Page 37 of The Return of the Rake

“Say yes, please,” King suggested with a wink, before laying his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Think on it, eh? I’m at the Mermaid if you want to talk about it before I go.”

With that, he bade the man goodbye and showed himself out.

Seagull Heights was a handsome house of elegant proportions, which led many to wonder why on earth it had been built where it had, so far outside of the town and requiring such exertions upon any visitor forced to climb up the hill to get to it. The answer was that the original owner had been an elderly man who disliked conversation in general and company on purpose and eschewed it whenever possible. It had come as a surprise to no one when he had died alone towards the end of the last century, his passing neither noticed nor commented upon for some weeks.

This much Eustacia Foxworthy had discovered upon first meeting the fellow’s younger sister and her landlady, though younger had long since ceased to be an apt description of the woman, who was fast approaching her seventieth year.

Eustacia, though by no means as antisocial as the previous resident, had fallen in love at first sight, not only with the old house—whose beauty and fine architecture pleased her critical eye—but with the stunning view. The room which she had promptly earmarked for her studio, before her brother had even seen the property, had the greatest part of it, with large windows that opened onto a small terrace and gave a view of the coast for miles on either side and an endless stretch of blue before.

Now, wrapped in a morning gown of emerald green trimmed with black blonde lace she knew very well was most becoming to her rather wild beauty, she stood sipping her coffee and admiring the rather stormy looking sky over the sea as she thought about her latest canvas which was an utter disaster. Despite being delighted by her wonderful new studio and eager to work, she had not achieved a single piece she was happy with since they had arrived.

“Coffee,” muttered a husky voice from the door with a plaintive air, causing Eustacia to turn.

“On the table. You’re welcome,” she said with a smile, regarding her brother, Sebastian, with a fond if exasperated eye.

“Oh, hell,” he moaned, and sank into a chair, long limbs sprawling and exuding the air of a dying poet, which was not so surprising as he put it about that he was one, though in truth he was a writer of some renown. He caressed his temples with a delicate touch, his eyes closed against the glare of the day.

“Serves you right,” Eustacia said tartly, pouring him a cup of coffee before picking it up and leaving the saucer behind. She handed it to him, watching as he inhaled the rich scent with a sigh of relief. “Not that you deserve my tender care.”

“Tender care,” Seb replied with a snort. “That’s rich. You’d throw me out the window if I interrupted your blessed painting.”

“So I would,” Eustacia replied with a smile, reaching out and ruffling her big brother’s hair.

“Leave off,” he said crossly, batting her hand away though it looked no worse for her treatment considering he adopted a slightly careless and windswept look to go with his poetic lifestyle.

“You ought not to drink in that wretched place,” she said, once her smile had faded, and she remembered where he had been last night. “It’s dangerous.”

Sebastian sighed, unwilling to revisit a conversation that had ended in a heated argument the last time they’d visited it. Both siblings had rather fiery tempers and no one could fan the flames of an argument better than the other. “Don’t nag, pet,” he warned her. “You can’t expect me to write convincingly about smugglers and desperate sorts without getting some firsthand experience.”

“Whyever not?” she demanded indignantly. “Do you think all the readers who gobble up your stories with such devotion have ever seen a smuggler in their lives? You have an imagination, don’t you? Use it, for heaven’s sake.”

“Very well, you go and paint a vase of daffodils without having them in front of you,” he shot back, returning to his usual argument.

“It’s not the same, and you know it isn’t, for a vase of daffodils is most unlikely to turn around and slit my throat, you ridiculous creature!” she cried, vexed beyond bearing.

“Oh, ridiculous, am I?” he said, glaring at her and getting to his feet. “Just how much money did my last book make, and exactly how many paintings have you sold this year?”

Eustacia blanched at his words, and Sebastian cursed, immediately contrite. “Damn it, Stacy, I didn’t mean that. I’m a wretched fellow and you know I have a foul temper when I’m hungover. Forgive me.”

Eustacia looked around as he came to stand beside her. He was a handsome devil, with that same wildness of look and spirit she had, though they only shared a father, not a mother, and his hair was a tousled dark blond where hers was a dark mahogany.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” she said with a shrug, turning away, but Seb caught her hand.

“No, don’t look so despondent, sis,” he begged. “We both know you’re the one with the talent, I just got lucky. One day someone with half a brain will discover your work and then any success I might have will be cast entirely into the shade.”

She laughed at that, reaching out and patting his cheek. “Oh, stop it,” she said good-naturedly. “Lucky, indeed! You’re a brilliant writer and if only you didn’t hide behind that ridiculous pseudonym, you’d have the credit you deserve.”

“I’d be mocked beyond bearing is what I’d be,” he retorted. “Mrs Wildblood, indeed. Can you imagine? I’d be a laughingstock.”

A knock at the door paused the conversation before it turned once more into an argument, albeit a less acrimonious one, and a small, slender young man peered around.

“Beg pardon, Mr Foxworthy, Miss Foxworthy, but you’ve visitors.”

“I haven’t,” Sebastian said at once, heading for a door in the back wall that led to a hidden staircase. “They’re all yours, Eustacia.”

“They probably are, as you only consort with criminals,” she shot back, and then sighed as he disappeared. “Thank you, Neil, who is it calling upon us?”

“Actually, it is you they want,” Neil said with a smile. “Two ladies, one pretty and one plain.”