Nicola Cornick - The Notorious Lord

She followed her mother out on to the front steps of Midwinter Royal. By now it was another hot June day. The grass along the carriage drive was already turning yellow from lack of rain and the sky was a hard steely blue without a cloud in sight. The weathercock on the top of the stables was motionless. In the fields to the south, Rachel could just make out the figures of her father and a couple of the servants measuring the length of one of the haphazard scatter of burial mounds that lay between the house and the river beyond.

Lady Odell sighed happily. ‘What a perfect day for the digging. After all these years I still dislike excavating in the wet.’

‘Pray be careful that the sides of your trenches do not crumble away into dust,’ Rachel said, unable to help herself. ‘It is very dry at present. Remember how you were buried under that landslide at the barrow in Wiltshire and Cory and I had to dig you out? Don’t let that happen again. And Mrs Goodfellow and I shall have prepared a cold luncheon for you all at twelve. Please do not forget, Mama.’

Lady Odell patted her hand absent-mindedly. ‘Of course not, my love. Now I must get back to work. Your father has already been out above an hour and a half.’

‘I saw him down at the excavation,’ Rachel said. ‘Make sure that he is wearing a hat, Mama. The sun can be most fierce at this time of year.’ She squinted along the line of dusty elm trees that shaded the drive, and was not surprised to pick out a figure riding towards them. ‘I do believe Cory is here now.’

‘Oh, how splendid!’ Lady Odell positively ran down the steps, her necklace of Persian beads clicking excitedly.

Rachel followed more slowly. The advancing figure had now resolved itself into a gentleman on a grey horse. The horse was a prime bit of blood and Rachel could see that, whether his clothes were on or off, Cory Newlyn was what many ladies would also consider to be a prime specimen. He was considerably more formally dressed now, but he still looked extremely attractive.

Rachel watched, lips pursed in disapproval, as Cory galloped up to the steps of the house and dismounted in one fluid movement that sent the gravel flying from the horse’s hooves. She instinctively stepped out of the way and grabbed the grey’s bridle. Someone had to take charge and Cory was too busy greeting Lady Odell to notice that his highly bred steed was in danger of trampling them all to death.

Cory was smiling as he bent to embrace Lavinia Odell. His teeth were very white and his grey eyes were full of laughter and looked remarkably bright against his tanned skin. Cory always brought with him an air of warmth and laughing good humour. Rachel watched her mother respond to it as she had seen ladies respond to Cory’s charm time and time again. It mattered not whether they were young or old, he bowled them over just the same. She, of course, was quite indifferent to him. Even so, a little prickle of awareness ran along her skin as she remembered her reaction to seeing him down by the river.

‘How are you, Lavinia?’ Cory asked, holding Lady Odell at arm’s length and looking her over, a twinkle in his eye. ‘You look in fine form!’

‘Cory! Dear boy!’ Lavinia Odell was clinging on to him and squeaking like an excited schoolgirl. ‘We are so very pleased that you could join us!’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Lord Newlyn said, releasing her gently and planting a smacking kiss on her cheek. ‘The Midwinter burials are famous, you know. I’ve been wanting to get my trowel into those mounds for years, ever since I heard about the Midwinter Treasure!’

‘If anyone can find the Treasure, it will be us,’ Lavinia Odell said, eyes sparkling. ‘I feel it in my waters!’

‘Where is the stable lad, Mama?’ Rachel interrupted, trying hard to hold the thoroughbred, which was currently exhibiting its quality by dancing skittishly on the gravel sweep. ‘I suppose that he is down in the field with Father?’

‘Of course, my love,’ Lady Odell said, looking vaguely puzzled, as though it were natural for everyone to employ their servants as excavation assistants. ‘I could send for him, I suppose, but your father needs someone to help him measure the barrows-’

‘I’ll put Castor away myself,’ Cory said, the gravel crunching under his boots as he came towards Rachel. He took the bridle from her hand and soothed the grey with a gentle stroke of the nose.

‘Good morning again, Rachel,’ Cory said. He gave her a smile that was slightly more quizzical than the one he had bestowed on Lady Odell. The smile deepened the creases at the corners of his eyes and for a moment it seemed that the morning sunlight was trapped in their silver depths. ‘Are we to pretend that we have not yet met?’

He took her hand in his and Rachel was shocked and more than a little disconcerted to find her pulse racing at his touch. Two images flashed before her eyes: the real one of Cory standing before her now, fully dressed, and the other of him stark naked as he emerged from the river, the water rolling down his skin…She felt all hot and shaky again, as though she had sustained a sudden shock. Her knees actually trembled.

She swallowed hard, closed her eyes and by dint of sheer willpower banished the picture. This had to be an aberration. She was determined that her thoughts would not be haunted by the image of Cory’s virile, unashamed nudity. She did not wish to think of her childhood friend in that manner.

But even so, she suddenly had the lowering feeling that it was going to be a far more complicated summer than she had ever imagined.

It felt like a full minute later, but was possibly only a few seconds when Rachel became aware that Cory was still holding her hand and was waiting for her response with a faintly concerned expression on his face. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, pushed her feelings of self-consciousness back down where they belonged and looked him up and down. Cory might be fully clothed now, but he still looked completely disreputable. His boots were scuffed, his shirt neck open to reveal the strong, brown column of his neck, and on his tawny hair was a hat so disgusting that Rachel thought it fit for nothing but the bonfire. Concentrating on Cory’s personal shortcomings served to steady her somewhat. He was a friend, and one of the privileges of friendship was that she could say whatever she chose to him.

‘How do you do, Cory?’ she said primly. ‘I am very well, thank you, though I have to say that you scarcely look better with your clothes on than without. That jacket looks as though it has been slept in.’

‘It is delightful to see you too, Rae.’ A slight edge had come into Cory’s voice now. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek lightly. ‘I am glad that you have overcome your discomfiture and are back on astringent form.’ He held out the tartan rug to her. ‘I must thank you for the loan of your blanket. I can have it laundered for you before I return it, if you would prefer.’

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘I shall ask Mrs Goodfellow to arrange it.’ She took the rug and folded it over her arm.

Cory gestured to Castor. ‘Perhaps you could show me the way to the stables?’

‘Of course,’ Rachel said. She touched her mother’s hand. ‘I will see you later, Mama. Remember to make Papa wear a hat, and please do not forget that luncheon is at twelve sharp. Oh, and leave your bead necklace with me. You would not wish to get it caught on one of the buckets.’

‘A good idea, my love,’ Lady Odell said, beaming. She slipped the bead necklace over her head, put it into Rachel’s outstretched hand and adjusted the battered hat that sat askew her faded brown hair. ‘We shall see you shortly, Cory,’ she said. ‘Arthur will be so delighted that you are here!’ And with that she strode off to the stile in the picket fence, threw a leg over and started across the fields towards the excavation.

Rachel sighed. She turned to see Cory watching her with amusement in his eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked, a little ungraciously.

Cory shrugged lightly. ‘You. You cannot resist managing them, can you? It is always the same.’

Rachel felt a sharp stab of irritation. She thought it rather impertinent that Cory, who should understand her situation, should be the one to criticise. He had known her parents for almost as long as she had, and knew perfectly well that, left to their own devices, they were incapable of managing anything practical at all.

‘Someone needs to take charge of them,’ she said, ‘or they would both starve. That is if the sunstroke did not catch them first.’

Cory shrugged again. A hint of a smile still hovered at the corner of his mobile mouth. ‘Then you must be pleased to be settled in Suffolk for a space, rather than the Nile Delta. It is considerably less dangerous.’

Rachel set off towards the five-barred gate that separated the drive from the stable yard. ‘Settled? We are no more settled here at Midwinter Royal than we were in the twenty-five places that went before. Once the excavation is finished we shall be on the move again. Papa was speaking of Greece for the winter, hoping that it would be safe to travel on the continent again.’

‘That seems like a particularly bad idea with Bonaparte running rampage abroad and the danger of invasion growing stronger each day,’ Cory said. He unlatched the gate and stood back to allow her to precede him through. ‘Can they not go to Cornwall instead? I have unearthed a very fine Iron Age fogou in the grounds of Newlyn.’

‘Congratulations,’ Rachel said politely.

‘You are the only person I have met recently who does not need me to explain what a fogou is,’ Cory said wryly, ‘or is it that you are simply not interested, Rae?’

‘Fogou-an underground passage or tunnel that is a feature of the Iron Age landscape, function unknown,’ Rachel said economically. ‘Please do not encourage Mama and Papa to go to Cornwall, Cory. The Midwinter villages are very pleasant and I wish them to stay here for a while.’

‘Poor Rae,’ Cory said. His tone had softened a little. ‘You really hate it, don’t you?’

Rachel turned slightly. Cory was a tall shadow against the sun and she could not see his expression. ‘Hate what?’ she said tightly.

‘All the travel. They adore it and you detest it. You have been dragged all around the world, staying in-how many was it?-twenty-five different places and you hate it.’

Rachel relaxed a little. Cory’s tone was gentle and she realised that he did not intend to make fun of her. Strangely, although his passions were the same as those of her parents, he actually understood how she felt. His own interests might be diametrically opposed to hers, but they did not blind him to the things that were important to her.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she said.

‘Antiquities are not to everybody’s taste,’ Cory continued gravely.

‘Indeed not,’ Rachel said. ‘I wish that you would leave them where you find them!’

Cory looked vaguely offended. ‘The amassing of a collection is a gentleman’s pursuit, Rachel. There is nothing wrong in it.’

‘I did not say that there was,’ Rachel said. ‘I speak only of my own opinion. I dislike antiquities and I detest the necessity of living out of a packing case and leasing residences the length and breadth of the country.’

‘And to make matters worse, some of those residences are not even houses,’ Cory said sympathetically. ‘Some of them are only tents!’

Rachel looked at him, saw the smile in his eyes, and suddenly they were both laughing and the slightly prickly tension between them had evaporated like frost in the sun. Rachel pushed open one of the stable doors and led Cory inside.

‘Oh dear, I suppose I do sound a misery,’ she admitted. ‘And it is lovely to see you again, Cory, even if I cannot approve of you. You know you are a bad influence.’

Cory removed the horse’s tack, reached for the curry brush and started to rub the grey down. He shot her a smile. It was a smile that would make many a débutante tremble in her satin slippers. Rachel felt a slight quiver shake her and reminded herself that she was indifferent to Cory.

‘I am a bad influence on whom, Rae?’ Cory asked. ‘Your parents were off digging for antiquities all over the world when you and I were mere children. If anything is true, it is that they influenced me into the sort of life I lead now, not vice versa.’

Rachel leaned against the doorjamb and watched him work. She knew that what he said was true. The Newlyns were bankers, not explorers. It had been Cory’s encounter with the Odell family, when he had been eleven and she had been five, which had sparked his fascination in travel and exploration. Arthur and Lavinia Odell, who had failed so singularly to excite in their own child an interest in antiquity, had had spectacular success with the young Lord Newlyn. He had joined their excavations in his school and university holidays and, as soon as he had reached his majority, had taken to travelling all over the globe.