A Fallen Woman (4 page)

As a recipient of a great many requests to dance, Rachel
could recall that she had genuinely liked him. He had a shy sense
of
humor and
a rather nice pair of grey eyes that had smiled down at her
whenever he had twirled her around the floor and she had enjoyed
their brief encounters. Of course, she had been in the throes of a
powerful, all consuming infatuation, her every waking thought on
Dorian Salinger so she had not given Lord Guthrie the attention he
no doubt deserved. It had been as if the world had been perceived
through a filter and her waking hours had been colored by
unfamiliar hues. Rachel shivered. She did not enjoy recalling that
period in her life, when her natural good sense had so completely
deserted her. The mad infatuation she had felt for Salinger had
burned so brightly that everything else had been cast into the
shade, including her interactions with others. Even now, she
experienced a kind of incredulous wonder that she could have been
so taken in by another human being.

Frowning, Rachel fixed her eyes on the flames in the
fireplace. These days, she tried very hard not to think about that
time in her life. As her mother had pointed out to her in the weeks
that followed her return to Thorncroft, what was done, was done and
there was no undoing it. She could only move forward. Instead of
dwelling on her narrowed circumstances she now focused on being an
excellent sibling and the next phase of her life; that of a loving
aunt to her brothers’ and sisters’ children. Small joys, but very
real for all that. All but her eldest brother James treated her as
they had always done and James treated her perfectly well if his
ghastly wife wasn’t about. If not for Charity, he would no doubt be
much as he ever was towards her. Charity, it must be said, most
certainly did
not
live up to her name.

Rachel shook her head and resolutely opened the book in her
lap, refusing to think anything more of the past. Her days of
headstrong arrogance (for this was how she perceived her former
self
to be,
caught up in a ridiculous fairy tale where
she
had had the starring role) were behind
her. She only hoped that Worsley would not feel too awkward upon
meeting her but Rachel had to assume, after so long a time, that
whatever feelings he had once had for her had dwindled and
died.

That was
what happened to calf love, after all. Nobody knew it better than
she.

Chapter
Two

Nash stretched
his boots out towards the flames in the hearth and took a long
swallow of claret, listening to the pop and crackle of the new logs
he had just thrown on the fire.

It was late and his traveling companion
had retired several hours ago,
eagerly anticipating an early start the next day, their final ride
to the Sheridan estate. Nash had thought of retiring as well but he
knew that he would not sleep and the knowledge irked him. He had
told himself countless times in the past two weeks that he was in
no way disturbed at the idea of meeting Rachel Sheridan again. And
indeed, he had not been unduly ruffled at the thought of seeing the
girl who had sent him fleeing England over three years ago. It was
an odd circumstance that saw his childhood friend marrying Rachel’s
sister, but it was hardly noteworthy. People met and married all
the time. After that first ripple of cold shock upon hearing the
name ‘Sheridan’ after so long, he had rallied. Indeed, he had
quickly reconciled himself to the idea of seeing Rachel again; a
circumstance he had believed might not happen when he had first
returned to England. He had not sought out information on her, of
course but one did hear things and people recalled his old
infatuation with the girl and thought he might be interested,
despite the fact that he made it perfectly clear he was
not.

Rachel
Sheridan was very much his past. He was only interested in his
future. Even so, it had not taken some of his acquaintances long to
outline exactly what had happened to the beautiful Miss Sheridan
when they had had the opportunity. One night at White’s and he had
known exactly how far Rachel had tumbled. He had found, much to his
surprise, that he had mixed feelings about the woman’s changed
circumstances who had once stolen his affections. Perhaps he should
feel more triumphant that she was ruined. Perhaps he did. He was
damned if he knew one way or the other so he had elected not to
think about it at all.

Until he
had gone down to Warwickshire and his old friend, Adam, had called
upon him. Then he had good reason to recall Rachel
Sheridan.

Was it
some strange quirk of fate that saw his oldest friend affianced to
the sister of a girl who had sent him flying from England three
years before? Possibly. It had certainly forced him to readjust his
plans. He had assumed that he would simply fit back into his old
life, older and wiser than he had been. And gloriously unencumbered
by the ridiculous expectations that had once shackled him. He had
been an absolute chawbacon when he had gone up to London for that
fateful Season, despite the fact that he was better traveled and
better educated than most young men of his age. Nine months on a
Grand Tour in the company of a tutor was no substitute for
wandering around the Continent with no more than a trunk and a
valet. His second trip to Europe had been far more educational than
his first; for all that he had visited very few museums. He wasn’t
quite the greenhorn that he had been, thank God.

He was
confident that, upon his return, he was ready for anything England
might care to throw his way.

Perhaps he had
been precipitous.

‘
She was found in bed with the fellow, you know. Entirely
shocking, of course but then Dorian Salinger has always been a
wrong ‘un. I don’t suppose the girl knew he was married. Kept that
very quiet he did, leaving the wife back in Ireland…’

There had been more of that of course. Speculation.
Innuendo. The avid eagerness of people who delighted in relating
the disastrous fall of a paragon. The story of Rachel Sheridan’s
fall from grace was old news, of course
, so it must have been particularly
satisfying to rake it all over again to a man who might reasonably
be expected to revel in the news that the girl who had rejected him
had been rejected herself, by the very Society that had lauded
her.

All
things considered, it was no surprise that she had retreated to her
family home in Northumberland. Indeed it was rumoured that she
lived like a recluse. She had certainly not been seen in London for
the past three Seasons, although her sister Charlotte had been
presented at court this past year and was considered charming. It
wasn’t until he had seen Adam that the charming Charlotte Sheridan
became significant.

He had been
looking forward to seeing Adam again. It had been far too long.
When his butler had announced Lord Casterton, Nash had laid aside
the estate ledgers willingly. He had a perfectly good man to take
care of business but Mr. Finchley had requested that the earl might
like to look over the figures for the past three years. With
nothing better to do, Nash had agreed but he had quickly regretted
the decision. Business matters were damned boring and he had
directed his butler Swann to send his old friend in.

‘
Adam!’ he’d said, rising to his feet and coming around the
desk. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘
And you,’ Adam had responded with a grin. He’d surveyed Nash
from head to foot. ‘It seems the Continent agreed with you. You’re
looking very fit.’

‘
As are you,’ Nash had observed and indeed, Adam looked
positively bursting with energy. ‘Sit down and have a glass of
wine. I was going to call on you tomorrow when I’d reoriented
myself here.’

And so
Adam had sat and it had been obvious to Nash, after only a short
time, that his friend was bursting with news. It had come tumbling
out over a glass of Madeira; his engagement, his fiancée, his
unutterable joy. Nash had been taken aback, even more so when he
discovered the identity of his friend’s soon to be wife.

‘
Charlotte Sheridan?’ he had repeated blankly, the name
Sheridan resonating uncomfortably in an empty place within him he
was not even conscious of in the normal course of
events.

‘
Yes.’ Adam had paused, head cocked, blue eyes searching his
friend’s face. ‘Charlotte is Rachel Sheridan’s sister. I believe
you were acquainted with the lady before you went away?’

It was not the conversation Nash had expected to have with
his old friend. In fact, the entire interview had been unexpected.
‘I was,’ he had agreed cautiously. Adam had not been privy to his
ridiculous outbreak of calf love for Rachel Sheridan, having been
laid up at Fallowfield with a broken leg. But he must have heard
something of Nash’s offer and
might have wondered at his friend’s abrupt retreat
after he had been rejected. ‘But it has been some time since I have
thought of her, I will admit,’ before adding with commendable
insouciance. ‘How is she, incidentally? I’m afraid I’ve been rather
cut off from the doings of Society for some time.’

It had been
nicely done. Just the right amount of indifference, tinged with
mild curiosity. It had certainly seemed to reassure Adam, who had
perceptibly relaxed. He had gone on to extol the many virtues of
his bride to be, along with his good fortune in becoming a part of
the Sheridan family.

‘
For they are the best of people, Nash. Indeed, they already
treat me as family.’

‘
I am delighted you’re so happy,’ Nash had drawled in response.
He had been mildly alarmed to discover that the mention of Rachel –
and his friend’s association with her family – had triggered a
peculiar feeling deep within him. He did not care to examine what
that feeling was, not then and not at any point in the future.
Instead he had elected to play the part of the weary adventurer.
‘Aren’t you a little young to be tying yourself down, however?
Plenty of time to produce an heir, old boy. I would have thought
the shackles of marriage could have been sidestepped for some time
to come.’

Adam had
appeared startled by this at first, then he had laughed. ‘I’m in no
hurry for an heir, it is true. But I am in a hurry to make
Charlotte mine. I’m not such a fool as to give any other man an
opportunity. She was deuced popular in London.’

‘
They’re a good looking family,’ Nash had returned, almost
without thinking. Rachel had been a great deal more than good
looking. She had been beautiful down to her very bones. He could
all too easily remember the crowd of admirers that had flocked
around her whenever she had put in an appearance. God knows, he had
been one of them.

‘
True enough. Rachel is considered the family beauty but
Charlotte is the most glorious creature I have ever
seen.’

Adam’s
enthusiasm had been patently obvious and Nash had taken care to say
all the right things, after he had collected his wits. So his
friend and neighbor was marrying into a family he would, in the
normal course of things, have taken pains to avoid. Charlotte would
be coming to Fallowfield and he would no doubt make her
acquaintance. But with a little forethought it would not be
difficult to sidestep her sister. He would ascertain when Rachel
had come to visit and he would not. The situation was hardly
insurmountable. He was comforted by the knowledge right up until
Adam put forward his request; that his best friend come to
Northumberland and stand by him during the ceremony.

Five days at
Thorncroft, the Sheridan family’s home.

He could think of a thousand reasons why he did not want to
go but, faced with Adam’s enthusiasm for the
plan
, he
could not enunciate any one of them, not when he had made such a
good job of pretending he didn’t give a damn about his friend’s
association with the family. And so he had agreed to go and even
managed to convince himself that it was for the best. He would face
the past head on, face down the fallen goddess and emerge cleansed.
Triumphant.

What had seemed like an excellent plan ten days ago now
felt like one almighty mistake. No matter how he might like to
pretend otherwise, Rachel Sheridan had shaped the man he had
become, for good and bad. She had driven him away from a life that
had insulated him from every ill wind that might have blown his
way, removing him from advisers and adventurers alike. When he had
sailed from England’s shores he had craved only his own company,
unwilling to listen to the sympathy of either friends or employees,
the only person who had accompanied him, his valet. He had wished
only to suffer by himself and he had done so, by God. It had been
the best, albeit unconsidered, decision he had ever made for, by
taking himself away from a society that pandered to his position,
he had learned a great deal about things he might never have known.
He had learned about himself, as well. His weaknesses
and
his strengths… Nash
Guthrie, not the carefully coddled young man Society had molded him
into but a creature who had barely mastered the basics of life,
despite the education he had received at Eton. His life abroad had
been painful, at first, then it had been eye-opening but
ultimately, it had been educational.

The other side
of the coin was that he had had his comfortable illusions torn
away. He no longer regarded women as creatures to be wooed, but to
be taken, instead. Not unwillingly, not without their consent, but
always with an eye to seduction. The chase was the thing and Nash
had proved to be surprisingly good at capturing his prey. It was
all thanks to the lovely Miss Sheridan, of course. He did not like
to think of it, but every time he took another female to bed there
was a shadow next to the face on the pillow, one that he had been
trying to chase away for three years. Had his conquests always been
tinged with the memory of Rachel? He certainly hoped not but
returning to England had shaken his certainty.