Jealous Rakes and June Mistakes (The Rake Review, Season Two)

Prologue

Trees, lake, sky—foreground, midground, background.

Tessa King could see the composition of the vista stretched before her perfectly sketched onto an imaginary canvas.

But she could not see her future quite so clearly.

Her past was a rectory, this forest, and a friend, laughter and summer ease.

Her present was a frosty morning ripping through her thin pelisse, hard stone cold beneath her, and the winter wind rippling across the lake.

Her future? That less clear the farther out she looked.

In five or so minutes it was the coach waiting in the drive of Crossvale Court, a trip to London, a voyage to the Continent, then… everything blurry and none of it within her control.

Tessa drew her legs up to her chest beneath her skirts and rested her forehead on her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced each breath in and out because it would not happen on its own. Not right now. If she left breathing up to fate or habit, she’d suffocate.

“Tess.” The warm, deep voice felt like a hand on her shoulder, a palm rubbing up and down her spine. “Where’s your bonnet?”

She rested her cheek on her knees in time to see Remington Ives rounding the rock. He swiped up the bonnet and fit it on her head, letting the ribbons dangle.

“Your ears are violently red,” he said.

She felt violently red inside.

“Everyone’s looking for you.” He sat beside her, legs dangling off the large boulder, hands clasped between them.

“Try not to be anxious.” Remmy sucked his cheeks in and looked at the sky.

His jaw was working side to side the way it always did when some big emotion was gnawing him.

“You’ll have fun. You always wanted to travel. ”

Yes. But not like this. “I don’t know her,” Tessa whispered, fighting back tears.

“Mother does.” His voice was clipped, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “She wouldn’t send you away with someone she didn’t trust.”

“I know. I know.”

“Don’t cry, Tessa.”

“I know. I know.”

No response. She peeked up at him, though it was sure to make the tears come more quickly.

Tall and lean, his dark hair fashionably cut.

He’d been her friend since birth it seemed, all twenty years of their lives.

They’d never been separated more than a handful of months during his schooling or for the London social Season.

Now… who knew when they’d next see each other.

She didn’t want her last sight of him to be the tight-lipped strain of holding back tears.

She tugged the cuff of his sleeve. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I have horrid timing. I didn’t mean to r-ruin Mr. Grimes’s p-pro—”

“I wasn’t going to accept him anyway.” Her huff of laughter hid a sob. She wiped the corner of her eye.

“Your parents think you would have. And that my untimely arrival screaming about your victory was the only thing to stop you.”

“I was on the verge of a ‘thank you, Mr. Grimes, but I would prefer not to marry you’ when you burst through the door. They know that.” They only blamed Remmy because they disapproved of him.

They did not think the rector’s daughter should be so close to the local earl’s wild younger son.

They did not care that he made her feel alive.

They did not want her to feel alive. They wanted her to marry the curate and were pleased to disown her if she didn’t.

“I was excited,” Remmy said. “You won, Tess.” He tore his gaze away from the sky and settled it on her. His eyes glittering, his mouth softened now. “Your painting won.”

That, too, had upset her parents. They did not want their eldest daughter flaunting her talent in public, even if it was under a different name. And Remmy had helped her enter the contest. An unforgivable sin.

“I knew you’d win,” he said. The wind whistled through the trees and ripped at her skirts. “I’ll miss you.” Remmy’s voice was hoarse.

“I’ll miss you too.” Her voice was so, so quiet.

“Tess…” He covered her hand with his, and the winter-white sky brightened. “I… I-I”—he squeezed his eyes closed—“love you.”

“Oh, Remmy.” She threw herself into his arms, hugged him tightly. “Thank you.” Pulling back, she pecked his cheek.

His skin was mottled red and white. His jaw ticked.

No use prolonging this pain. She could not escape her future, but she could step into it head held high of her own volition. She dropped off the boulder and smoothed her skirts. “I should not keep them waiting.”

He joined her and they took the narrow path back to Crossvale Court, his family’s home, side by side.

Every few steps, his hand brushed hers, and the warmth of his touch crept up her arm, across her shoulders, dug itself deep into her chest, curling up like a purring cat.

It gave her strength. Her friend had always given her strength.

But she needed more. The next time their hands brushed, she grabbed his, clutched it tight. He squeezed hers in return, a small, wordless reassurance.

The path widened, then opened up onto a smooth lawn that stretched toward a circular drive and a large stone house, a former abbey with arched windows and ramparts.

A coach sat idle in front of Crossvale Court.

It was huge and unfamiliar and bursting with luggage.

Not Tessa’s luggage. Hers would fit on her lap.

One valise, sturdy and plain. Wherever the footman had stowed it was a small space indeed.

She looked down the long drive stretching away from Crossvale.

No familiar cart bringing her parents to say goodbye.

They didn’t care what happened to her now.

But the two women standing in front of the coach did. They were night and day. The Countess of Crossvale, plump and pretty with black hair just starting to silver, and Viscountess Chattaway, tall and svelte with blond hair liberally streaked by white. They greeted her as Tessa and Remmy approached.

“Are you ready?” the countess called out.

Remmy and Tessa released each other at the same time and hid their hands behind their backs as they stood before his mother.

“I am ready, ma’am,” Tessa said.

“Excellent.” The countess wrapped soft arms around Tessa and whispered in her ear, “Your parents love you. I know they do.”

And yet the countess had been the one to save Tessa when her parents had tossed her out. There had never been anything like friendship between the earl and her father, who had been assigned by a bishop to the nearby rectory. But now there was outright tension, and it was all Tessa’s fault.

“Thank you,” Tessa said softly, “Again. I do not think I can thank you enough.”

“You will adore Meredith, but your life as her companion will not be easy. She is a widow with a widow’s taste for the unconventional.” The countess held Tessa at arm’s length. “You must keep her out of trouble.” She winked.

“I will do my best.”

Lady Chattaway swept into the waiting coach and said just before she disappeared, “You’ll have to do your best to keep up with me! Now do hurry. Prolonging goodbyes does not make them easier.”

But Tessa couldn’t leave yet. “Lady Crossvale… would you… Do you think you could… watch over Verity?”

Lady Crossvale’s eyes softened. “Of course. Would you like to send her letters? Through me?”

“Oh. No. Thank you.” Her mother would never allow Verity to receive letters from Tessa. Asking the countess to be a go-between for the sisters would merely irritate matters further.

Remmy’s mother patted Tessa’s cheek. “You made the right choice. You should not marry a man you do not love.”

Every muscle tight enough to snap, Tessa nodded.

“Do not stay away too long.” Remmy was looking at the sky again. He tugged at his cravat.

“I do not control that.” Tessa did not control much in her little life.

He nodded, swallowed, said, “Come back to me. I mean to us. I mean… to Crossvale.” His cheeks were red, the winter wind whipping his skin raw.

“Miss King!” Lady Chattaway was calling.

“I must go.” The tears hot behind Tessa’s eyes again. She spun around, and the gravel spit out from beneath her fast-moving feet. When she reached the steps, she lifted her skirts, and—

Remmy was there, hand held out, cheeks sunken, eyes glittering.

She took his hand and let him help her ascend the steps. But once inside, he didn’t let go. His grip was tight and hot, almost too tight, almost unrelenting.

And when she looked at him, head tilted, a question between her parted, silent lips, he said only, “Dream sweetly, Tessa King.”

“Of blue skies,” she answered. Their old call and response.

A tight nod, then he released her, striding away at the exact second, hands clasped behind his back.

“Goodbye, Remmy,” she whispered. Then she sat across from Lady Chattaway and looked out the window and listened to the woman’s chatter and tried not to cry.

The coach swayed as it bumped down the road, and Lady Chattaway barked Tessa’s name.

“Yes?” Tessa asked.

“You’re sweet on that boy.”

“Oh. Not like that. He’s my closest friend.”

Lady Chattaway snorted. “The truest loves, the loves that last”—she looked out the window now, too—“began as friendships.”

“But there has never been a future for us. Everyone knows it. He has no means to provide for a wife, and I have no dowry. We were always meant to only be friends. And now… I may never see him again.”

“Or you will. Keep your horizons open, girl.”

Tessa chuckled. “Blue skies?”

“All the way to Italy and back.” Lady Chattaway grinned and opened a book.

Tessa closed her eyes and dreamed. But it was not the sky she saw. It was a pair of eyes. Just as blue and more familiar.