21st Century Rake: Heart's Ease, #4

ONE

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Asher Corbin turned side on and sized himself up in the cheval mirror. This was a good look for him. The black jacket fit like a glove, as did the dove grey waistcoat. The cut of the pants was tight, even by today's skinny jeans standard. And the high boots were simply wicked. But the pièce de résistance was the cravat, tied high up on his neck. White and crisp, like his shirt, he'd made sure that it was tied in an authentic knot that even the original English dandy himself, Beau Brummel, would have desired.

Most men would deny that they spent time considering their clothing, but Asher thought that was a load of bunk. Would there be a multibillion-dollar menswear industry if men really didn't care? He'd always taken pride in his look, even before he'd become famous. A long time ago, when he'd been a young lad with not much going for him, he'd decided that the old adage, the clothes made the man, was one that he'd put to work for him.

Sure, some might say he had a flare for the dramatic, but he had a persona to maintain. And he had a league of managers and assistants and advisors who spent a hell of a lot of time telling him how he was hurting or helping the brand they'd worked so hard to cultivate.

Truth be told, they weren't at all pleased with his decision to star in the bio-pic about Brummel. It was going to eat into time they felt would be better served on tour or cutting a new album. But he was very good at nodding and smiling and agreeing with them, and then doing exactly what he wanted. A curious thing had happened to young Ted Corbin about eight years ago. He'd stopped caring about what people thought, and simply started acting on impulse.

It might not always pan out right, but for the most part, it turned out to be a sound life philosophy. Aside from the time he almost got married in Mexico. Or the time he decided to streak through Times Square. Or that affair with a married aristocrat. But for each bad decision, he could count three good ones. Maybe more. Being smart enough to let Elsie go. Hell, realizing she was never really his to let go in the first place. Recognizing that the delectable Daphne Scott was better off a confidante than a lover—even if it took her to point it out. Those were all great decisions, and it was why he was here now at the Heart's Ease Inn, decked out in period costume for a fancy dress ball.

No, deciding to star in this movie was a great idea for a plethora of reasons. Daphne had gotten a fantastic gig for herself out of his involvement. And now Elsie was going to make a boatload of money off the film because, thanks to his and Daphne's orchestrations, this is where Simone Shuster had decided to hold her two-week-long cast and crew retreat.

Simone was an odd bird. She was making a period film that took place during the Regency era smack dab in the middle of London’s social season, and yet, she just couldn't find anything about England that she liked. So when she'd decided that it was important for everyone involved in the film to have a firm grasp of what it meant to be a person of means during the early nineteenth century—and that the best way to do so was to lock themselves away from the rat race and live according to the customs of the period—Asher and Daphne had proposed she hold the retreat in Heart's Ease.

Of course, Daphne wanted to spend as much time near her fiancé, Jack, as she could. But Asher had developed a strong bond with the community. He felt different here. A better version of himself.

He was working hard to convince people to stop calling him Asher when he visited, and go by his given name, Ted. But so far only Elsie and Cam were on board. To the best of his recollection, Cam had never called him Asher. And he liked it that way.

When he was in Heart’s Ease, he felt less like the persona he’d created and more like the man he wanted to be. And as weird as it seemed, he’d started to feel more at home here once he’d stopped sleeping with Elsie. Funny thing was, Elsie was the only woman from his past that he still had any contact with. And it was watching her bloom in her relationship with Cam that had made him more aware of love. Odd, considering he was known for his love songs. Turned out it was easy to write about love when it was what you were searching for.

He wouldn’t say he was obsessed with finding true love, but maybe, just maybe, he was a little obsessed with the idea of love. The reality was a different matter. Which is why he’d taken to enjoying helping others find love, and trying his best to stay as far from it as possible. Love was messy. And he was tired of messy.

Well, he didn’t look messy now. He ran a hand through his hair, which was shorter than normal. He’d gone for a neat gentleman look, and shorn the rock star locks that were part of his image. For the next two weeks, he would immerse himself in the period. Asher Corbin was on hiatus, he decided. He wouldn’t even answer to the name. Ted. Or Beau. That was it.

He smiled. The next two weeks would be fun. Almost a vacation away from himself.

With a final tug on his jacket, he left the room to head down to the ballroom. He loved Simone’s idea of holding a ball to kick the retreat off in fine Regency style. It was time to figure out this new character of his.

By the time he had reached the ballroom, he was more than disappointed. He was the only one who’d embraced Simone’s idea to come costumed. Sure, she’d said that just formal wear was acceptable for this inaugural ball—costumes were required for the final ball to be held at the end of Regency Bootcamp—but he’d thought that at least some others would choose to get into their roles tonight by coming in costume. What kind of actors and actresses were these people if none of them had taken this opportunity to really get into character?

He could understand the guys who were here just because they were invited, like Cam, Jack and Dillon. Ted would have been shocked to see any of those three decked out in tight pants, high waistcoats and perfectly tied cravats. But there were some relatively well-known Hollywood types here. He’d expected more.

A warm arm slipped into his. Elsie was lovely in a deep green dress, even if she was all belly at seven months into her pregnancy.

I have to thank you for this, she said. It’s going to be a busy two weeks, but every room is booked. So are the new cabins we built. And it’s all because of you.

And your sister-in-law, he said. But yea, mainly me. He smiled. I just hope it’s not too much work for you.

Are you kidding? I can hardly work at all these days, between Cam and Daphne. Daphne has taken over the entire retreat and made Cam her right-hand man. Between him and Jack, I doubt I’ll have anything to do but play lady of the manor. Which is a treat for me.

Well, my luv, if you need me to fetch your slippers or tea, you let me know.

Don’t tempt me. I can’t get a decent foot rub from Cam because... She blushed.

Say no more, my darling. Please. I get it. Now, I really should go mingle and get to know some of my cast mates.

He kissed Elsie on the cheek and made his way into the ballroom. Despite the music, there was an abundance of standing and drinking, and a definite lack of dancing. He was going to have to do something to get this party going. There had to be someone around to help him.

TWO

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Grace Nolan peeked out from behind the screen she’d ducked behind ten minutes prior. The room was full of beautiful women decked out in the most modern, figure-flattering dresses imaginable. If her sister Fiona were here right now, Grace would have taken her tiny handmade purse, called a reticule in Regency times, complete with its modern contents of cell phone and keys, and whacked her sister over the head with it. When Fiona had given Grace her invitation to the ball because she was going to be out of town this weekend, it had seemed like the best gift.

Fiona was one of the few people that knew of Grace’s secret passion for all things Jane Austen. Or the Regency era for that matter. Her Kindle was full of Regency romance novels. Fiona also knew that Grace had even had a ball gown made in the Regency style for a costume party they’d both gone to several years ago in Toronto. Fiona had gone just because Grace had begged her.

This will be the perfect opportunity for you to wear that gown, Fiona had said on Thursday when she’d learned she had to go to Gander for meetings. Grace had agreed, mainly because the invitation said Costumes welcome.

Well, they might be welcome, but they sure were not in attendance. Grace felt ridiculous. She never fit in on a good day, even when she was dressed for the same era as everyone around her. But this was terrible. While she thought the gown was pretty, it was from an authentic pattern. And the thing about Regency dresses was that by today’s standards, they tended to resemble ornate nightgowns—cleavage revealing, high waisted, floor length nightgowns— but nightgowns nevertheless. It didn’t help that her dress was pale pink with white lace. She’d gone from feeling pretty to dowdy, and all the exuberance she’d felt at getting the chance to wear the gown was gone. Especially when she’d noticed two particularly elegantly dressed girls eying her with a curious mix of surprise and scorn.

She was about to pull off the long pink gloves that matched the gown and stuff them into her purse—she refused to ever think of it as a reticule again—when the worst possible thing happened. A man, a delicious looking man, spotted her from across the room.

Grace ducked back behind the screen. She’d only seen him for a second, but at a glance, at least he too seemed to be in costume. Perhaps she’d just come too early. Maybe the room would fill with costumes shortly and then she could walk around and meet the gaze of the others. But the last thing she wanted right now was attention of any sort.

Now what’s back here that has your attention?

Was that a British accent? The face to match the voice peered around the screen. It was the face she’d put on countless heroes in the books she read. Not so much in the actual look, but in the vivid characteristics of it. His eyes were alight with mischief, and his lips seemed curled in a smirk that said, I am the most important and self-assured man in this room. Nothing I do goes unnoticed, nor should it since before the night is through, I will surely cause a scandal.

Okay. Maybe that was a lot for a smirk to say, but in the novels she read, that’s what the hero, always known as a rake, was meant to do. And this face was definitely playing the part.

I was standing over there, and lo and behold, I spotted you peering around this screen. And I just can’t imagine what’s behind here that’s more interesting than a room full of people not dancing and not looking nearly as lovely as you.

Oh, he was that sort of cocky.

Does that often work for you? She couldn’t help but laugh.

He looked at her as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

Does what often work for me?

Overt flattery.

Oh, I can be much more overt than that, my luv.

I’ve no doubt, she said and laughed again. But I’m serious. Does it often work for you?

He stopped, as if he were seriously contemplating her question.

I believe it does. But there’s only one way to know for certain. Will you dance with me?

Her heart lurched. Grace was not a centre-of-attention girl. And dancing with this man, this handsome, too confident for his own good man, would draw more attention to her than even her dress. God, he was also in costume. A much more put together and entirely drool-worthy costume than hers. Together they’d draw the eyes of everyone in the room. And that was not her cup of tea. Even if she drank tea. Which she didn’t.

I hate to disappoint you, but no. I won’t.

You won’t dance with me?

Correct.

He stared at her, as if she were some foreign species.

Do you not know how?

I can dance quite well, thank you very much. I just have no desire to do so.

With me? Or in general?

Both. Now you must excuse me. I have to leave.

There was something about being in his vicinity that was making her uncomfortable. As if there weren’t enough air behind the screen for the both of them.

The doorway was vacant at the moment, and it was her perfect opportunity to get out of the ballroom. Without a backwards glance she took off for the door, noticed the hall leading towards the exit of the inn was blocked, and swiftly turned left instead. There she found a door slightly open, and ducked in. It was full of books. Must be the library.

With a sigh of relief, she walked to the shelf and ran her fingers along the spines of the books. There was a reason why she enjoyed romance novels set in the past. It was easy to get caught up in the stories of others, and the romanticism of a bygone time. There was nothing romantic about the twenty-first century. Technology had ruined it. And she should know, since she spent her days mired in that very technology. Grace liked to spend her days lost in computer programming, and her nights lost in fantasy novels, romance novels, and the odd role-playing game. She was good with fiction. And code. And not so great with real life. And people. And certainly not good-looking, romance hero worthy people.

This is one of my favourite rooms.

Sweet Lord. Had he seriously followed her? Her pulse quickened at the thought.

Some people find that surprising about me, that I like to be surrounded by books. But there’s something calming about a room with nothing but books stacked in neat order from ceiling to floor, don’t you think?

I actually prefer them less ordered. Which wasn’t particularly true. She really had no preference. Her apartment had neat bookshelves and stacks of books in random places. But there was something about the matter of fact way he spoke every sentence that made her want to disagree with him.

And I didn’t come in here for the books. I came in search of a quiet spot. So if you’ll excuse me. There. That should give him the hint.

At least do me the courtesy of sharing your name. Before you dash off and leave me again to nurse my wounded pride.

The smile on his face told her his pride was far from wounded. She suspected that no sooner would she disappear from sight and he’d be off hounding another, more receptive, woman.

My name is Grace.

Fitting, he said.

And you are?

He stared at her. Pardon?

You have my name. It’s only fair I know yours as well.

My name?

That’s normally how this works. I introduce myself, and then you do the same.

He slowly extended his hand. Forgive me, he said. I don’t know where my manners were. My name is Ted.

There was something different about him all of a sudden. The way he looked at her had changed.

Nice to meet you, Ted. Enjoy the party.

Please stay. He said it softly.

Pardon?

For the party. Please don’t go home on my account. I’ll leave you alone.

His manner of voice had changed. He’d gone from blustery confidence to something she could only define as humble. Had she hurt his feelings? Did he really think she was leaving because of him? What