Free The Rake by Georgeanne Hayes Page B

and set
the tray down. “You should eat.”
    “ I’m too nervous to
eat.”
    Sarah turned and fixed her with a stern
look. “A hunger strike isn’t likely to help matters a whit. Like as
not, you’ll faint, and that’ll only feed the wagging tongues.”
    Sighing irritably, Demi sat and nibbled at
the food. “Has Reverend Flemming left?”
    Sarah made a face. “He’s holed up in the
study with yer aunt. Lord Geoffrey, Lord Wyndham and Mr. Collins
went round to the stables a bit ago, not long after you came in. I
heard them say something about going shooting in the morning with
Mr. Smythe and Mr. Fairlane … them’s cronies of Lord Geoffrey from
Eton. Seems the lot of them got up to something and got themselves
expelled. They wasn’t too keen on heading for home afterwards, so
they came home with Lord Geoffrey for a visit, to rusticate, they
called it. Miss Phoebe’s in the front parlor with Miss Charlotte
and Miss Horatia, though … if you feel up to a bit of company.”
    Horatia Wynthrope was probably the biggest
gossip in all of England. How fortuitous that she’d been at
Moreland Abbey to witness Demi’s downfall! “On second thought, I
believe I won’t go down again this evening. I’d thought, maybe, it
would help if I did, but Horatia Wynthrope will only pump me for
information and then twist everything I say.”
    “ I expect you’re right, but
they’ll be leaving soon, and probably Reverend Flemming too. You’d
best barricade your door if you mean to keep Lady Moreland
out.”
    Demi smiled wearily. “Thanks for the
suggestion.”
    Sarah moved to the door but paused when she
reached it. “It’s not my place to say so, Miss, but you’re liable
to find yerself locked in if you think to stay holed up in here
long.”
    Demi, who’d risen to lock the door behind
her maid, hesitated but finally nodded. “She’s liable to lock me in
anyway, for fear I’ll slip the noose. I’d leave tonight if I had
anywhere to go. Unfortunately, I can’t think of anyone that would
take me in, especially not now.”
    She was propped up in bed, waiting, when her
aunt arrived at her door several hours later to ring a peal over
her for her ‘disgraceful behavior’. It took an effort, but Demi bit
her tongue and endured, tuning out most of it. Eventually, she ran
out of steam and left, but not before she’d emphasized at least a
dozen times that Demi had ‘burned her bridges’ and needn’t think
she had any alternative other than marrying Mr. Flemming as quickly
as could be decently arranged.
    She didn’t bother to point out that that
would only feed the gossip mills. Alma Moreland could hardly be
unaware that such actions would only be feeding the fire.
    She resolved, however, that whether she was
forced to marry the man or not, she had no intention of seeing him
again until that time unless she simply couldn’t avoid an
encounter.
    After an anxious night, most of which was
spent tossing and turning, she rose early, dressed and went
downstairs. Her aunt and her cousin generally broke their fast in
bed before they came down and the house was as silent as a tomb
when she reached the breakfast parlor. She found it empty, Geoffrey
and his cronies apparently already having departed to go shooting.
The maid, clearing away the remains of their breakfast, returned
with a plate and she settled down to eat in blessed solitude.
    When she’d finished, she went into the
library, found a book, and left the house for the solitude of the
garden. She was tempted to go further afield, but if Geoffrey was
out shooting, she thought it safest to stay near the abbey. The
boy--young man--had always been a menace with a gun. He was
eighteen now, but she sincerely doubted he’d improved since the day
he’d shot his gamekeeper in the buttocks with bird shot.
    She heard a carriage arrive shortly before
noon. Her belly clenched. She knew it must be Mr. Flemming.
Resolutely, she ignored sounds of an arrival. She might have to
marry