The Abandoned Rake

294 Pages·2011·0.66 MB·English

by  Hendrickson Emily

The Abandoned Rake
by Emily Hendrickson
Belgrave House
www.belgravehouse.com
Copyright ©1995 by Doris Emily Hendrickson
First published in 1995
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CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
* * * *
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THE ABANDONED RAKE
Emily Hendrickson
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The Abandoned Rake
by Emily Hendrickson
Chapter One
"I confess I had not thought freedom to be so onerous,"
Joanna Winterton said with a sigh to her remarkably cheerful
Aunt Caroline. Joanna stood by the window, fingering the
festoon shades that had been lowered to near eye-level. She
turned away from the enticements offered by the world
without and faced her aunt with a heartfelt sigh.
"Anyone would think that a young woman who—it must be
agreed by all—is passably pretty and possessed of lovely
manners would not entertain such blue-deviled thoughts."
Aunt Caroline paused in the act of inserting a needle into her
piece of embroidery and gave her beloved niece a thoughtful
stare.
"Passably pretty, indeed," Joanna said, grinning at her
aunt's choice of words, her blue eyes sparkling with
amusement. "You know how black makes me look a veritable
quiz."
"Well, I think it was quite odious of your betrothed to go
aloft right in the middle of the Season. What a nasty war, to
kill our fine young men without regard to their families and
futures." Aunt Caroline emphasized her feelings with a sad
shake of her head.
"I doubt if Napoleon gave that a thought in his ambitious
schemes," Joanna said with a wry look at her sometimes
absurd aunt. "And I suspect that Mr. Underhill went dashing
into battle without the least expectation that he might be
killed."
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"It is not as though you entertained the least fondness for
Mr. Underhill. And in the first place," Aunt Caroline continued
while stabbing her needle into the air, "I think it was utterly
frightful of your father to insist on honoring that silly
agreement made while you were still in the cradle. To
demand you marry Robert Underhill! You had not seen him in
ages and I daresay not liked what you heard about him—all
that racketing about in a most scandalous manner. He was
not the man for you, my dear."
Joanna bestowed a wry smile on her aunt while smoothing
down the soft black of her gown. "I feel an utter fraud,
wearing black for someone I scarce knew and liked not at all.
I feel so dreadful. Such respect I am given! Such
consideration! Society treats me with enormous compassion.
How scandalized they would be to know how I truly feel."
"I believe we had best attend some function—lest they
believe you have sunk into a decline," her aunt said with a
wise nod.
Joanna gave an inelegant snort, then turned a shrewd
gaze on her aunt. "When and where?"
"This evening!" her aunt cried with childlike delight. "I
accepted Lady Jersey's kind invitation to her little party."
"Which will not be the least little, and you know it. I
suppose I can endure it, if only to get out of this house and
mingle with others for a time. I declare, if I receive one more
consoling pat on the hand and another round of soothing
words to the effect that my life is not over, I shall have mild
hysterics."
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Joanna drifted across the room to take a seat by her aunt,
inspecting the delicate needlework with an expert eye.
"Perhaps you might wear your silver-gray figured muslin
with black gloves?" her aunt suggested mildly while holding
up a piece of yarn for Joanna's approval. When her niece
nodded at the choice, Caroline threaded her needle and
began to work anew.
"Tomorrow," Joanna promised, returning to the matter of
the color of her gown. "I had best be garbed as a would-be
widow this evening. I look forward to a little entertainment
and perhaps a bit of gossip, since I most likely should not
dance," She paused a moment, then idly inquired, "Do you
think Sir Lucas Montfort will be there with his timid little
bride-to-be? I should like to see them together. I have heard
all manner of things about the pair."
Easily diverted, Aunt Caroline chuckled. "If ever there was
a mismatch, that is it. The premier London rake with a
country mouse? It will never do. He needs someone with
spirit to match his own, not a dab of a girl who will shrink in
terror when he so much as looks at her, never mind what she
will do once in bed."
"Aunt Caroline! The things you say," Joanna said, choking
back her laughter.
"Well, and so it is true," Aunt Caroline said in defense of
her words. "Would you like to go to their wedding with me?
For I shall not believe he actually weds the chit unless I see it
with my own eyes."
Joanna thought about the lean, clever, and wildly
handsome man she had met on several occasions and gave a
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delicious shiver. His thick thatch of silver-blond hair
fascinated her almost as much as his dark, luminous eyes—
such an unusual combination and so very attractive. He had a
wicked tongue and a reputation to match, yet she suspected
there was not a woman alive who did not find him desirable
and appealing. He was spoiled, of course, and much too
accustomed to having his own way. And his intended bride,
Drusilla Thorne, had to be the most insipid of the girls making
their come-outs this season. She was docile and obedient,
however—no doubt a requirement for a rake's sit-at-home
wife.
"I believe I shall join you," Joanna said. "I feel much the
same. I cannot but think they will be one of those couples
who marry, breed an heir, then go their separate ways."
Joanna paused, looking at her aunt. "Does it shock you that I
speak of breeding?"
"You have never been in the common way, my dear. I
suppose that is my fault, for it has been such a delight to
have the rearing of you that I have treated you more as an
equal than a child. How happy I am that your father allowed
me the joy of bringing you up when your mother died. It is
not every man who will turn over a child to his dead wife's
sister to raise, particularly a maiden lady with no expectations
of marriage."
"Which serves to illustrate how stupid men are, to ignore
you because of a trifling limp and miss that shrewd and
agreeable wit you possess." Joanna placed a fond hand over
her aunt's and exchanged a perceptive look. "I believe we
make an excellent pair, the two of us. This evening we can
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gaze upon Sir Lucas and his intended, Miss Thorne, with
amusement and perhaps a shred of pity. I wonder if Miss
Thorne's parents have arranged this marriage for her?
'Twould be a likely thing."
"Most likely indeed." Aunt Caroline glanced across the
room at the longcase clock, then put her embroidery into the
workbasket at her side. "Time to prepare for dinner, then on
to Lady Jersey's little party."
She rose and shook out her skirts while giving her beloved
niece an assessing look. "I should like you to make a splash
this evening. Mind you, nothing dramatic, but it would be
lovely should a nice gentleman see you, take note, and
perhaps pursue his interest. You will encourage such a regard
should it happen? I'd not wish you to end up your life alone
and lonely." Then she shook her head and added, "Not that I
have been lonely, what with you around. But you might not
be so fortunate as I."
Thinking that she was the one who had been fortunate,
Joanna followed her aunt from the room.
Following a modest but tasty dinner, the two set out for
the Jersey party in high spirits. Joanna had worn her best
black gown, the one with tiers of black lace on the skirt and
across her shoulders, with the added touch of a blush pink
rose on her bodice. Aunt Caroline had dressed herself in a
delicate rose sarcenet with a single flounce at the bottom of
the skirt and a simple lace collar at the neckline that
managed to look both demure and fashionable.
Joanna curtsied to Lady Jersey and her earl, then followed
her aunt into the vast ballroom after accepting her program
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from the master of ceremonies. She studied the two pages
that listed the order of the dances and provided a space
where a gentleman might scratch his name, and was not alert
to those before her.
A gentleman backed into her path and she bumped into
him. An upward glance revealed his identity even before he
turned around. No one else in London possessed such a mane
of silvery hair.
"Sir Lucas," she said politely, hating her sudden
breathlessness when he turned to face her—for he was far too
close for any unmarried woman's peace of mind, "I do beg
your pardon for not avoiding you."
"You do it very well," he replied after a sweeping glance at
her black gown and eyeing the blush pink rose nestled at the
very center of her low neckline. "I believe you have managed
to completely avoid me this entire Season. What a pity, Miss
Winterton." He raised his brows after bestowing that easy
smile on her, the sort that must cause any number of female
hearts to flutter madly. It certainly had an effect on hers.
Joanna was not surprised that he knew her name, for she
was quite certain she had been gossiped about for some
weeks. She was surprised that he put her name with her face,
however. "It was not deliberate, I assure you," she
countered, then wondered how she dared to exchange such
words with this man.
"You shall prove it by granting me a dance. Surely your
mourning must be over by now," he said with a trace of
mockery. "After all, you were not wed to the man." He raked
her with a cynical gaze, one that set her back up.
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