A Rake's Vow Read Free Page A

“but not at all in the same mold.” Her gaze ran appreciatively over Vane’s elegant figure, long muscular legs displayed to advantage in tight buckskins and top boots, his superbly tailored coat of Bath superfine doing justice to his broad shoulders. “Just setting eyes on you should do him some good.”
    Vane merely raised his brows.
    “Now, who else?” Minnie frowned at her fingers. “Edmond Montrose is our resident poet and dramatist. Needless to say, he fancies himself the next Byron. Then there’s the General and Edgar, who you must remember.”
    Vane nodded. The General, a brusque, ex–military man, had lived at Bellamy Hall for years; his title was not a formal one, but a nickname earned by his emphatically regimental air. Edgar Polinbrooke, too, had been Minnie’s pensioner for years—Vane placed Edgar in his fifties, a mild tippler who fancied himself a gamester, but who was, in reality, a simple and harmless soul.
    “Don’t forget Whitticombe,” Timms put in.
    “How could I forget Whitticombe?” Minnie sighed. “Or Alice.”
    Vane raised a questioning brow.
    “Mr. Whitticombe Colby and his sister, Alice,” Minnie supplied. “They’re distant cousins of Humphrey’s. Whitticombe trained as a deacon and has conceived the notion of compiling the History of Coldchurch Abbey .” Coldchurch was the abbey on whose ruins the Hall stood.
    “As for Alice—well, she’s just Alice.” Minnie grimaced. “She must be over forty and, though I hate to say it of one of my own sex, a colder, more intolerant, judgmental being it has never been my misfortune to meet.”
    Vane’s brows rose high. “I suspect it would be wise if I steered clear of her.”
    “Do.” Minnie nodded feelingly. “Get too close, and she’ll probably have the vapors.” She glanced at Vane. “Then again, she might just have hysterics anyway, the instant she sets eyes on you.”
    Vane cast her a jaundiced look.
    “I think that’s it. Oh, no—I forgot Patience and Gerrard.” Minnie looked up. “My niece and nephew.”
    Studying Minnie’s radiant face, Vane didn’t need to ask if she was fond of her young relatives. “Patience and Gerrard?” He kept the question mild.
    “My younger sister’s children. They’re orphans now. Gerrard’s seventeen—he inherited the Grange, a nice little property in Derbyshire, from his father, Sir Reginald Debbington.” Minnie frowned at Vane. “You might be too young to remember him. Reggie died eleven years ago.”
    Vane sifted through his memories. “Was he the one who broke his neck while out with the Cottesmore?”
    Minnie nodded. “That’s the one. Constance, m’sister, died two years ago. Patience has been holding the fort for Gerrard pretty much since Reggie died.” Minnie smiled. “Patience is my project for the coming year.”
    Vane studied that smile. “Oh?”
    “Thinks she’s on the shelf and couldn’t care less. Says she’ll think about marrying after Gerrard’s settled.”
    Timms snorted. “Too single-minded for her own good.”
    Minnie folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve decided to take Patience and Gerrard to London for the Season next year. She thinks we’re going to give Gerrard a little town bronze.”
    Vane raised a cynical brow. “While in reality, you plan to play matchmaker.”
    “Precisely.” Minnie beamed at him. “Patience has a tidy fortune invested in the Funds. As for the rest, you must give me your opinion once you’ve seen her. Tell me how high you think she can reach.”
    Vane inclined his head noncommittally.
    A gong boomed in the distance.
    “Damn!” Minnie clutched her slipping shawls. “They’ll be waiting in the drawing room, wondering what on earth’s going on.” She waved Vane away. “Go pretty yourself up. You don’t stop by that often. Now you’re here, I want the full benefit of your company.”
    “Your wish is my command.” Vane swept her an elegant bow; straightening, he slanted her an arrogantly rakish smile.