Page 51 of The Trouble with a Dare

Miss Knight,

I live for your scoldings. Never change.

―Excerpt of a letter from Louis César de Montluc, the Comte de Villen, to Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight).

Still the 31st of October 1839, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.

Baron Rothborn dragged his thoughts from his daughter and the approaching arrival of his first grandchild and looked up at the sprawling façade of Rowsley Hall with interest. It was a vast, rambling affair, and seemed to have grown up from the earth like an ancient oak, rather than to be something made by man. It settled as comfortably in its gold-tinted autumn surroundings that stood on Dartmoor with the same eternal grandeur. On closer inspection, unlike the last time he’d set eyes on it, the place did not appear to be crumbling about the edges.

This was undoubtedly because of the large and industrious number of workmen thronging the place like bees about a hive. Lord Roxborough had fallen on his feet by marrying Elspeth Cadogan and no mistake. At first Rothborn had been anxious for the girl, for he was good friends with her parents, Bonnie and Jerome, and the circumstances had not been auspicious. Lord Roxborough—or Dare as the world knew him, via his exploits in the scandal sheets—the blasted imbecile, had trapped Elspeth into marrying him in outrageous circumstances. However, it appeared it really had been accidental, and the two were obviously besotted with each other. That was partly why he was here, for Elspeth had written to him to ask if he might help them with a difficult house guest.

Now that his son, Larkin, had put his mind at rest regarding his daughter’s happiness, Rothborn felt as if he could breathe again. From what Larkin had said, Grace and her husband had gazed at each other with sickening devotion through the entire evening he’d spent in their company. This rather brotherly observation had also been uttered with a good deal of relief, however, for Larkin loved his sister dearly and had been devastated when Rothborn had finally explained the need for her hasty marriage to Sterling Oak. Yet, against all odds, it seemed the two were happy together, and the relief of that was enough to make his eyes burn. All he had to fret about now was that she survived the birth of the child unscathed. His chest tightened uncomfortably, and he pushed the worry aside once more. Taking a deep breath, Rothborn promised himself a visit to his daughter soon, but for now, he must turn his attention to another problem, and the reason he had travelled to Derbyshire and Rowsley Hall.

Raphe Coote, Baron de Ligne, was the eldest son of a man Rothborn had been at school with, and with whom he had once been friends. The father had proven himself a feckless idiot who had gotten himself into terrible debt and then shot himself rather than face the disgrace. He hadn’t even had the decency to make it look like an accident, the damned halfwit, which had left his children in a lovely mess, their name tarnished by scandal. Raphe had only been fourteen when he’d inherited the title, all his father’s debts, and two younger brothers to look after. To be fair, the boy had done his best—with Rothborn’s help. Rothborn had tried to guide the lad, to be a father to him, but he was not the boy’s father, and Raphe’s true sire had done damage enough in the preceding years. Rothborn had no legal authority, and despite his youth Raphe had been too proud to accept what he’d viewed as charity. He had rejected all attempts to make him part of Rothborn’s family, visiting rarely and keeping himself at a distance. In the end, it had been too much for his young shoulders and he’d gone astray. At first, it had not been so bad. He had become firm friends with August Lane-Fox, who seemed sensible enough, Daire ‘Dare’ Kelburn, Viscount Roxborough, and that mad devil Bainbridge. They’d been as wild a bunch of troublemakers as young men could possibly be, but where Dare and even—heaven help his wife—Bainbridge had settled down and got married, Raphe had been cast adrift and promptly sunk into a pit.

Drink, gambling, and most of all women were the baron’s weaknesses, and he had gained a reputation as a wild libertine. The last time Rothborn had tried to intervene, it had resulted in a rather spectacular row, but from what Elspeth had told him in her letter, Raphe had gone too far this last time. Reading between the lines, Rothborn suspected Raphe had given himself a fright when he’d sobered up and realised just how far he’d fallen. Perhaps now he was ready to listen and sort himself out. Perhaps.

“Oh, Lord Rothborn, how very good of you to come all this way,” Elspeth said, hurrying to him as the butler showed him into a comfortably furnished parlour. The new Lady Roxborough looked enchantingly lovely in a deep yellow gown and her expression was full of pleasure in seeing him.

“I was happy to do it, my dear.” Rothborn said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Believe me, I would have come to him sooner if I’d thought he’d listen to a word I have to say. You are looking as lovely as ever, I see, and your parents bid me to send you their love. I saw them the day before I left. Your father says he misses you horribly, and it was too bad of you to leave him to manage Greer.”

Elspeth laughed. “Oh, poor Papa, and poor Greer. She’s so cross that I married before she did. I do hope she finds a nice man this season, or she will drive everyone quite distracted.”

Rothborn smiled but said nothing. From what he knew of Greer, who was a vivacious creature, he did not doubt Elspeth had the right of it.

“And how is Grace? I was so sorry not to be at her wedding, but—”

“It was rather short notice,” Rothborn finished for her. “She is well, thank you, and the latest report from my son gives me the impression she is very happy.”

“Oh.” Elspeth let out a breath, clearly relieved. “Oh, I am so glad. I must write to her. I just don’t know where the time goes.”

Rothborn laughed. “Between your husband, his dreadful friend, and this vast place, I think you have your hands full enough. I am certain Grace would be delighted to hear from you, though. Now then, where is he? I had best do what I came here for.”

Elspeth regarded him with concern. “Oh, but do you not wish to freshen up and have a cup of tea?”

“No, I thank you. I prefer to get the disagreeable part of the day over first, and the train is such a marvel I feel I have almost arrived before I left home.”

“Very well then. If you insist. I shall take you to him.”

“Has he been a great trial to you?” Rothborn asked, his voice low.

Elspeth sighed as she walked to the door. “He’s rather better now but… well, if not for Dare who promises me he is a jolly good fellow when you get to know him and that he owes him a good deal, I should have been pleased to show him the door.”

Rothborn made a sound of discontent and gestured for Elspeth to lead on, following behind her.

“He’s in the library,” she said, once they’d reached the door in question. “Now he’s more himself we see little of him. Either he is in here with his nose in a book or in his room, but I don’t think he sleeps. The staff tell me he haunts the place at night. Gives them quite a turn on occasion, for there are enough ghosts at Rowsley, let me assure you, without him adding to them.”

“I see,” Rothborn said, feeling increasingly unhappy. “Well, into the breach and all that.”

He sent Elspeth a wry smile and opened the door.

Raphe was leaning against the window and did not at first hear him come in. He was reading, his concentration absolute. Rothborn sighed, thinking not for the first time that Raphe was wasting his life when he had so much more than he realised. For one, even Rothborn could see he was a romantic girl’s dream. Tall and dark and athletic in build, he cut a dashing figure, and whilst he was not classically handsome, he certainly turned heads. His hooded blue eyes gave him the look of a sleepy predator, and a broken nose, acquired in one of many boyhood scrapes, only added to his rather wicked appeal. In short, he looked like what he was, a wastrel and a libertine. This last descent into vice had taken its toll. He’d lost weight, there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin had a grey cast which had not been there before.

Finally, Raphe looked up from his book and noticed Rothborn. He stilled.

“Ah,” he said, a sardonic quirk to his lips. “Reinforcements. Have you come to rout me, sir?”

“No,” Rothborn said, studying Raphe impassively. “Only to wound a little.”