Page 1 of The Rake
CHAPTER 1
Mayfair, March 1813.
The privately hired carriage rattled from side to side, convincing Miss Margot Keating that this was the worst sort of transport available. Except perhaps for all the others.
Her eyes travelled across to her younger sister, Elspeth, who was snuggled up in the seat opposite her. She tried to take comfort from the fact that Elsie was tougher than she looked, resilient, and blessedly asleep. A gentle snore issued forth from Elsie’s puckered rosebud mouth, her small hand tucked under her chin whilst she slept on.
Their plan was to journey down to London, to reach the Duke of Ashmore’s abode. It had seemed logical five days ago when the two of them had left their home in Berwick-upon-Tweed. Now having travelled most of the length of the country, since Berwick-upon-Tweed was about forty miles from the Scottish border, as late afternoon set in, Margot was less convinced of the wisdom of her choices.
They would soon be entering high-society-laden streets filled with gleaming white mansions, black-suited gentlemen, and fabulously bejewelled ladies. Margot was worried she wouldbe entirely out of place. A true country bumpkin. This was the world of Almack’s, of gentlemen’s clubs, Vauxhall Gardens, Gunter’s Ices, where royalty mixed with aristocrats that the newspapers reported upon with breathless enthusiasm. But there were also brittle societal rules and infamous debauchery. It was all supposedly the height of the civilised world, but beneath its gleaming exterior, Margot was sure there would be rot.
Elsie stretched and curled up even further into her seat, her short legs resting on the squab, nestled alongside all her worldly belongings, which fitted into one valise. None of Margot’s worries concerned her.
Opposite her, Margot presented quite a contrast. ‘Little and large’, she thought of their nicknames growing up. Elsie was just over five feet; Margot was nearly six feet tall. Finding two more dissimilar sisters would be hard, despite only four years separating them. Her sister’s caramel-coloured curls gave the impression of dainty prettiness, whereas Margot’s dark chocolate waves refused to mould themselves into anything so fashionable. Normally, Margot laughed at the differences between them, but for the first time in her twenty-eight years, she wondered whether there would be an advantage to being more of the ideal feminine beauty that society demanded.
The carriage slowed, turning down a side street. Margot heard the driver calling out to the servants of the household.
“We’re here?” Elsie asked. Her chestnut brown eyes were bright in the semi-light, and Margot could see her sister’s smile. Elsie leant forward, trying to see more of the street and the house. They had agreed to come here, Elsie keen for the adventure, Margot far more cautious.
“I think it wise if you let me do most of the talking,” Margot said. It had been what they’d already agreed, but as the older sister, she thought it worthwhile repeating herself. Part of Margot hoped that the next few hours went smoothly, but it wasjust a hope since she had never been in such a situation before. Nerves rippled through her, settling in her stomach, and she smoothed her hand over the material above her abdomen. She had some money saved, but she knew it would not stretch far in London.
“Of course.” Elsie laughed. “I remember.”
The door of the carriage opened, and an arm shot in there, offering to help them out.
Margot grasped the driver’s hand and climbed from the carriage. She gave the man a brisk nod. “Is this 16 Bolton Street?”
The driver nodded as he helped Elsie out. “That’s right, ma’am. This is where you paid to be taken.”
She handed him the rest of his money, and then turned around, taking in the mansion before her. It was a handsome building, one which spoke of class, wealth, and it was far above what her parents had raised Margot to expect.
There was a startling noise that caused Margot’s eyes to travel from her destination to the next-door building. It was somehow less neat, but more appealing. There was something almost bohemian, almost appealing about the neighbour’s house, from the colourful purple-and-gold curtains to the doorway being the only one painted black. Quite why it pulled her attention to the extent it did, Margot could not say.
A small cough sounded behind her, and a short, rather saggy-jawed manservant with a fine white moustache was standing on the kerb, looking between Margot and Elsie, his expression one of polite inquiry.
Turning Margot took herself over to him. “Hello there. I’m Miss Keating. I was invited?—”
“Ah. I see, Miss Keating. A pleasure to welcome you. I am the butler, Hathaway.” The manservant’s expression, for a moment,flashed with a touch of considerable interest before it was schooled back into his former detachment.
“Hathaway. We wish to see the duke if he is available. I know he has extended his welcome. This is my sister; she is here as my companion. I hope this will not be an inconvenience.”
With a slight bow, the manservant gestured behind him, and two footmen emerged and lifted their bags, carrying them inside the building.
“No indeed. We were expecting you, miss, and I will have another room prepared for your sister. A hired companion has been arranged, although Mrs. Bowley is not currently in residence…” Hathaway gestured towards the house. “Let us proceed inside, and I will get you settled in.”
Following in his wake, Margot and Elsie proceeded inside the building. Elsie was all bright-eyed excitement, and Margot forced a matching smile onto her face, although her nerves had returned.
When they were summonedto the duke’s study thirty minutes later, Margot was still not entirely ready for the meeting. Blinking, she straightened her dress and followed Hathaway through the labyrinthian townhouse.
Her initial reaction to Ashmore’s residence was one of shock at the decadence. Having been raised by Vicar Arthur Keating and Julia, her mother, she was used to a more wholesome, homespun existence of a simple if rather weather-beaten cottage, consisting of only three bedrooms, and four other rooms for their use. Yet this home had been filled with love and kindness. In contrast, this London mansion was an environmentmore suited to stiff bows, rigid imported French furniture, and glaring stares from the paintings dotted along the hallway.
“Here we are, Miss Keating and Miss Keating.” Hathaway opened the door and ushered them in, “This is the duke’s study.”
Margot stepped past the butler and into the study, Elsie following in after her.
The room was magnificently arrayed, but her eyes settled on the man in the corner of the space. He was rather shabbily dressed for who she assumed was the duke. He got to his feet when he saw them. The duke was around Margot’s height, or perhaps an inch taller, in his fifties with greying hair. There was a tightness to his face, a sort of uncomfortable stiffness to his features. With a studious curiosity he moved forward to examine her, lifting a quizzing glass to his right eye to stare at her more closely.
The moment stretched as he looked her over. Margot started to feel annoyed, irritation building up within her, and she was about to speak when the duke finally dropped his monocle and said, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Both of you.”
