The Disgraceful Mr Ravenhurst. Louise Allen

am. Good morning, Theophilus. Now, then, who exactly are these friends of yours?’

      ‘Good morning, Aunt. Not friends, I have never met the family. I did business with the count’s late father earlier this year, just before his death. There are…complications with the matter that I need to discuss with the son.’

      Lady James unfurled her parasol, took Theo’s arm and swept off down the hill, leaving Elinor to shut the door and hurry after them. ‘Count Leon is about my age and lived almost entirely in England since just before the Terror.’

      ‘His father obviously had the sense to get out in time.’

      ‘The foresight, certainly. He moved his money to English banks and his portable valuables he placed in hiding in France. The estates and the family chateaux were seized, of course. Most of the furnishings and paintings were dispersed.’

      ‘And your business with the late count?’

      ‘Mama!’ Elinor murmured, cringing at the bluntness of the enquiry. Theo was hardly likely to answer that.

      ‘Why, helping him retrieve the missing items,’ he answered readily. ‘I had some success, especially with the pictures. They are easier to identify than pieces of furniture.’

      ‘Ah, so you have located some more items,’ Lady James said, apparently happy now she had pinned down Theo’s precise business.

      He did not answer. Which means, Elinor thought, studying the back of his neck as though that singularly unresponsive and well-barbered part of his anatomy could give her some clue, Mama is not correct and his business with Count Leon is something else entirely. How intriguing.

      Waiting at the bottom of the hill was a closed carriage. Theo’s own? Or had he hired it especially? Determined not to be as openly inquisitive as her mother, Elinor allowed herself to be handed in and set to studying the interior.

      Dark blue, well-padded upholstery. Carpet underfoot. Neat netting strung across the roof, cunningly constructed pockets in the doors and pistol holders on either side. Theo’s own, she was certain. Her cousin was a man who enjoyed luxury and valued practicality, she deduced, her gaze on the swinging gold tassels of his Hessian boots and her memory conjuring up the contents of his sketching satchel. But what sort of life encompassed carriages of this quality and the need for rabbit snares?

      She lifted her eyes to find him watching her, one dark brow raised. She had been wrong to think he would not do that, she thought. Today, far from the comfortable cousin of yesterday, he was a society gentleman and a rather impressive one at that.

      ‘I was admiring the appointments of your carriage,’ she said calmly, in response to the raised brow. ‘Although I cannot see the container for the game you snare.’

      He gave a snort of laughter, the gentleman turning back into Cousin Theo again. ‘You guessed it was mine?’

      ‘I am coming to know the style,’ she said, and was rewarded by a smile and an inclination of the head. He looked rather pleased at the compliment.

      ‘Whatever are you talking about, Elinor?’ Lady James did not wait for a response, but swept on. ‘How far is it, Theophilus?’

      ‘Another five miles, Aunt. I do not suppose I can prevail upon you to call me Theo?’

      ‘Certainly not. I do not approve of shortening names. Most vulgar.’

      Under cover of brushing his hair back he rolled his eyes at Elinor, almost provoking her to giggles. She frowned repressively and set herself the task of talking her mother into a good humour before they arrived. ‘Do tell me about this chapel, Mama. I am sure I will not appreciate it without your guidance.’ This time Theo crossed his eyes, making her cough desperately and be thankful that the interior of the carriage was dim enough for Mama not to notice.

      He was back to being the perfect gentleman again by the time they rolled past the outlying farmhouse, through the gatehouse and into the courtyard of the chateau. ‘I sent ahead yesterday to apprise them of our visit; we should be expected.’

      As he spoke the great double doors at the top of the steps swung open and a young man stepped out, two women dressed in mourning black just behind him. Elinor did not like to stare and with the fuss attendant on having the steps let down, retrieving her mother’s reticule from the carriage and following her up the steps, it was not until she was within arm’s length of the count that she saw his face.

      It was only the tightly tied garnet ribbons under her chin that stopped her jaw dropping: the Comte Leon de Beaumartin was quite the most beautiful man she had ever seen.