Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) (22 page)

“That’s why you’re playing up to me and Sarah, ain’t it?”

Her eyes widened in outrage. “Well, I never in my life—”

“Spare me the histrionics, woman. I’ll save us both the time and you the effort. I suspect you’re looking for a fellow to keep you in fancy hats and parasols. But I’ve nothing to offer a wife except a good-sized tallywag and a regular ride upon it. Best take your wares back to Oxford and hawk ’em there.”

Well, there went his intentions of keeping a gentlemanly temper.

When she finally slithered away from him, he was relieved to take a breath without swallowing more of her ghastly scent.

“What on earth did you say to Miss Clarendon?” Sarah wanted to know.

“I told her the truth,” he replied with an easy shrug. “I don’t think she was used to it. But I prefer a woman with a straightforward manner.” He shot a quick look over at Rebecca, and that was when he saw Charles touching her hand.

Bitter resentment seized him so suddenly it left him breathless.

When Ham Lady approached a few minutes later with some polite inquiry, he was feeling trapped in that parlor, tired of the pretense and angry enough to snap at her, “I heard you married for love, madam. You should let your daughter do the same.”

Her astonishment pinned her to the spot. “I
beg
your pardon?”

“Money causes naught but misery and she’s better off without it.”

“My daughter’s marriage is my business, Colonel,” she snapped.

“It should be
hers
, madam.”

Ham Lady looked as if she might require smelling salts.

“Words ain’t my talent,” he muttered gruffly, “so it’s best for me to tell it direct.”

Then, remembering there was nothing forcing him to stay and fearing he might proceed to vent with more unsavory truths, he got up with his cane and limped out of the house.

Marianne began now to perceive that the desperation which had seized her at sixteen and a half, of ever seeing a man who could satisfy her ideas of perfection, had been rash and unjustifiable. Willoughby was all that her fancy had delineated in that unhappy hour…

—
Sense
and
Sensibility

“We are merely friends,” Becky assured Justina the next day when she and her father arrived for dinner at Midwitch.

“It looked like rather more than that yesterday evening, Becky. He completely held your attention. Everyone is talking of it. I do hope you have your wits about you.”

“Charles Clarendon is a very pleasing gentleman, and I shall always think favorably of him.” That, she’d decided, would be her formal response to any questions on the matter. “I have always been polite to him, as a lady is supposed to be, have I not? It is only flirting.”

Justina looked anxious. “Only flirting? Well, I hope you do not put your heart at risk. Something about him seems false to me. I cannot put my finger on it. You are my dear friend, and I would not see you hurt for all the world.”

Again she assured Justina that her heart was safe, and the two women walked through the hall. Before they went in to dinner, Justina wanted to show her something and diverted her through the door into the drawing room.

Her husband had bought her a delightful rosewood writing desk and surprised her with it that morning.

“This is why he could not join the treasure hunt yesterday. He stole away to Manderson to fetch it. Is he not the very best, most clever, and generous of husbands?”

Becky dutifully admired the desk, which was indeed beautiful and a thoughtful gift.

“By the by, have you seen my silver bracelet anywhere, Becky? I am quite broken-hearted to have lost it.”

Becky couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her friend’s bracelet. “It’s very odd, for I heard Diana’s mother saying that she’s misplaced her cameo choker too—the one that was her grandmama’s and is said to be worth a great deal of money. Oh, and the colonel told me he lost a fob watch.” And now that she thought of it, the silver milk jug was missing from the dresser shelf in her own kitchen. She wasn’t able to find it the night before when she made the hot chocolate after their treasure hunt.

“Oh, well!” Justina sighed sadly. “I daresay these things will come to light eventually. They can’t have gone far.” Then, as they left the drawing room, she took her friend’s hand and said, “The colonel has given his fortune to my Wainwright, you know. Did he tell you?”

Becky was astonished. “Why would he…? Why would he tell me?”

“I just wondered if he had. He said it is his gift to us, because he has nothing else to give.”

She shook her head, not sure what to make of it, but suddenly anxious.

They walked back out into the hall and assembled with the others before proceeding into the dining room. Becky took a seat at the Wainwrights’ table beside her father, who was very excited about the meal, particularly the plum pudding and brandy butter. He had talked of nothing else all morning.

The colonel did not come in until they were all seated around the table.
He
looks
rather
pale
and
haggard
, she thought. After murmuring a low, gruff greeting to everyone, he lurched around the table to take his seat between his daughter and his sister-in-law.

What on earth could he mean by giving up his rights? Her heart felt as if an ice-cold fist had closed around it.

Had he decided to leave? Did he give up not only his inheritance but their wager?

There was so much merry conversation that she was unable to make eye contact with him for the first two courses. But she was still very much aware of the man and every movement he made.

He hunched over his food, barely bothering to mumble a reply when anyone attempted to draw him into the conversation. One glance at his bloodshot eyes informed her of the reason. Evidently hot chocolate had not been his only tipple after the treasure hunt.

When Sarah inquired whether he had yet let Dr. Penny examine his leg—a seemingly innocuous question—Luke dropped his knife, rose from his chair, and muttered a very tight, “Excuse me.”

With that, he limped rapidly, and at a slightly wayward tilt, to the dining room door. His first attempt at opening it failed due to an unsteady hand that couldn’t grip the handle adequately. Then, when he did get it open, he banged his forehead on the edge of it before stumbling out and slamming it behind him. Sarah got up to follow, but her uncle forbade it and told her to finish her dinner. There was a distinct chill left in the air with the colonel’s abrupt departure, and after a pause, Justina explained that he was a private man who did not like to discuss his injury.

“Apparently there are many things he doesn’t like to discuss,” Becky muttered, thinking of the war medal.

“Well, he is among friends and family here, for goodness sake,” said Mrs. Penny. “He need not be shy with us.”

The colonel did not come back to the table. His empty chair stood empty and forlorn, and then it began to feel accusatory.

Becky excused herself before the cloth was removed and the pudding brought out. She had promised Diana to be at her house within half an hour, just to pay a visit and help entertain her mother’s guests—not to eat—but she could not leave Midwitch Manor without talking to Luke today.

She should, at least, wish him a merry Christmas.

A swift examination of the rooms downstairs did not reveal the missing colonel. Eventually finding her way to the kitchen, she located a packet of headache powders, dissolved them in some ginger beer, and took a glass upstairs to look for him. Someone had to check on the fool man, didn’t they? He didn’t look after himself.

As she ascended the grand staircase, there was a great deal of noise and merriment coming from the dining room below, so she guessed she was not missed. Not yet anyway. Her steps took her along the creaking landing. She would have listened at each door to find his, sure he’d be making some sort of noise inside. But there was no need to go spying at doors.

Something had followed her up the stairs, and as she walked along with the glass of ginger beer, Ness plodded rapidly by her, leading the way directly to a door at the end of the corridor. There the dog sat, staring up at the door handle and then looking back at her, its ears pricked.

She smiled. “Good boy.”

He stood, wagged his stump, and looked again at the door, just as it swung open.

There was Luke, in his greatcoat, apparently prepared to go out.

When he saw Becky, his jaw dropped. For a moment, she thought he would slam the door shut again, so she quickened her steps.

“I brought you something for your head.”

He stared, one hand gripping the door handle, the other holding his cane. “Why?”

“You do have a headache, don’t you? I’ve taken care of my brother enough to know the signs.”

“You shouldn’t be up here, Rebecca. It’s not”—he rubbed his temple with the handle of his cane—“proper.”

“Yes, I know. And you’re a gentleman now.”

“Precisely.”

“They’re all below and no one knows I’m here. You’re quite safe.” She held the glass outstretched toward him. “I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas before I left.”

His jaw twitched. He looked at the glass and then at her again. “You’re leaving?”

“I promised Diana to join her this afternoon.”

Instantly his eyes darkened, even the whites murky. His lips were pressed tight with resentment.

She looked over her shoulder to be sure no one had followed her. “May I come in?”

“What for?” he snapped.

Seeing she would have to take matters into her own hands again, she suddenly stepped forward, ducked under his arm, and walked into his bedchamber, Ness trotting after her.

He slowly turned to see where she’d gone. “I know what you’re up to, woman.”

“You do?” she asked jauntily. In truth, she didn’t even know herself what she was doing. Perhaps he could enlighten her.

Lucky Luke remained in the open doorway. “You’re trying to make me lose our wager. Coming up here to tempt me.”

Relief swept her so quickly she almost dropped the glass of ginger beer. “Oh, you still mean to win then?”

“I warned you I don’t like to lose.”

“But I heard about the generous gift you gave your brother.”

Luke sighed. He propped one shoulder against the door frame. “And you didn’t believe that my intent to marry you was nothing to do with the inheritance terms. So if I didn’t want the money, then I must not want you either. Is that it?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded very small and meek suddenly. Not at all like her.

“It’s time you started believing and trusting in me then, ain’t it?” He gestured for her to leave his room, but instead she set the glass on his mantel and walked around the bed.

“You departed the table very suddenly and left everyone to talk about you. I suppose it makes you feel important to leave us all wondering.”

He said nothing.

“Mrs. Penny thinks you are shy, because you won’t talk about your leg or your medal. But you are not shy, of course. You just like to be mysterious.”

Still not a word. Her eyes suddenly spotted a familiar object on the table beside his bed.
Sense
and
Sensibility
. He must have been reading it last night, despite his dislike of books.

“You can take that back,” he growled. “I don’t know how it came to be in my coat pocket.”

“Because you picked it up and took it.”

He denied it flatly and then muttered, “Can’t make head nor tails of it. Take it back to your friends.”

She lifted it and held it to her breast. His eyes followed the motion and then he blinked and looked at his feet. “Will you come out of there, Miss Sherringham, before someone comes up here to find you?”

She walked back around the bed but still delayed going to the door. “Your daughter is anxious about your leg because she wants you to take her to the Manderson assemblies, you know. She wants to show you off, poor girl. She wants to dance with her father.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m a daughter too.” She stroked Ness, who had jumped up onto the bed to sit proudly before her. “I don’t know what I would do without my father.”

Luke’s gaze lifted again, to the book she held and then to her face. “A husband doesn’t have to take you away from him.”

“Well, I’m sure I didn’t—”

“A husband can be a help to you. Share your burdens.”

This talk made her uneasy, so she left Ness and walked to the fire. It was not in use at that moment, but he had nailed a length of string from the mantel and an apple dangled from the end of it, inches above the ashes of last night’s fire. “What’s this?”

“A fire-roasted apple. Best midnight snack a man can have. Never had one?”

She shook her head.

“One night, I’ll roast you an apple and we’ll eat it together.”

Like Adam and Eve
, she mused. The original sinners. “Would
that
be proper?”

His eyes burned into her across that little distance. “Not until we’re married.”

He wasn’t going to come in and shut the door, she realized. Determined to resist temptation, he gripped that door handle so tightly that veins stood out on the back of his hand. “I’m going out to feed Sir Mortimer,” he said with a strange breeziness. “Want to come?”

She scowled. “Sounds wonderful.”

A brief flare of white teeth revealed his amusement at her frustration and then he turned away, whistling for Ness to follow.

Damn the man.

* * *

“They’re having plum pudding and brandy butter,” she said as they came out into the daylight. “Don’t you want your share?”

He gave her a meaningful look. “I’ll have my share later.”

What need did he have for puddings when he had Rebecca to look at? He was inordinately pleased that she’d come to find him in his room. Although it was naughty of her, of course, and she knew it. No one had ever brought him headache powders before; they usually left him to sleep it off because they knew how ill-tempered he could get with a sore head.

Rebecca was not afraid, as she would remind him pertly.

When they arrived at Sir Mortimer Grubbins’s sty, he was pleased again to see her admiring his improvements. “You’ve even made him a sign,” she cried, looking up at the painted wooden oval hanging over the sty.

“Sarah painted it.”

“Yes, I thought the spelling was too good to be yours.”

He laughed. His headache was feeling better already. “I daresay Master Clarendon has a fine hand and gets all his letters ’round the right way.”

“Naturally. But it’s not always the elegance of the handwriting that matters.”

“Oh?” He waited to hear more, but suddenly, as if she thought she’d said something foolish, she forgot the subject and leaned over the new fence to greet Sir Mortimer instead. “This has to be the luckiest pig in Buckinghamshire.”

Interrupted by a shout, both looked around to see Charles Clarendon on his horse, peering through the iron scrollwork gates.

“Looks like someone waits for you,” Luke muttered. He wasn’t going to get upset about it. He didn’t like the sour pang of jealousy, he’d discovered, and he couldn’t very well give Clarendon a thumping. Not now he was a father and a gentleman. If he wanted Rebecca to trust him, he’d have to earn it.

“I’m sorry you don’t like him, but I—”

“His family has a match in mind for him already. Some earl’s daughter with fifty thousand pounds. She is at Lark Hollow. His sister made sure to tell me.” Blast! He hadn’t meant to say all that, for it made him sound jealous, which he was not. Why should he be jealous of that boy?

Now she took umbrage again. “Why should this matter to me?”

“Perhaps I’ll ask him what his intentions are, if marriage is not among them.”

“You are not my father, Colonel. Even if you are old enough to be him!”

“Old enough to be your father?” He grumbled, “Only if I was an extremely precocious fifteen-year-old.”