How to Marry a Rake (23 page)

‘I couldn’t agree more.’

‘Grange has spent a fair amount of time with Mae in the last days and they seem to get on quite well.’ Carefully, Halford sipped at his drink. ‘The thing is, the man is going to need a solid helpmate to go on, what with his difficulties and all. And my Mae, she needs to be needed. If she weds him, she’ll have no time for restlessness. She’ll be busy looking after him, and helping him look after his interests. It’s just the sort of thing to keep her occupied until the children start to come along—and then she’ll be busy managing them, won’t she?’ He laughed.

It was perhaps the lowest blow. It rocked him from his gut right down to the soles of his feet.

‘Mae seems to value your opinion,’ Halford said. ‘I don’t need her to make up her mind today. Plenty of time. But if you talk to your friend and find him willing—well, then, I’d appreciate it if you would steer her in that direction.’

The old man waited for an answer, calm and expectant. Did he know what he was doing? What choice he was forcing Stephen to make?

Of course he knew. Mae had learned strategy and manipulation at his knee.

Stephen’s chest heaved like a bellows. He wanted to shout a denial; to inform Halford unequivocally that no one would ever wed his daughter but him. He resisted
the urge to cover his eyes with a hand. He’d done this to himself. He’d worried that it might come down to such a choice. He couldn’t regret opening his eyes at last to all the beauty, generosity and exasperating perfection that was Mae, but what could compare to the pain of losing her, of seeing her spend her life with another man?

Only one thing—and the weight of it had already begun to crush the air from his lungs. The burden of guilt he would be taking on along with her hand. The heavy load of disappointment and sorrow from scores of people back home if he angered Halford and allowed him to withdraw his support and his patronage, if Fincote Park continued to sit empty, its people idle, their hope slipping away once more with each passing day. And, worst of all, the incalculably oppressive weight of his own failure, of the knowledge that his mother had been right, and that all of his struggles had been for naught.

Tiny slivers were running all along the shiny, reflective surface that Stephen showed to the world. It was an internal battle to hold them all together now.

‘I’ll be happy to talk to Grange, sir.’ It was all he managed to get out.

‘And Mae?’ The man was ruthless.

Stephen nodded.

With a satisfied expression, Halford crushed the cigar. He held out a hand and wrung Stephen’s nearly as hard as he’d just wrung his heart. Somehow, Stephen forced out the usual parting pleasantries. He left the corner, staggering a little. He felt, suddenly, as if he were an old man. He couldn’t go back to the raucous
party. He turned instead for the back of the house, and headed for the back door, wondering, as he went, just how many glittering pieces of himself he was leaving behind.

Chapter Twenty

M
ae knew her father. That meant that she had a pretty good idea what that little meeting he’d held with Stephen had been all about. From across the room she watched Stephen gingerly step away from their somewhat isolated corner—and then she was certain. Silent, she followed and watched him head for the back of the house and she wondered if he meant to escape or if he only needed a moment to compose himself. She gave him a few minutes to accomplish either one or the other, and then she went after him.

He wasn’t in the back passageways. Nor was he in the yellow salon. She felt a twang as she went past, the echo of that first kiss. She reached the kitchen, swung through the door and into organised chaos. Most of the busy kitchen maids didn’t even look up from their flying fingers. Mae raised an eyebrow to the cook. The stout woman merely kept whipping her cream and cocked her head towards the back door.

This part of the grounds held no formal garden, just
a plot of land for the kitchen’s use. There was a crude bench in the corner, for the cook’s assistants to rest on as they cleaned carrots and snapped beans. Stephen sat there. Mae breathed in the fresh scent of spring onions and thyme and went to join him.

He looked pale. Lost. Like he had on that first night, after Ryeton had insulted his friend and dashed his hopes. She sat beside him. It was a small bench, but she pushed herself in and up against him. His dejection was telling her volumes and breaking her heart. Surely he deserved to hurt right along with her. She was not going to make this easy on him. She never had been one to play fair.

‘So, what did he offer you?’

He heaved a sigh. ‘Ornithopter at Fincote Park, as well as his filly. And full membership in the Jockey Club.’

Mae nodded. ‘He usually knows his man.’

‘I am supposed to push you into considering Matthew Grange as a prime candidate for marriage.’

She snorted. ‘My father is not blind. You can bet that he knows what Matthew needs right now is freedom.’

His eyebrows rose. She decided to look at them and not at the incredibly clear blue of his eyes. Apparently
he
had not been considering Matthew Grange’s needs. Well, she could forgive him that, as it was likely her fault. She had been keeping him busy, after all.

‘You know he was just warning you off. From me.’ She said it bluntly. If he was going to ruin her life, she’d rather it be done with swiftly.

He nodded.

‘Is it so difficult, then?’

He didn’t answer, just asked a question of his own. ‘Did you send him to do it?’

Swift tears arose. Impatient, she blinked them back and shook her head.

‘There’s that, at least,’ he muttered.

They sat together in the quiet evening for several minutes. It should be raining, she thought irritably. Why wasn’t it raining? If it rained she could postpone this—the worst moment of her life—the one she was entirely to blame for. If it rained, then the noise of the falling droplets would mask the slow drip, drop of sorrow leaking from her broken heart.

Still silence. Mae was reminded suddenly of the old adage.
You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

‘Excuse me?’

Had she said it out loud? She turned to look at him. This time she made the mistake of looking into those clear eyes, the ones that took in everything and showed nothing of the real Stephen inside. For the last time, she looked—and she fell, far and long and down, while he stole her breath, her future and her happiness.

Wordless, she waited.
Now,
she silently urged him. Now was the time for him to come out, or to let her in. Everything—their entire lives—hung in the balance.

‘I wish this were easier,’ he said miserably. ‘Part of me knows that there is only one answer—that you are everything to me.’

‘Bring out the other part, then, and let me deal with it.’ She tried to laugh. And failed miserably.

‘It’s about more than just me.’ He sounded
stricken. ‘You can’t know. No one knows—not even Nicky—everything I feel about Fincote Park.’

Mae drew a breath. Tried to think. ‘I know how much you want it to succeed.’ Enough to trade her—and their happiness—to ensure it?

‘I told you about my mother. About how she was unable to deal with the dissolution of her marriage. She let it destroy her life.’

She nodded. Waited.

‘That’s not the worst of it. She let it destroy everyone’s lives. Everyone at Fincote. She couldn’t look outside her own sorrow long enough to notice anything. Not me. Not Nicky. Not even the rack and ruin that grew up around her.’ He swallowed, and she wondered if he was going to be able to go on.

‘She wanted to be invisible, I think. And she didn’t want to see. I couldn’t get through to her. I let it hurt me. I let her neglect define me, in so many ways. But worse, I let her blindness hurt others.’

‘What happened?’ Mae was losing him. She felt it. But she had to know why.

‘It was the steward. My fault, though. I simply stopped visiting. What was the use? My visits grew shorter, with greater lengths between them, and finally, I could barely make myself go. Mother certainly didn’t care what he did, so he was unchecked. There was no one to stop him from taking what he wanted. From whomever he wanted. He bled them all dry, Mae.’

She made an inarticulate sound.

‘There’s worse. When she died, she left Fincote to me. It was my inheritance, my responsibility, but I didn’t want to go back. I was kicking up my heels in
town—why should I return there and confront all the anger and inadequacy roiling inside of me? So I stayed away, and the villain was left free to do as he wished. He stole everything, even their hope. Until the land became as desolate and the people became as listless as my mother.’

He paused for a moment, and then he whispered, ‘I didn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t. I didn’t even discover it until long after she died.’

‘Right before Charlotte’s wedding.’ She was whispering too. Suddenly his pain, his frustration and short temper all those years ago made sense. She’d known something was wrong. She’d pushed the matter and set all of these events in motion.

‘I found … a wasteland. It was shocking. The soil was drained, every building and tenant house derelict, the livestock and equipment gone. They’d lost all hope.’

‘But you helped them.’

‘I just jumped in and did what I could. I’d always wanted to start up my own racecourse. I fell back on the idea and convinced them to go along with it. Two long years I’ve invested what money I have and worked at their side and promised them a better future. I have to deliver it.’

He looked up at her in anguish. ‘I could have stopped it. Saved them years of despair. But I was selfish and thoughtless. And they suffered. How can I make the same choice now? Put my own happiness above theirs? I owe them, Mae.’

This was it, then. The end of her dream. Her heart was breaking. It shouldn’t be allowed, such pain. She knew Stephen suffered too. But not as much, she
suspected. For she had given this last attempt her all, and he had been hiding this secret away, balancing his feelings for her against the guilt that still racked him.

And suddenly, she was angry. He was not going to fight! She could scarcely believe it. Damn him—he was just going to give up and let her go. And she was going to drown in waves of pain.

‘I should have known,’ he said hollowly, ‘I’m my father’s son, after all. Someone is going to pay the price for my folly.’ His eyes closed. ‘I don’t want to live without you, Mae, but I can’t live with myself if I choose selfishly again.’ Even his voice sounded bruised.

She stared at him. Everything that had happened, and still he was unwilling to take that last step. He looked like he had already been damned, standing there and waiting for her to answer.

This time, though, she wasn’t going to push. She wasn’t going to give chase. She wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d let him break her heart again, but she’d changed. She’d gained a little wisdom and learned about pride, but most importantly—she’d learned to
truly
love.

She remembered the promise that she had made to him, as they lay entwined in the hay in that barn—she wouldn’t add to his burdens. And she remembered their dance. She recalled the peace in his eyes and the lightness in his step. They had echoed, for a moment, the tranquillity in his soul.

‘All I want is for you to be happy, Stephen.’

It was the truth. They had ended that dance and she had thought that she’d do anything to give him peace and happiness back. Somewhere in the last few days her
marriage campaign had ceased to be about her happiness and become about his.

All of her tears were falling on the inside. Unending, they fell, yet still they could not fill the hollow spaces inside of her. ‘I want you to make the choice that you must.’

He sucked in a breath.

From somewhere she dredged up a smile, though she doubted it was convincing. ‘I want you to go home and be happy, Stephen. Pay your debt and be free. Open your course to fanfare and acclaim. Be safe knowing that everyone sees you, and respects you and the work you’ve done. Make it a success.’

She stepped close to him. Took his hand. ‘And some day, when you are free to do it, I want you to open yourself up and let someone in. Show her all the wonderful parts of you—and the less stellar bits too. And then, at last, you will really be happy.’

She kissed his cheek. And left him there. And as she stepped carefully down the kitchen stairs, her tears started to fall on the outside, too. And at last, too late, so did the rain.

Chapter Twenty-One

I
t was good to be home.

Stephen rode slowly along the route of Fincote’s course. As he rode, he paid close attention, checking for the evenness of the ground, the springiness of the turf and the padding on the course posts. Fincote Park’s inaugural meet loomed, mere days away. He had been busy and productive nearly every hour since he’d returned from Newmarket, a fortnight past.

It was good to be home. He didn’t know why he had to keep repeating it to himself. Perhaps because he kept forgetting that it was true.

This is what you wanted.
He reminded himself of it daily. He was busy. Happy.

He was a damned fool. And a coward, to boot.

He’d come home braced to meet his people’s disappointment, steeled to find sorrow and fear for the future in their eyes. He’d done his best, given more than he’d ever thought he’d have to; yet he worried it still hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t delivered Pratchett
as he’d promised. Or a substitute on Pratchett’s level, even. Though they worked now in preparation for the match between Halford’s and Toswick’s fillies, it was not the irresistible, not-to-be-missed event that they had all been hoping for, the sort to bring the racing community to them in droves.

And yet, to his utter amazement, he had seen only pleasure and anticipation in the people’s faces. Even now, gardeners, track men, grooms, housemaids, even the merchants and innkeepers in the village, were working to make sure that all was in perfect readiness. They all bustled about, seemingly happy. Seemingly content.

It had felt unreal. A lie. Stephen had walked about on eggshells for several days. Carefully, he had watched for some sign of blame, resentment or accusation. But it had not come. And he’d been forced, at last, to a conclusion.

All of the disappointment and fear—and all the other negative emotions that went with them—came from inside him.

It was an ugly, humbling, life-altering realisation—one that had shaken him to his foundation and sent him reeling about like a drunkard for more than a few days. Unseeing, he had wandered all about the estate, berating himself for a fool.

Nothing would come completely into focus until, at last, he’d stood in the threshold of the one room of the main house that he’d always avoided. His mother’s sitting room. Her tomb, to be truthful, the place where she had retreated, physically and mentally, away from him and the rest of the world.

He hated and despised that room. But he entered. Closed the door. Sat in her chair and inhaled the fading scent of her. And as he stared at the walls that had been less of a prison than the ramparts she had built in her own mind, the anger that he’d carried inside of him for so long rose up, ripping its savage way to the surface.

God, how it hurt! He’d been just a boy when all of this rage and anguish had begun to gather inside of him. But he did it—he relived each terrifying and infuriating moment, and he finally examined how he’d let it shape his life. All day he spent inside that horrid place and of all the painful revelations that he suffered during those long hours, the worst was the realisation that he had allowed himself to become just like her.

He’d spent his life defying the notion that his mother didn’t love him enough to fight, trying to disprove his fear that he wasn’t worthy of the effort to rid herself of her despondency. And then he’d been rocked by the knowledge of what his neglect and irresponsibility had done to Fincote and he’d known she’d been right all along.

It had been an insupportable notion. So he’d worked hard to prove himself, laboured endlessly to finally become a man who was worthy of love—and then he had thrown it away. He’d betrayed Mae, just as his mother had betrayed him. He’d allowed her to believe that she was not as important as his obsession.

Impossible to endure, such torment. Nearly mad with the pain of it, Stephen had grasped the high back of her chair, dragged it to the window and flung it through. With a crash the window shattered. Servants came running. Footmen muttered, maids whispered tearfully
behind him, but Stephen stood unmoving, staring at the wreckage below, feeling the wind rush into the room. A cleansing wind. He let it blow through him, allowed it to carry away grief and rage, all the aching sorrow and hurt.

At last he’d turned, strode through the gaggle of staring servants and ordered that the room be emptied and stripped down to the bare walls and floors.

Now, the room had already been transformed, converted into a small parlour and given over for the housekeeper’s use. But Stephen was still empty. Hollow.

But he was ready, now, to do something about it—and it started today.

He followed the course through until the end. Taking his time about it, he returned his mount to the stables and strolled back to the main house. Barty Halford was due in today. A message had come in last night from Horsham, telling him that Halford had stopped there for the night. He should have had plenty of time to arrive by now.

Stephen slapped his gloves casually against his thigh as he mounted the steps to the house. What he was about to do was going to put their entire project in jeopardy. But he trusted his instincts. And he was done living his life by the dictates of guilt and fear. His people had taught him well.

His housekeeper informed him that Halford had indeed arrived. The man had asked to await his host’s pleasure in the bookroom. Every accommodation had been made to please him.

Stephen thanked the woman. He made his way there, only to find Halford had indeed made himself at home.
The older man had settled into Stephen’s favourite plush reading chair. He had his feet up, a cheroot at hand and a stack of papers before him on a portable writing desk. Well, Stephen supposed that one didn’t become as rich as Croesus by idling one’s time away.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Halford.’ He strode across to meet his guest as Halford set the desk aside. ‘Welcome to Fincote Park.’

‘Lord Stephen! Thank you. A wonderful set-up you’ve got here.’ Halford glanced out of the bank of windows and nodded his head. ‘Your staff told me of all the work you’ve done and about some of the improvements you’ve made. It shows.’

‘Thank you.’

Halford rubbed his hands together. ‘I brought the filly along with me. Ornithopter is on his way as we speak. His trainer is walking him from Newmarket. I’m particularly looking forward to touring your stables and seeing your course.’

Stephen crossed to a cabinet and took out a decanter. He held it up as an invitation. ‘Would you care to chase off the road dust, first?’

Halford was a man who knew how to read the currents in a room. He eyed Stephen carefully. ‘Aye, don’t mind if I do.’

‘And how is your family, Mr Halford?’

‘Well enough, thank you.’

‘And Mae?’

There was the slightest pause. ‘As challenging as usual, I would say.’

Stephen handed the man his glass of port. He tossed one back himself. ‘The stables await your string of
horses, sir. My staff is prepared. We’ve arranged for extra horse-boys to help with their care.’ He allowed a note of satisfaction to creep into his voice. ‘The course is immaculate and a pleasure to behold, if I do say so myself.’

‘I don’t doubt a word of it.’ Halford still watched him closely.

‘It is possible that you may change your mind completely about racing here—after I have had my say.’

Now Halford looked interested. ‘Go ahead and say it, then.’

‘I’m going to marry your daughter.’

For the briefest moment, Halford’s gaze grew hard. There it was, then, a glimpse of the iron and the hot, gritty intensity that had brought the man so far from his humble origins. ‘Are you now?’ The question was mild. Deceptive.

‘Yes.’ Stephen was implacable. ‘I am.’ He poured himself another drink. ‘That was a hell of a test you put me through.’

‘Do you think I want her to marry a man not willing to fight for her?’ Halford gave a little laugh. ‘You should have seen what Mae’s grandfather put me through.’ He sighed. ‘Aye, it was a test, and you didn’t do so well. Are you so sure she’ll have you?’

‘I’m sure. She’s mine.’ Stephen knew a bit about being hard, too. ‘And she knows it.’

Halford shook his head. ‘Give me leave to doubt that one, will you?’ He sighed. ‘I hope you’re ready to fight now. There is no one like my Mae. She is absolutely the brightest young lady in the kingdom.’ He took a drink. ‘Except when it comes to you.’

‘Yes, well, I can understand and forgive that small fault, since it goes both ways.’

‘I don’t know, Manning. You might have missed your chance. My girl is right put out.’ He frowned. ‘And I don’t know that I want her to wed a chap that would let me run him off.’

Stephen shook his head. ‘At first I thought that was exactly what had happened.’ He was incredulous. ‘But the truth is even worse.’

Halford raised a questioning brow.

Stephen let out a short bark of laughter. ‘I’m not afraid of
you.
I’m afraid of
her.’

Halford nodded. ‘Well, that’s only sensible.’

They both drank to that.

‘Truly, though. You might have left it too late. Mae’s got it in her head to go back abroad. She’s packing as we speak.’

Stephen set down his glass. ‘Then I’m sorry, sir—’

Halford waved a hand. ‘Go on. Get it over with and all settled, finally, will you?’ He looked about him with satisfaction. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll stay on here. I can oversee the preparations for the match and enjoy the hospitality of your fine estate.’

He shook the man’s hand. ‘Thank you, sir. If you don’t mind …?’

‘Go on with you.’

Stephen obeyed.

The Halford’s London butler took Stephen’s calling card. Without glancing at it, he informed Stephen that Miss Mae Halford was not at home to visitors.

Self-consciously, Stephen brushed a bit of straw
from his shoulder. ‘Packing, is she?’ Even from the front steps Stephen could see a footman racing up the stairs with an empty trunk and maids scurrying to and fro on the upstairs landing. He stepped brazenly inside and right past the man, heading for the stairs.

‘But … sir! Wait! You cannot just …’ The butler was frantically waving for someone to come and help him stop the madman invading his entry hall.

‘Don’t worry!’ Stephen called out. ‘Everything is fine.’ He had already started up the stairs. ‘I’ve just come from the lady’s father. I have something that must be put straight into her hands.’

He followed the stream of frantic activity. It led him to a sitting room, obviously part of a suite of bedroom apartments. What he saw inside made him stall on the threshold. His jaw dropped.

Mae stood in the centre of the room, one hand absently massaging a shoulder, directing a whirlwind of activity around her. For the first time in his life, he saw that she was creating chaos around her, instead of taming it.

‘Lace and other trimmings go in that one, Mama,’ she directed her mother, standing patiently with her arms full of scraps of femininity, to an open trunk in the corner. ‘No!’ she cried as her mother obediently crossed the room. ‘That one is medicinals.’ She turned in a circle, gazing at the mounds of tissue, piles of clothing, stacks of books and various anonymous packages with dismay and a helplessness that Stephen had never seen in her before. ‘Where are the trimmings? Oh!’ She slapped a hand to her forehead. ‘Why can I not
think?’

She completed her circle and ended facing the door. She caught sight of him. Her hand fell to her side. ‘Stephen! What are you doing here?’ She frowned.

Her mother turned.

In the corner, Josette looked up from her folding. ‘Thank God. You have come at last,’ she said calmly. Standing and stretching, she frowned at him. ‘I thought I would go insane.’

Mrs Halford clapped her hands. ‘Everybody out!’

Sighs of relief came from the maids in the room and from the ones in the passage behind him.

‘Except for you, dear.’ Mrs Halford placed a restraining hand on Mae when she would have stepped forwards. ‘You stay here.’ Her mother paused in front of Stephen. She reached up and patted his cheek. ‘It took you long enough,’ she said.

He bent and whispered in her ear.

Her eyes widened, and she frowned. But then she glanced back at her daughter and a slow smile broke out across her face. She nodded. Shooing the last of the maids out, she closed the door behind her and they were alone.

Stephen faced Mae. ‘I would ask how you are doing, except that I can see the answer for myself.’ He gestured at their cluttered surroundings.

Her chin came up. ‘I would ask you the same, except that I don’t really care to know the answer.’

‘Ouch.’ He winced. ‘Such hostility.’

‘What did you expect to get from me, Stephen?’

‘A welcome would be welcome. Especially when I’ve come to tell you a story.’

‘I don’t care to hear any of your stories, either,’ she said wearily. ‘Just go. I have quite a lot of work to do.’

‘You don’t want to hear? Not even if the story is about me?’

‘Especially
if the story is about you.’ She folded her arms.

‘Would you change your mind if I promised to end it with the admission that I am an idiot as well as a blind fool?’