The Rake. Mary Jo Putney

of yours is a prime ’un, sir.”

      “Bucephalus is the finest horse I’ve ever had,” Reggie agreed. “He has speed, style, and endless stamina.” He shook William’s small hand, which was not quite as well scrubbed as the round face. “He has a chancy disposition, though. Keep your distance unless I’m around. He broke the arm of one admirer who got too close, and he won’t allow anyone but me ride him.”

      If he had been better versed in the ways of small boys, Reggie would have been suspicious of the gleam in William’s eye. However, the little housemaid entered to announce that dinner was served and the exchange slipped his mind as the group adjourned to the dining room.

      While the dinner party was quite unlike any other Reggie had ever attended, it was not without amusement. Conversation was general around the table with everyone, even young William, accorded the courtesy of a hearing. Topics included local events, literature, and the boys’ progress in their lessons. Despite Lady Alys’s warning that a family meal might prove to be a strain for a bachelor, the young Spensers were excellent dinner companions.

      Reggie applied himself to the simple but well-cooked meal and observed the family dynamics. And it was a family, even though the relationship was not one of blood. Alys was the center around which the three young people circled, gently and humorously guiding the conversation, monitoring William’s table manners, listening with total attention when one of her wards spoke. The Spensers were indeed very lucky, and Reggie’s respect for his steward increased again.

      The meal had progressed to the sweet course when Peter overcame his initial diffidence enough to ask Reggie, “Is it really true that you once wagered a thousand guineas that you could ride a hundred and sixty miles in fifteen hours, and shoot forty brace of grouse at the midpoint of the trip?”

      Considerably startled, Reggie said, “Good Lord, has that story made its way this far south? That happened in Scotland, years ago.”

      “You mean, you actually did that?” Peter said, awed delight on his face.

      “One of my odder wagers, but not quite as foolish as it sounds,” Reggie admitted. “The actual terms of the bet allowed twenty-four hours, which gave me some leeway in case the grouse were elusive.”

      Not content with this episode, Peter said eagerly, “And you won a midnight coach race to Brighton?”

      “It was midnight when we left. I reached Brighton about four in the morning,” Reggie said, bemused.

      There was worse to come. His eyes round with incipient hero-worship, Peter said, “Did you really back your mistress in a race against the champion jockey, and win?”

      His eyes flicking to the other members of the party, Reggie said dampeningly, “This is not the time or place to discuss my misspent youth.”

      Peter was mildly chastened by the reproof, but ecstatic at Reggie’s implication that they were two men together, protecting the tender sensibilities of the women and children. Alys raised her brows slightly, amusement in her eyes. Remembering how fragile a young man’s pride was, Reggie frowned at her, forbidding any comments.

      With a suggestion of smile, she rose and suggested that it was time for William to retire to the nursery. After a brief battle of wills, which she won, William withdrew and the older members of the party adjourned to the drawing room. Reggie thought wistfully of the joys of after-dinner port, but staying at the table to drink alone didn’t seem very mannerly.

      Though he had intended to return home soon after dining, he found himself lingering. It had been a very long time since he had observed the interplay of a happy family, and he found that he enjoyed it. With her combination of beauty, wit, and blithe good nature, Meredith would be a sensation in London. A pity her birth was so mundane. If she were properly launched, she would have every eligible man in London at her feet.

      Peter must be another source of concern for his guardian. He was on the verge of adulthood, unsure of himself, and ripe for hero worship. Clearly he was fascinated with their guest’s checkered past, and asked eagerly about several episodes Reggie himself had half forgotten. Heaven only knew where the boy got his information.

      The admiring inquisition was damned uncomfortable, but Reggie, whose ability to wither pretensions was legendary, found himself unwilling to snub the boy. He remembered too clearly what it was like to be fatherless.

      And for the first time in many years, he wondered what it would be like to have children of his own.

      Merry was just finishing a sonata on the pianoforte when the housemaid entered the drawing room with a tall, full-bodied clerical gentleman at her heels. Alys stifled an oath. She should have realized that Junius Harper might pay a call; he was at Rose Hall almost as many evenings as at the vicarage. Junius was a very worthy man, high-minded and well-educated, with a genuine interest in the welfare of his parishioners. He had been an invaluable ally to Alys in most of her reformist projects.

      He was also, alas, sometimes a self-righteous prig. Rising, Alys said, “Good evening, Junius. I imagine you have not yet met Reginald Davenport, the new owner of Strickland. Mr. Davenport, allow me to present the Reverend Junius Harper. He has been rector of All Souls for almost four years now.”

      Though still in his early thirties, the vicar moved with a studied dignity that made him appear older than his years, but which would suit him very well if he ever became a bishop. After sketching a bow to Alys and Meredith and nodding at Peter, he turned to the newcomer. Davenport had risen from his chair and was offering his hand.

      Refusing to take it, Junius said in accents of deep foreboding, “Surely, you are not the Reginald Davenport?”

      “I suppose so. I don’t know of any others,” Alys’s employer said pleasantly, his hand still out.

      A look of revulsion on his moonlike face, the vicar said in freezing accents, “I have heard of you, sir, and Strickland has no use for such as you.”

      Davenport dropped his hand, his expression hardening. Gone was the quiet, amiable gentleman who had watched the young Spensers with an indulgent eye. His face fell into the practiced lines of a sneer and his weight shifted, so that he was lightly poised on the balls of his feet in a fighter’s stance. “Are you proposing to ban me from my own property?”

      “Would that I could!” Junius drew in his breath, his hazel eyes glittering as his black-clad form expanded like a pouter pigeon. “Unfortunately, English law goes nowhere near far enough to the regulation of morals. However, I can say with confidence that the right-thinking people of Dorset will not tolerate your duels, raking, and debauchery. There is no place for you here, sir—you will be an outcast. Return to London at once and leave the good souls of Strickland to Miss Weston and myself.”

      “Leave me out of this, Junius,” Alys said with alarm, loath to have her new employer think she shared the vicar’s intolerant views.

      Davenport said with a cynical gleam in his light blue eyes, “If you think the good souls of the neighborhood will cut a man who has property, money, and influence, you know precious little of the world, Mr. Harper.”

      The vicar’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. “When the full story of your licentious ways is known, even money and property will not suffice to buy your way into favor.”

      “You are well-informed about my licentious ways,” Davenport drawled. “You must spend a good deal of time reading the scandal sheets. Hardly the most elevating material for a man of God.”

      The vicar stiffened at the deliberate provocation in Davenport’s tone as Alys winced, wondering if the two men would come to blows in her drawing room. When Junius spoke again, there was a hint of snarl in his mellifluous voice. “I have influential relatives, sir, among the highest levels of society. Your name is a byword among them for every kind of low behavior. Your mistresses, your gambling . . .”

      Davenport interrupted, saying in shocked accents, “You forget yourself, Vicar. Remember, there are ladies present.”

      Indeed, Meredith and Peter were watching