Rogues, Rakes & Jewels

One

“SOMEONE TOLD ME once that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Fiend seize me if I am not just about to cut such a path!” grumbled the Marquis Ryker of Lyndhurst, kicking a well-appointed stool for emphasis.

His cousin, the Honorable Oscar Robendale, gave him a rather blank stare and reached for his glass of sherry. He dared not question the volatile marquis when he was in such a mood.

“She has tricked me again—bless her, Robby. She is the best of good mothers, but damn if I can take much more of this. I’d swear there is none sweeter or finer in all Albion, but … but …” He seethed, searching for a proper description of his present opinion of his only surviving parent.

“Wants you neatly married—wants grandchildren, only natural you know,” offered his cousin unwisely.

“Married—aye, she wants that!” said his lordship dryly. He moved to the great marble fireplace and placed his elbow on the mantle, touched his thumb and knuckle to his mouth, and lost himself in thought. His mother had presented him with yet another challenge—one that he had taken up only to find it irritating beyond endurance.

The Honorable Oscar Robendale fell into studied quiet as he stared at the back of the marquis’ ginger-colored locks, but then he ventured a question. “Why so hot about it? After all, it isn’t the first time.”

“Because I have had it, old boy—I have just had it. This time, she wants me to travel to the Isle of Wight of all places. Can you believe it?”

Robby shook his head. “No … damn silly place to go.”

“Aye … but that is where we are going.”

“We? I’m not courting anyone. I don’t have to go—not going.” He shook his head emphatically. “Isle of Wight? Cuz, love you and all … but … there is just so much a man must do in the name of friendship and family.”

The marquis ignored this and said, “She thinks that because I am about to turn thirty I am in my dotage and plagues me more than ever. What? Does she think I am about to dive into senility?”

“No, no, dear boy. Don’t think m’aunt had senility in mind—really, old fellow,” his cousin stuck in hastily. “Told you, wants grandchildren … you being the heir … stands to reason, don’t it?”

“Yes, and she shall get them when I am ready!” the marquis snapped.

“The thing is, you will be thirty inside of three months …”

“And what does that signify?”

“Might not be so easy, as you get older. Look at Foster—he got married at forty and couldn’t have a one … not one brat did he have. And then there was Merriweather—although you are the very broth of a man, fitter than most …”

“Thank you, Robby …” The Marquis sighed. “But as it happens, I have agreed to her scheme, because I have a scheme of my own that will see us through a day or two, and then we will be able to make our way back to London.”

“Really?” Robby’s hazel eyes widened. “How will you explain that to your mother?”

“Won’t have to—we will do as she asked, get through a few days, and be off.”

Robby sighed. “Time you should tie the knot though … owe it to the name.”

“The devil you say. Tie the knot, indeed. Noddy! How you came to be in the family is beyond me …”

“Shouldn’t be—thought you understood. Your mother and mine are first cousins—that makes us …”

The marquis eyed him for a long moment before he burst out laughing and patted his shoulder affectionately. “Never mind, cuz … we’ll do, you and I.”

“Will we?”

“Yes, for, as I said, I have a plan.”

“Do you? Well, you were ever a knowing one, Ryker ol’ man.”

“Here is the thing—Mama expects me to travel to the Isle of Wight to introduce myself to this little country child, and I have agreed to do so.”

“Upon my soul—seems an odd thing to do, go to the Isle of Wight. I mean, plenty of chits to meet right here in London.”

“To appease the old dear, I have accepted, so we shall. We’ll do the polite and get the devil out of there as soon as we may.”

“We’ll go? What do you mean, we’ll go?”

“You will enjoy yourself immensely.”

“No, I won’t.” Robby was frowning darkly.

“There is, I think, a gaming house …”

Robby brightened. “Never say so … well, upon my word—perhaps it won’t be too bad then. At least I don’t have to court any young thing …”

Two

HENSHAW HOUSE WAS situated at the top of a clear knoll. Only scattered elms and pines broke the starkness of the landscape surrounding its Tudor lines. What had once been a magnificently maintained park was now being allowed to run to weeds, for its present inhabitants had not a penny to their name.

However, young Sir James and his sister, Jewelene Henshaw, were optimists at heart. They never allowed the shabbiness of the home they loved to weigh them down for more than a moment or two, and both worked

toward reviving its previous glory.

Sir James, who was eighteen months younger than his twenty-one-year-old sister, had some time back hatched up a scheme, a scheme the orphans thought would serve to save their home.

They sat dressed in shabby buckskin jackets and breeches upon the fence line and watched as their old groom, Jonas, led a magnificent black Arabian stallion toward them.

“I say, Jewel … he’ll do!” exclaimed Sir James, thwacking his knee for emphasis.

Jewelene brushed her long, honey-gold hair away from her eyes and cooed to the horse. The stallion flicked his ears and nodded his head, which made her brother laugh. “Look at that … he knows us!”

“He should—after all the training we’ve given him,” she replied with a smile.

“Aye, that’s the truth,” he agreed.

She glanced wistfully above his curly, light brown hair. “If only we can get a win at Derby … oh imagine, Jimmy, just imagine how much we could make with Lightning as a breeder …”

“Aye, trouble is, he is ready, but we ain’t. Face it, Jewel … we still don’t have the blunt it takes to meet the entrance fee.”

“We shall. If I have to marry that wretched creature Omsbury to get it—”

“I’d sell my soul before I’d let you marry that devil. What a rum touch that one is!” Jimmy shouted, his face taking on a reddish color.