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 in fascination from their respective seats. While Junius flushed at having been caught in unseemly behavior, Alys glanced at her wards and said in a voice that brooked no opposition, “Both of you out now.”
Her wards departed reluctantly, probably to paste their ears against the door. Alys shrugged philosophically, feeling that she had done her duty. She could hardly leave her guests, for there was less likelihood of violence if she was present.
Besides, she didn’t want to miss the end of the confrontation. Seeing a saint and a sinner square off together had all the morbid fascination of a carriage wreck.
Raising her voice, she said, “Can I offer you gentlemen a glass of port?”
Without waiting for a reply, she went and poured three generous glasses, thrusting two into the hands of the combatants. She briefly considered stepping between the two men, but decided that it would be the better part of valor to let them settle matters on their own. She might end up like a bone between two mongrels if she interfered. Subsiding into a chair, she took a rueful swig from her goblet.
Davenport casually sipped his port. He seemed to be getting more relaxed as his opponent became more agitated. “Perhaps you should list the varieties of low behavior for me, in case I have missed any, Mr. Harper,” he said in a conversational tone. “I should hate to ruin my record for vice through ignorance or lack of imagination.”
Furious, Junius spat out, “You mock me, but God will not be mocked. Do not the faces of the three men you have killed in duels haunt your dreams?”
Davenport cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “Surely it is more than three. Let me think a moment . . .” He pondered, then said with an air of discovery, “Ah, you must not have heard about the one in Paris last year. You really must try harder to keep up, Mr. Harper. We rakes don’t rest on our laurels, you know. Wickedness requires constant effort.”
Alys almost choked with suppressed laughter. Her employer was the picture of calm reason, while the self-appointed guardian of public morality appeared on the verge of
