Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“The speed of gossip astounds me. I returned from Italy only a month ago. Since Lord Arthur is still the leader of England and has endless demands, I doubt not that the only time he would have free to see the likes of me is in the water closet.”

His heart was lighter when he returned to his town house on Rexford Square, a lovely Georgian bequeathed to him by his sire, a house he quite liked because, he freely admitted, his sister-in-law, Lorelei Monroe, very much resented Julian’s owning the town house and not her own dear husband, who wasn’t a nobody like Julian, but rather the Duke. Tavish, his butler, wasn’t to be seen. He strolled into the drawing room to find Roxanne Radcliffe planted in the middle of a small sofa, her beautiful pale pink skirts fanned out around her, Harlan Whittaker seated on the edge of his chair opposite her, his hands on his knees, looking anxious and smitten, both at the same time. A fine-looking man was Harlan, Julian thought, not very tall but wiry and strong, his hair a copper color that shone in the sun. Harlan was only two years older than Julian. He realized he was seeing his man of business as one would see a man who could possibly have interest in the fairer sex. Julian prayed he never looked so pathetic when he looked at a lady.

Tavish appeared at his elbow, carrying in a magnificent silver tray holding a teapot and a pile of cakes. Tavish had a magnificent head of dark hair, which he pomaded straight up to give him at least three more inches in height. He was a man Julian had known and trusted as long as he could remember. Tavish and Pouffer both had been mainstays in his life since he’d been a boy.

Tavish said, a dollop of worship in his deep voice, “As you see, my lord, we have a guest, a lovely, tall guest, a tall female sort of guest, unusual, to be sure, but quite invigorating to see. Ah, such a waste of inches, but I am forced to admit that she does wear all those lovely inches well, don’t you think, my lord?”

Julian shot a look at Roxanne, who was returning his look, hers quite limpid. “She does well with inches, yes, Tavish. On the other hand, I daresay if she didn’t do well with her excessive inches, it wouldn’t make much difference.” He said to Harlan, “I see you have made Miss Radcliffe’s acquaintance.”

Talk about enthusiasm, Harlan overflowed with it. “I have indeed, Julian. She has been telling me about growing up in Yorkshire, walking for hours on desolate moors, listening to ravens caw to each other from bare oak tree branches, black silhouettes in the distance, and watching storm clouds draw nearer and nearer.”

“You are a poet, sir,” Roxanne said, laughing. “I am not so fluent as you. But it was a wonderful childhood, that is true enough. Hello, Julian. May I serve you tea?”

“A dollop of milk, Roxanne, thank you. Harlan, are you here to give me news of the Blue Star?”

“I fear not, Julian. There is still no word. I am here to deliver papers concerning the new ship you are considering adding to your fleet. I made inquiries of Lord—” He shot a quick look at Roxanne. “Well, names are not important, are they?”

“No, not in this instance,” Julian said.

Roxanne handed Julian his saucer, then poured tea for Harlan and herself. “Harlan tells me he has worked for you for a goodly number of years. I inquired how goodly, since neither of you are all that aged, and he tells me you and he met in a tavern at the docks.” She paused, smiled toward Harlan.

Harlan cleared his throat. “I hadn’t yet told her you were there to find a miscreant who had word about valuable items stolen from one of your cargoes.”

Julian nodded. “That ended satisfactorily, with your assistance.” He said to Roxanne, “Harlan and I have been together for a good many years.” Julian toasted Harlan with his teacup. “A very profitable association,” he added.

“Shall I place the documents in your estate room?”

“Yes, thank you, Harlan.” Pick your tongue off the floor. “Say good-bye to Miss Radcliffe now.”

“An exquisite pleasure, Miss Radcliffe.”

Roxanne inclined her head, a small smile played over her mouth. The witch was fully aware Harlan was ready to slaver on her slippers.

“I will see you tomorrow. Now, I have need to speak with Miss Radcliffe.”

Harlan gave Roxanne one final pitiful look before he left the drawing room. Julian said, “Do you think it was your talk of walking the desolate moors or the call of the ravens that did him in?”

Roxanne grinned. “Perhaps it was talk of my two pugs, Popper and Perky, who were always trying to relieve themselves on my father’s left trouser leg. When I made civil inquiries after his family, and he told me he’d been cursed with six sisters, which made me pat his hand in commiseration, an image of Leah duplicated six times over in my brain.” She shuddered.

Julian sat down. “Harlan was the only boy in his family. His parents and all six sisters treated him like a prince. I daresay if one of his sisters had insulted him like Leah does you, she would have been tossed out the window by her siblings.”

Tavish set a platter of cakes in front of them, his rooster tail of hair standing tall and proud.

Julian waited until he’d bowed himself out. “For Christmas each year, I present Tavish with a special pot of hair pomade that comes from Naples. It shines, does it not?”

“He is a vision.”

After they each selected a tart from the heaping platter, Julian said, “Are you without sense? You should not be here alone, Roxanne.”

“Oh? And why is that, my lord? Must I remind you that I am twenty-seven years old, not a tender young morsel like Sophie. I assure you I could visit any number of questionable places and it not be remarked upon. Let me add that since you are the son of a duke, you cannot be considered a bad influence or dangerous to my virtue. You well may be, but it is not immediately apparent.”

“Why are you here?”

She grinned like a bandit. “Your mama has begged Sophie and me to accompany the two of you to Hardcross Manor, the home of Baron Purley, the father of the slimy Richard Langworth.”

Even after all these years, Julian was still surprised at how quickly his mother moved. He began to tell Roxanne he wasn’t at all certain he was even going. He paused, took another sip of his rich India tea, studied her

over the rim of his cup, and said, “Why, yes, I think that is a marvelous idea. You and Sophie can enjoy the pleasures of the countryside—Hardcross Manor is close to Ravenscar, only three miles distant. Have you ever visited Cornwall?”