Reforming Lord Ragsdale (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances)

Chapter 3

T o say that Lord Ragsdale awakened with a big head would be to mince words. His stomach was as queasy as though he was sailing an ocean with mountain-high waves. When he sat up, he whimpered at the pain in his skull. He lay back down again, hoping with all his heart that it had snowed ten feet last night and they would be unable to travel today.

But the gods were not smiling on Lord Ragsdale this morning. When the maid who brought in the coal noticed that he was awake, she screamed a cheery, “Good morrow, my lord,” which filled the room and echoed back and forth inside the sorely tried empty space between his ears. After she thundered at least a ton of coal onto the grate, she threw open his draperies on runners that shrieked like banshees.

“It’s a good morning for a trip, my lord,” she offered with the voice of a boatswain in a hurricane.

He could only force his lips into a weak smile and put his hand over his eye against the glare that threatened to blind his one remaining orb. If you say another word, I will die , he thought. To his relief, she said nothing more but slammed the door on her way out so loud that his guts quivered. He gritted his teeth and moaned .

He had progressed to dangling his legs off the bed when his mother banged on the door with a battering ram and opened it a crack.

“John, we want to leave within the hour,” she reminded him and then took a closer look. “Oh, John!”

Three hours later, he groped his way downstairs and onto his horse, which waited patiently by the front stoop. Lasker had sent the footman in to help him pack and also to rescue him from his own razor when he attempted to shave his pale face. A splattering of bay rum was more than he could bear. It sent him lurching back to his washstand, where he vomited his toenails into the basin, vowing, as he gagged and retched, never to drink again.

The cold February air was a relief. He breathed as deep as he dared of the icy blast and then pulled his hat low and his riding coat tight around him. He carefully shook his head over his mother’s attempts to get him inside the carriage and waited, reins held in slack fingers, while Emma Costello carried in the last bandbox.

As she went to climb in, her cloak caught on the door handle. Her hands full, she struggled to free herself and then glanced in his direction, as if to ask for help.

Embarrassed, he shook his head, knowing that if he dismounted, he would disgrace himself again. To his further chagrin, she quickly lowered her eyes and turned away as if humiliated, continuing her efforts to free herself until Robert dismounted with an oath and lent a hand. Lord Ragsdale watched as she hurried inside the carriage, closed the door, and made herself small in the corner.

Merciful heaven, I am off to such a start with this one , he thought as he regarded Emma another moment and then gently eased Champion into the street. Please, please let this London Season go by quickly.

They traveled steadily into a dreary afternoon, the clouds gray and threatening, the wind coming in puffs of blasting cold from all directions at the same time. Robert kept him company for part of the journey and proved to be an amiable companion. He was one of those persons who, if given free rein to talk, would carry on a merry discourse that required little comment or addendum from another. John was content to listen to his cousin. He learned all he ever wanted to know about tobacco farming, the growing slave trade, and the trouble with Federalists without having to respond beyond the occasional “Hmm,” or “Indeed.” Robert’s mellow voice with its soft drawl was soothing in the extreme. By the time Robert succumbed to the weather and begged a seat inside the coach, John was almost sorry to see him surrender.

As soon as Robert retreated to the relative comfort of the family carriage, Lord Ragsdale realized that the next few hours of travel would hang heavy. The day was no warmer the farther they traveled into it, and he felt ill unto death. Had he traveled by himself, Lord Ragsdale would have stopped at the first hostelry that appeared to offer clean sheets and quiet premises. His head began to throb again.

He was about to stop the coachman, admit defeat, and plead illness, when Sally Claridge came to his unexpected rescue. He was swallowing his pride and rising bile when his mother lowered the glass and rapped on the side of the carriage with her umbrella. The coachman reined in and peered back at her. Lady Ragsdale opened the door and leaned out to speak to her son.

“John, Sally is experiencing some distress from the motion. I know this will irritate you, but could we stop early tonight?” she asked.

It was all he could do to keep from bursting into tears of gratitude. Dear Sally, can it be that you are as estimable as your brother? he thought as he faked a frown and then nodded, hoping that he did not appear too eager.

“If we must, Mother,” he responded after a suitable length of time had passed. He sighed heavily for the effect and then wished he hadn’t as his stomach heaved. “Let me ride on ahead and find the nearest inn,” he offered, hoping that the inmates of the carriage would see his act as a magnanimous gesture rather than a desperate attempt to get out of their range of vision before he disgraced himself.

Lady Ragsdale nodded and spoke to Sally, who raised her pale face to the window and blew him a kiss. He glanced at Emma, but she studiously ignored him. Ah, well , he thought as he tipped his hat and spurred ahead, eager to outdistance the carriage. I can puke in peace.

When the carriage arrived at the Norman and Saxon, Lord Ragsdale was in control of his parts again. The inn was full of other clients who must have had second thoughts about the weather, but he was able to secure a private parlor and two sleeping rooms. While he waited for the carriage to arrive, he tested his nerve on a pint in the tavern and watched a card game that, from the unkempt aspect of its patrons, appeared to have been in progress since shortly after Moses brought down stone tablets from Sinai. The ale went down smoothly, settling what, if anything, remained of his stomach’s contents. The card game tempted him not at all.

He helped his mother from the carriage, quick to notice that she was not in the best of spirits either. “Poor dear,” he murmured as she leaned on his arm. “Too many bumps in the road?”

She nodded. “I always forget what a poor traveler I am. Please tell me there is a bed close by, John.”

He kissed her cheek, happy to play the competent son. “There is even a warming pan between the sheets, m’dear. You and Sally can keep each other company, snoring to your heart’s delight.”

He helped her upstairs and then returned to retrieve Sally, who drooped on Emma’s arm in the hallway outside the public room’s entrance.

“Can I lend a hand here?” he asked, suddenly shy, and rendered more embarrassed when Emma nodded, relinquished her hold, and tried to disappear against the wall. He took a firm grasp on Sally’s shoulder and pointed her toward the stairs, but she surprised him by stiffening up. “Yes, my dear?” he inquired, curious about her resistance.

She didn’t say anything, but he followed her gaze into the taproom, where Robert was standing over the gaming table, a pint in his hand. “I wish you would not let him play,” she said.

He laughed. “I am sure it is only a harmless game.”

“I mean it,” Sally replied, and he could almost feel her gravity. He took her by both shoulders then. “Sally, I’ll get you upstairs, and Emma can make you and Mama comfortable. I promise to keep an eye on your brother. I am certain I can keep him from sitting down at a gaming table. How difficult can that be?” He attempted a joke because her anxiety disturbed him. “I am certain I outweigh my cousin, if it comes to that.”

She regarded him with a wan smile and allowed him to lead her up the narrow stairway and into the room where Lady Ragsdale still sat on the bed, the effort to move beyond her. Emma followed with the luggage. In another moment, the servant was skillfully, quietly in charge. He paused in the doorway until he was sure that all was well.

“I’ll order dinner, Mama,” he said. “What would you like?”

“Soup and bread for the ladies, my lord,” Emma said firmly. “Nothing more.”

“And you?”

She seemed surprised that he would ask. She looked up from the floor where she was untying his mother’s shoes. “Whatever you wish, my lord,” she replied, still without looking him in the eye as if she feared she was too much trouble.

He went downstairs to order dinner and noticed that Robert had not moved from his position by the gaming table. He watched the play intently, and Lord Ragsdale had to call his name several times to get his attention. Even then, he left the room reluctantly, with several backward glances.

“Faro is my favorite game,” he confided to his cousin as he allowed himself to be led from the room. “But vingt-et-un will do. Cousin, do you play cards?”

“Never,” Lord Ragsdale replied firmly. “I hate cards. I thought tonight that you and I would discuss your coming matriculation at Brasenose. It’s my college, you know.” He looked at his cousin virtuously. “I went to some trouble to arrange your attendance at this juncture in the term, let me assure you.”

He could tell that Robert was disappointed to leave the game, but to his relief, his cousin followed him into the private parlor. Lord Ragsdale poured two glasses of sherry, but Robert was pacing between the windows. “Do sit down, cousin,” Lord Ragsdale advised. “We still have a half day’s drive tomorrow, and you’ll need all your constitution to meet your grandmother. Come, come now. Here is dinner.”

They ate in silence. Robert was no longer the attractive conversationalist of the afternoon, and Lord Ragsdale could only wonder at his cousin’s restless air. Well, if I must exert myself, I must , he thought as he launched into a description of Brasenose and its illustrious traditions. Through it all, he harbored a very real suspicion that Robert’s mind was elsewhere.

He was interrupted by a soft tap on the door. It was Emma come to fetch the soup. “Let me help you,” he insisted as she struggled with the heavy tray.

“I can manage,” she replied, even as he took it away from her. “Truly I can.”

He nodded, feeling oddly useful, even though it was only a dinner tray. “Well, perhaps you will allow me to redeem myself.”

Emma looked at him quickly and then looked away. “I don’t mean to be trouble,” she said softly as she opened the door for him .

He could think of no reply to such honesty, so he made none and was rewarded with a second frightened glance and a perceptible drawing away from him, even though they stood close together at the room’s entrance. As he came through the doorway first, carrying the tray, he experienced the odd feeling that perhaps Emma Costello cared no more for the English than he loved the Irish. It was a leveling thought, and one that he had not considered before.

He left the tray, kissed his mother good night, and started for the door. He thought Sally was asleep, but she called to him, her voice hesitant, as though she, like Emma, wondered what he would think.

“Cousin, please. Please make sure that Robert does not play cards tonight,” she urged.

He smiled at Sally and then bowed elaborately, winking at her on the way up.

“She means it, my lord,” came Emma’s distinct brogue. Her voice was firm, hard even, as though she spoke to a child, and not a bright one either.

He stood in the doorway, his hand on the knob. “I can’t say that I care for your impertinence, Emma,” he snapped.

“Then I apologize for it,” she replied promptly. “But please, sir. . .”

He closed the door on whatever else she was going to haver on about and returned to the parlor to find it empty. His mind filled with odd disquiet, he hurried downstairs in time to prevent Robert from sitting at the gaming table.

“Come, lad, we’re off to an early start in the morning, remember?” he said, nodding to the other gamesters. “You’ll excuse us, I am sure.”

“Really, cousin, I think that wasn’t necessary,” Robert protested as Lord Ragsdale followed him up the stairs. “I was only going to sit for one hand.” He stopped on the stairs, and his voice took on a wheedling tone. “I promise to be in bed before you get to sleep if you let me go back down.”

“No, and that’s final,” Lord Ragsdale insisted. His head was beginning to ache again, compounded by the uneasiness that grew on him as he regarded his cousin Robert. So you will be no trouble , he thought as he removed his clothes and pulled on his nightshirt. I think I begin to understand your parents’ eagerness to get you out of America. How deep in gambling debt were you there? And why is this my problem now?

It was a subject to ruminate on. Tight-lipped and silent, Robert undressed and threw himself into bed alongside his cousin. He broke the long silence finally. “I think you are perfectly beastly to deny me one last game before I enroll at Brasenose.”

“I think I am nothing of the sort, cousin,” John replied. “Go to sleep.”

He lay in silence then, wondering if Robert would respond. He stared at the ceiling, listening to Robert’s breathing turn regular and deep. Relief settled over him, and he relaxed into the mattress. He hung on another half hour, listening to Robert, and then allowed sleep to claim him too.

~

If he had been under oath in the assizes, he could not have told a jury what woke him up early that morning. One moment he was asleep, dreaming of nothing, and the next instant he was wide awake and sitting up in bed. The room was in total darkness. Holding his breath, Lord Ragsdale listened intently for Robert’s breathing. Nothing.

Cautiously, he reached out his hand and felt the other pillow. “I could strop that boy,” he said out loud as he fumbled for the candle, more alert than he had been in years.

He was the room’s sole inhabitant. After the moment of panic passed, his next thought was to return to sleep. Robert’s spending habits were none of his concern. He had promised to accompany his mother and cousins to Oxford, and surely that charge did not involve wet-nursing a young man of some twenty years. His own mother had assured him that the cousins would be no trouble, and truly, they would not be if he lay down again and returned to sleep. Besides, he reasoned, half the world’s troubles were caused by people too eager to meddle in others’ affairs. So what if Robert gamed away all his money? How could that possibly concern him? He blew out the candle.

His eyes were closing again when an ugly thought tunneled through the fog of sleep. What if it is your money he is gaming, you idiot? He sat up again and lit the candle once more, holding it high as he looked around the room. Everything looked as he had left it. He glanced closer at his overcoat, slung over a chair back. He was certain he had placed it around the chair before taking off his clothes.

He was on his feet in a moment, pawing through his overcoat. His hands clutched his wallet, but it was much thinner than he remembered. He swore as he opened it and found nothing beyond a couple directions and a toll chit.

Lord Ragsdale looked at Robert’s dressing case. It had been rifled through too, as if the owner were looking for something tucked away. He found a leather case containing a variety of legal papers that looked as though they had been crammed back inside in a hurry.

This is going to be a nasty scene , he thought as he shoved his nightshirt into his trousers and pulled on his boots. He didn’t stop to look for his eye patch as he ran his fingers through his hair and wrenched open the door.

To Lord Ragsdale’s surprise, the innkeeper stood before him on the landing, breathing hard as though he had taken the flight of stairs two or three at a time.

“What on earth is the matter?” Lord Ragsdale said, wincing as the landlord took one look at his ruined eye and gulped.

“My lord, you had better come downstairs at once. I don’t think you’ll like what’s going on. I know I don’t, but it’s not something I can prevent.”

“What can you be so lathered up about?” Lord Ragsdale said as he followed the man down the stairs. “I think my young cousin is spending my money, but that’s my business. I intend to give him quite a scold, rest assured.”

The landlord stopped on the stairs and looked him in the eye. “He’s gone beyond your money, my lord, way beyond. Please hurry.”

If anything, the taproom was more crowded than before, even though it was hours after midnight. The same group of gamesters sat at the table, with the addition of Robert and the waiting woman.

Lord Ragsdale barely noticed his cousin, who waved him a greeting and moved to pull up another chair. His eye went immediately to Emma Costello, who stood in her nightdress behind his cousin’s chair. She was as pale as her flannel shift, her auburn hair flaming around her face, her eyes burning like coals into his own. She swallowed once, and he thought she would speak, but she said nothing and did nothing but stare at the opposite wall. Her face was wiped clean of any hope, or of any expression at all.

He wrenched his glance away from her and stared hard at the gaming table. There was a document on it, with a seal and ribbons and folded in half as though it had just come out of the leather case upstairs. He looked at Emma again and back at the document, and he was filled with more anger than he would have thought possible, considering that this whole affair was probably none of his business.

He was so angry he could not speak. The man sitting next to Robert nudged him. “Your draw, laddie,” he said, and then grinned at Emma and smacked his lips.

“Touch that card, Robert, and I will thrash you until your backbone breaks through your skin.”

Did I really say that? Lord Ragsdale thought as he crossed the room in two steps and stood leaning over his cousin’s chair.

To his further amazement, Robert merely looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. “Cousin, I am in debt and nothing else will do but Emma. I have her papers here, and I can do as I like. It’s legal. Everyone’s agreed. ”

He turned back to the table and reached for the card. Lord Ragsdale slammed his fist down on his cousin’s hand, shoved him out of the chair, and sat down in Robert’s place, his face inches from his opponent. “I’ll make you a better deal,” he said, each word distinct in the suddenly silent room. He picked up the indenture papers. “Look here, did he show you how this indenture has less than eighteen months to run?”

The other men at the table crowded close. The smell of rum breath and tobacco made him want to flee the room, gagging, but he looked at each man in turn, hoping for a measure of intimidation from his unseeing eye. “How much was he going to ask for?”

“Two hundred pounds to settle up.”

“Against an eighteen-month indenture?” Lord Ragsdale leaned back in his chair to escape the fumes, and laughed. “Well, I have. . .” He paused. Absolutely no money , he thought as he stared daggers at his cousin.

The gambler shrugged. “I can take your money as well as his,” he offered.

“I don’t have any,” Lord Ragsdale said.

“Well, then, we play for the wench,” said the gambler. “You can go back to bed.”

I could , he thought. She is not my chattel. He looked at Robert. And you are not my problem. He started to get up when he heard the smallest sound from the servant. He may even have imagined it, but suddenly he knew he could not leave her there to the mercy of these men, no matter how much he disliked her. He sat back down again.

“I have something better than that testy Irish wench.” He leaned forward again, his voice conspiratorial. “Two horses out in the stable. One a chestnut and the other a bay. The chestnut won at Newport last season. That cuts the debt, and Emma goes back upstairs where she belongs.”

I am giving away the best two horses a man ever owned for an Irish bog-trotter who can’t stand the sight of me , he thought as he glared at the other men around the table .

The men looked at each other. The hostler by the bar spoke up. “I curried them two bits of bone and blood this afternoon, and he’s right, lads.” He stopped then and looked around, filled with the pride that comes from being the expert.

Lord Ragsdale stood up, ignoring his cousin, who still sat on the floor where he had pushed him. “Does that clear my cousin’s debt, then? Two of the best horses in London, and I take back this paper.”

The men nodded. “We’ll call it even,” the dealer said.

Even, my dead eye , Lord Ragsdale thought as he watched his cousin get to his feet, sway a moment, and then reach for the paper.

Lord Ragsdale was quicker. He snatched the document from Robert so fast that his cousin leaped back in surprise and toppled onto the floor again. “Robert, the only way you can get this paper back is to pay me the two thousand pounds you now owe me.”

Emma gasped. Lord Ragsdale looked around in amazement of his own. I just bought a woman , he thought as he took her hand and pulled her from the taproom, an Irish woman I don’t like too well, and who doesn’t like me at all.

She sank to her knees in the hall and covered her face with her hands. His first instinct was to leave her there and just go back to bed. He started up the stairs and then returned to kneel beside her in the passageway.

“Don’t cry, Emma,” he said.

“I’m not crying,” she murmured, even as the tears streamed down her cheeks and she savagely wiped them away.

“Thank goodness for that,” he replied, keeping his tone light. “’Pon my word, Emma, I hope you are worth two thousand pounds.”