie. Whatever his faults, I am sure my cousin is mindful of his duty to the name of Rainsford, and besides, everyone knows he is a veritable nabob. Really, I cannot
think
why I even listened to the rumors in the first place.”

Looking at the pair of them, Gabriel felt no small measure of satisfaction that he was not related to either of them by blood. No matter what future pleasures life might bring him, his aunt’s revelations would make this day remain golden in his memory forever.

“You
have
redeemed the mortgages, have you not?” Phillip asked point-blank.

Two pairs of eyes stared at him with ill-concealed hostility. After a short but tense silence, Gabriel said quite calmly, “Actually, I have not yet gotten around to it.” Phillip started to say something, but Gabriel forestalled him. “Nor do I intend to pay them off so long as you are my heir. I see no reason to spend my hard-earned brass to increase your future holdings.”

“But—but, this is unthinkable!” Phillip said, the color draining from his face. “You cannot be serious.”

“You will find I do not lie about such things,” Gabriel said. “Nor can I be persuaded to change my mind. Until and unless I marry and have a son, I shall not pay off the mortgages.”

His aunt abruptly found her voice. “You, marry? That is totally preposterous. No lady with a shred of decency about her would accept a mongrel like you for a husband, no matter how rich you are.”

“Now, there you have confirmed what I have long believed,” Gabriel said with a smile. “Since all the well-bred women I have met in London are throwing themselves at my feet, I can only assume that despite their titles and their lineages, which are for the most part impeccable, they are all courtesans at heart.”

“You are the most insulting, most obnoxious, most repugnant man it has ever been my misfortune to meet,” Lady Ottillia said vehemently. “And I shall pray every day that you may die without a son, because the title must and shall revert to a true Rainsford.”

“Come along, dearest Aunt,” Phillip said. “It is clear that we are wasting our time talking to such an underbred oaf.”

Clutching his arm, Lady Ottillia allowed him to escort her out of the room. Gabriel could hear her out in the corridor tearfully complaining, “You must do something,
Phillip. He does not mean to allow the family to use Sherington Close during the holidays. It will not seem a proper Christmas if we cannot celebrate it together.”

Returning to his study, Gabriel found himself unable to pay proper attention to the business at hand. Lady Ottillia’s earlier revelations about his parentage kept distracting him and interfering with his concentration. Finally he laid aside the balance sheet he was inspecting and allowed himself to consider what he had learned about his ancestry.

As a child, discovering he was a bastard—even if the laws of England declared him to be the legal
offspring
of his mother’s husband—would doubtless have caused him great mental anguish, which would have made it even more difficult to endure the unremitting physical misery he had suffered during those early years on board ship.

But now that he was an adult, he found it mattered not at all who his father had been, or the number of lovers his mother had admitted to her bed. Scandal, whether old or new, had no power over him, as his aunt would soon discover if she attempted to besmear his reputation.

It was clear from her rage that she had thought it within her power to coerce him into obeying her dictates regarding the affairs of the Rainsford family at large, but so far as he was concerned the past had no bearing on the present or the future.

She would soon discover, as so many people had learned to their own regret, that no one in England—or indeed in all the civilized world—possessed any power to bend his will or indeed to change him in any way.

The jeweler in St. James Street was obviously accustomed to dealing with gentlemen and their ladybirds. Entering the shop at four o’clock that afternoon, Gabriel looked around, but did not see his current
m
istress, Mrs. Eleanor Lowndes, among the customers.