“But you benefit from it.”
“Which proves my point,” he muttered.
Besides, he could hardly consider the title a benefit when worthier men like his father and brother John had to die for him to have it.
She lapsed into silence, and Rafe watched the torturously slow approach of the carriage. How long until she started talking again? Ten, nine, eight—
“Are you a good earl?” she asked.
“‘Good’ as in competent, moral, or well-behaved?”
“Any of those.”
“No.”
Not that Rafe could bring himself to care. A peer’s purpose was to govern in the House of Lords, but politics was beyond him. All those people. All that talking. Schemes and ambitions, policies and demands. Read this. Listen to that. Sign here. Vote there. For his part, Christopher insisted he was happy as an MP in the House of Commons, where he could get more done.
And Rafe was about to become an even worse earl. As soon as he had the money from this invalid marriage, he would do what aristocrats never did: start a business. The idea alone could trigger an earthquake of genteel shudders.
“They don’t teach charm at earl school either, do they?” Thea said with some asperity.
“Charm is about making oneself liked by making people like themselves, and I don’t care if anyone likes me or themselves.”
“But how can you not want people to like you?”
“If people don’t like me, they don’t talk to me.”
“And you don’t like anyone, I suppose.”
“On the contrary. I like everyone who doesn’t talk to me.”
She cocked her head, considering. “But what about society?”
“Society? You mean people chittering and twittering like so many blasted birds? A whole world of wonders out there, and they chatter on about their petty concerns, the weather, their shoes, their horse, though there’s no point to any of it.”
No point at all, Rafe thought, eyes on the approaching carriage. One’s wife would still lose her reason and ride to her death. One would still get attacked by a wild animal hunting its prey. One’s brothers would still die in accidents and wars, thus transforming an itinerant botanist into an earl. He could long to hear Katharine’s laugh one more time, or wish for his brother’s calm wisdom, or smile at the memory of his father’s bad jokes, but whining about it to the world would not help. One could cheer or complain, care or not, and it did not change a single blasted thing.
And not to forget that society repeated those rumors about him, shuddered at his face, ignored the truth about Katharine, and then had the gall to criticize him for preferring the peace and quiet of his estate.
“Discussing such small things is a way of understanding the world and oneself,” Thea said, with irritating gentleness. “Of forging connections with others. It’s what people do.”
Rafe glared at her. “I’m not people.”
Finally, mercifully, the carriage arrived, accompanied by Rafe’s manservant and horse. Also riding on the carriage was a swarthy, broad-shouldered stranger who nimbly leaped down before the coachman had brought the horses to a stop.
“You.” Rafe accosted the stranger. “Who are you and why are you riding on my carriage?”
“That is Gilbert,” Miss Larke said, appearing at Rafe’s side.
The man Gilbert bowed and turned to check on the luggage. Thea drifted off to chat with him.
“He is Lady Luxborough’s manservant,” Miss Larke added. “Formerly a champion pugilist.”
“She doesn’t need a manservant, pugilistic or otherwise.”
“He will stay by her side. To ensure no harm befalls her.”
“What harm could possibly befall her?”
“None. Because Gilbert will make sure it doesn’t.”
Miss Larke met his gaze steadily. Not once did her eyes flicker to his scars. Impressive, really: At first, it was a natural human instinct to look. Yet even during their excruciating interview the night before, when Rafe was painting a future so awful Thea would have to rescue her, Miss Larke’s exquisite manners had never faltered. Her face was a mask; he found it unbearable.
Also unbearable was the knowledge that they feared him. Not that he could complain, given his threats against Miss Larke. It was frightening enough for young women as it was, to be packed off to remote estates where they knew no one but the near stranger they had married. Even bold, reckless Katharine had feared her father’s plans to marry her off, so that crossing the Atlantic with Rafe had seemed preferable.
Worst decision she ever made.
“She will come to no harm,” he snapped.
“It would be remiss of me not to be concerned,” Miss Larke said calmly. “Given the stories about your first wife.”
Rafe turned his worst glare on her. She did not flinch.
“Stories, Miss Larke?”
“You are being willfully obtuse, my lord.”
“Am I.”
“Some say you poisoned her. Others say you killed her through sorcery.”
He had to unclench his jaw to respond. “You disappoint me, Miss Larke. You strike me as too intelligent to listen to other people’s stories.”
“An intelligent person always listens. People tend to betray themselves through the stories they tell.”
Bloody hell, she was exhausting. He was not going to waste his day trying to match wits or stares with his fake bride’s demanding friend.
“She will come to no harm,” he repeated.
Miss Larke glanced at Thea, and her expression softened ever so slightly. “She can be impulsive. She has a tendency to try to save people, a blatant disrespect for rules, and a gift for seeing through others’ claptrap. If she were shipwrecked alone on a rock, she would find something to entertain her. Do not mistake her playfulness for foolishness.”
“Your recommendation is unnecessary.”
“You will not interfere with her manservant. She will write to me daily and you will allow it. And for the first month, you will not—” She stopped short, then nodded meaningfully and made a rolling gesture with her hand.
“I’ll not what, Miss Larke?”
Miss Larke did not sigh, but she gave the impression of having sighed. “Again, my lord, willfully obtuse.”
Past her, Thea was peering through the carriage window, cheerfully remarking to Gilbert on the presence of the plants inside as her traveling companions. Rafe felt strangely glad that Thea had such a fierce and loyal friend.
Yet he could hardly reveal that he had no intention of even talking to Thea, let alone bedding her. It was a fine line he trod: to maintain the pretense he believed she was Helen and hence truly his wife, while giving Thea no cause to demand a real marriage.
“I will not touch her for one month,” he said.
Miss Larke nodded regally. Without another word, Rafe covered the few steps to the carriage and yanked open its door. Thea said her final farewells and joined him.
“How do you know Miss Larke?” he asked abruptly.
“We met at the Winchester Ladies’ Academy.” Thea bit her lip. He suspected she had answered as Thea, not Helen. “Mr. Larke sent Arabella there in the vain hope of making her more demure. My parents sent me to gain some extra polish.”