Barbara Metzger by Rakes Ransom Read Free Book Online Page A

believe his lordship is expecting you, my lord.”
    You can bet your shiny brass buttons he’s expecting me, Leigh thought, and likely the whole staff of servants knows it, from milkmaid to monsieur in the kitchen. Only his twitching lips betrayed Claibourne’s urge to laugh at the butler, who had more dignity than the Prince Regent. Before he followed that stately personage down a hall hung with priceless masterpieces, however, he couldn’t resist winking at the footman who, grinning, made a mock salute. Leigh also gave one last look to the riding crop. It had been a gift from Squire Bottwick, with the words, “You’ll need it.”
    “I have to admit it’s not what I wanted for my daughter,” Lord Trevaine told his caller, although he liked what he saw well enough. Not the external trappings of a finely turned-out gentleman, in fawn knee breeches and muscle-moulded jacket of dark blue Bath superfine, but the firm handshake and the way this young nobleman sat at his ease in a stranger’s library. The earl showed no nervous sense of guilt, nor yet any cocky self-assurance as he looked the older man straight in the eyes. Trevaine saw much to admire. It wasn’t the earl’s lack of capital which disturbed him, either; he himself had fortune enough to rebuild three abbeys, and no use for it beyond his books—and his daughter. He didn’t worry that Claibourne would squander away Jacelyn’s monies: from the earl’s own account of his less than formidable prospects, his lands were of primary concern, and that was always a good investment.
    Furthermore, Trevaine would make sure part of Jacelyn’s wealth was held secure for her, no matter whom she married. Not even the young man’s dicey reputation bothered Trevaine overmuch. Old family scandals could be instantly forgotten. Trevaine hoped he had more sense than to hold a boy responsible for his parents’ misdeeds, much less those of an uncle by marriage, all carefully enumerated by George Bottwick. Claibourne’s own tarnished name could be nearly as casually dismissed: restless youth, the brutal scars of war, and the fact that if people are predisposed to think the worst, it is often in the nature of spirited young men to live up—or down—to their expectations. Even Squire, so determined to give an honest reckoning, had found no fault with the earl’s personal integrity. All in all, this prospective son-in-law would have satisfied Jacelyn’s father. And yet…
    “She is so young. Not in years, as Bottwick keeps reminding me, but in spirit, so free and innocent. She always reminds me of a spring breeze, as sweet and pure, and in such a hurry to smell every budding flower, touch every newborn lamb.” Trevaine’s voice broke a little, and he removed his spectacles, wiping them with a handkerchief. “I would do anything to keep her that way. I don’t care aught for gossip, my lord, but I’d not see her hurt.” He blew his nose. “Mostly I’d hoped to have her here with me for a few more years.”
    What could Leigh say to this fine old gentleman in his library, surrounded by precious volumes and works of art when he, Claibourne, was stealing the most cherished treasure of all? The man was far from well, obviously, his blue-veined hands trembling. Was Trevaine’s anguish to be laid in Claibourne’s dish too? He had so little to offer in trade….
    “My lord, I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I’ll make Jacelyn a good husband, and have as much care for her happiness as you do. You have my word and my hand on it, if you’ll accept.”
    Trevaine did, and shook the younger man’s hand with a measure of relief. “I’ll not force her, you know,” he cautioned the earl, lest Claibourne think the deed was done. “If she won’t have it, we’ll weather through, no matter what the tabbies say. Some new scandal will come along to set their tongues wagging.”
    “Aye, sir, but your daughter’s just as apt to cause that one, too, from all I