Page 59 of Dare to Risk it All

Raphe stared at the man, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Rothborn laughed.

Chapter 15

Evie, you little twit. I would never lie to you. Surely you know that.

Meet me in the library at midnight tonight with the monstrous dress. For God’s sake, make sure no one sees you.

―Excerpt of a note from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen to Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight)

–slipped under her door.

Christmas Day. 25th of December 1840, Rowsley Hall, Derbyshire.

The days until Christmas were quite simply the happiest that Raphe had ever known. His brothers were with him and in high spirits. His best friend, too, was full of the joys of the season, blissful as he was with his new bride. And then there was Greer. She filled his heart and his mind every second of the day and he revelled in this time with her, aware they would be apart for what would feel like an eternity. It would not be eternity, though. Just a matter of months, and then they would marry and start their lives together. Being so close to her every moment and not taking her to bed was a torment hard to endure, but it was the most exquisite form of torture. He endured it stoically, and with a great deal less complaint than his bride to be.

Every day with Greer was an adventure. She was always in motion, unable to sit still for long, and easily distracted. This sometimes made pursuing a conversation with her challenging as, when her attention was diverted, she would change the subject with startling speed, leaving him scrambling to catch up. Rothborn was right, he realised. Life with Greer would never be dull. There would always be something new as she careened through life at breakneck speed. All he could do was try to clear the way for her and hope she didn’t create too much chaos en route. That he might be the sensible one out of the two of them made him snort inwardly with the ridiculousness of it.

Christmas morning dawned bright and crisp. The lack of snow would disappoint the children, but there was a thick hoarfrost that covered everything with a rime of sparkling white. Raphe looked out of his bedroom window, admiring the view as his breath clouded the cold glass. Turning back to his room, he walked to the bed and regarded the flat, square parcel he had wrapped for Greer. He had told his solicitor to sell the only remaining art work he had left to raise the funds. It was the one thing he’d held on to over the years when everything else had gone the way of the pawnshop, refusing to sell it even when he was close to complete ruin. Somehow, a run of luck at cards or a winning horse had always saved his neck before fate had taken his last choice from him, but now he would let it go. He was sorry to see the painting sold, for it was a fine piece that had been one of his father’s favourites, but he was looking to the future now. His father’s time was long gone, and Raphe owed him no sentimental filial loyalty. Greer was his future. It was for her sake he would do everything in his power to make their marriage a happy one, and that began now. The gift was a promise of sorts, and he hoped she liked it.

He heard laughter and merriment long before he reached the breakfast room and Oliver jumped up from his seat, running to shake his hand as he came into the room.

“Merry Christmas, Raphe,” he said, grinning, as flushed and happy as a small boy, rather than a young man of sixteen.

“And to you, Ollie.”

Everyone chimed in with their own greetings and wishes for the festive season. Raphe laughed, delighted as Greer ran to him, brandishing a sprig of mistletoe.

“Argh! Save me!” he cried, darting away around the breakfast table.

Alana laughed uproariously, catching at his arm to help her sister. “Quick, Gee, I have him!”

Raphe pretended to struggle. “Dare, help a fellow out. My virtue is under attack.”

Dare looked up from a heaped plate of bacon and eggs and shook his head sadly. “Sorry to break it to you, old man, but your virtue died of shame a long time ago. Not worth the bother.”

“Ah, well.” Raphe gave a heavy sigh and submitted to a kiss on the cheek from his beloved.

The glint in her eyes told him she would expect something rather more thorough when they got a moment alone. Hopefully, they’d get a chance, for Raphe wanted to give Greer his gift in private, away from everyone’s curious gazes.

After breakfast, they retired to the family parlour for present giving. A blazing fire sparked merrily in the hearth and the scent of greenery perfumed the room from the decorations that adorned the mantelpiece and windowsills. There was much excitement as everyone exclaimed over their gifts and the carpet disappeared under a scattering of torn paper and ribbons.

Raphe found himself overwhelmed by how readily the Cadogan clan had accepted and claimed him as their own. Greer’s mother fussed over him and got teary-eyed over the small book of poetry he gave her by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. He had once heard Bonnie speak of her admiration of the woman and had remembered the comment on seeing the copy in a bookshop. Still, he was a little embarrassed by how much she made of his gift, which was hardly lavish. The present of a smart leather-bound journal from his brothers, with Marcross Manor emblazoned in gold on the front cover, was enough to make his throat tight.

“It’s not much,” Sylvester said, smiling at Raphe. “But we thought that you’d need somewhere to write your plans for the old place.”

“Assuming it hasn’t fallen down by the time I get there,” Raphe quipped, startled to hear his voice quaver. “Thank you,” he added quietly.

“It’s a fresh start, for all of us,” Sylvester said, and the glitter in his eyes told Raphe he was not the only one to feel a little unsteady. “And, as such, there’s something else. We’re coming with you. Ollie and myself, I mean. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Raphe swallowed, quite overcome now. He shook his head. “You’ve got your own lives, Sy. I’d never ask that of you. Truly, you don’t need to—”

“We want to,” Sylvester said, his voice firm, the look in his eyes brooking no argument. “It’s our home too, isn’t it?”

“Of course!”

Sylvester shrugged as if that settled everything. “Well, then.”