The spinster and the wastrel (17 page)

In a more subdued tone, Lucille said, "I'm sure there is a reason."

"Perhaps we can find out tonight. He has invited us to dinner at Hathaway Hall."

At this news, animation returned to Lucille, and she began to plan their wardrobes. Content to listen to her friend's bustling, Annette did not dare tell her of Sir Gerard's proposal. Not until she knew herself what her answer would be.

Sir Gerard rode Silver Shadow for a long, glorious trip through the forest and meadows. Despite the February winter, the early morning light sprinkled trees, bushes, and ground with a fresh sparkle. The snow gleamed among the dark bare branches. He spotted a tardy rabbit hurrying for his den. A hidden songbird thrilled a melody that aptly expressed his own feelings of bliss.

That same positive hunch cloaked him which he sometimes sensed when betting on a sure thing. Pictures of Annette flashed again and again through his mind. His attention lingered over the way her face looked that morning with her hair blown astray and concern deep in her eyes. He flicked the reins and remembered her at the Assembly. He smiled at her awkward attempts to flirt and at the determination she had displayed in preventing him from entering the card room. He could no longer think of her as Miss Courtney. Not when he had tasted her lips and held her close.

He had gambled when he kissed Annette, and it still re-

mained to see if this wager would be a winner. But how could he lose?

He did not fully understand why he had proposed. Logic dictated against her as a choice, but logic had never been his strong suit. A man who lived by his wits must learn to rely on instinct as much as rational thought.

During this ride, he soared on his sensations. He relished the strength of Silver Shadow's muscles moving beneath him, the sting of the cold on his nose, but so refreshingly clear in his lungs, and the crunch of his horse's hooves against the crust of the snow.

It was close to midday before he returned to Hathaway Hall. After informing the butler to prepare for dinner guests that evening and receiving his mail, Sir Gerard strolled into the library.

Sprawled on a chair, Linton looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "So at last you've come home. You certainly do keep country hours out here with such early rising."

Shrugging, Sir Gerard began to open his letters. 'Town hours will not work in Upper Brampton."

"Nothing works when the countryside is as dead as a doornail," his friend grumbled.

"I am sorry this visit is not to your liking." Sir Gerard's reply was perfunctory as he scanned his mail. The invitation to dinner at the local vicar's was probably not Linton's idea of a good time, but they would go, since it was something to do. The invoices for horse feed and other supplies he set down to handle later.

The last envelope, a thick and creamy one such as a duke might use, intrigued him. He turned it over, but there was no crest imprinted on the sealing wax. Slitting it open, he pulled out the letter.

The signature said Mortimer Wallace. The letter was a demand reminding Sir Gerard the full amount of his loan was due at the end of February. No extensions would be granted. Missing payment would not be a good idea.

His knees wobbled. Sir Gerard stumbled to a chair and fell into it. How could he meet this outrageous ultimatum? The money he intended to raise through a mortgage was earmarked for the estate's needs. He had nothing left to pay off the full debt to Wallace. He could only rely on the quarterly rents to pay the installments. When he had signed the loan, worrying about full payment had not concerned him. He was supposed to be a rich man!

His blissful morning shattered, he rubbed his temple.

"Bad news?"

"It's from Wallace." Sir Gerard answered. He lifted the letter from his lap and stared at it. Although the letters blurred before his stunned gaze, their wording remained the same.

Linton grimaced. "That is bad news. What does he want?"

"He still demands I pay the full loan amount at the end of the month."

"What are you going to do?"

"There is nothing I can do. He will be paid off in the quarterly amounts we originally agreed to. I will send him a letter reminding him of that."

Linton shook his head. "He won't like it. Nasty things happen to those who displease him."

"What can he do?" Sir Gerard asked reasonably, despite the apprehension that shivered down his spine. "He is in London and I am miles away in Upper Brampton— where nothing ever happens."

His attempt at humor recalled his friend to his griev-

ance. "I am not sure which is worse, the weather or the lack of activity." Linton shook the newspaper.

"If you want to go outside for activity, then join me for a morning ride."

Linton shuddered. 'Too cold."

"Then you probably would not enjoy outside in London either," Sir Gerard commented. "Perhaps you will take pleasure in the guests I have invited for dinner."

Peering over the newspaper, the other man asked, "Who?"

"Miss Courtney and her companion Mrs. Downes."

"The spinster and the pig farmer's widow."

A burning anger flashed through Sir Gerard. With two steps, he reached Linton's side and snatched the newspaper from his hands. "That rude remark is uncalled for. You will watch your tongue while the ladies are my guests."

His friend stared in astonishment. "Indeed. I know enough to do the pretty at the dinner table."

"It is your lack of respect towards the lady to whom I have offered which concerns me."

"You proposed to the spinster? Good for you!"

Mastering his anger, Sir Gerard released the newspaper. "I hope she accepts me."

"Don't worry, she will," Linton said. "I won't do anything to wreck your chances." Sir Gerard started to smile at the man's assurances, when Linton continued, "When you get your fortune, you won't have any more problems with that money-lender and can escape from this dreary countryside."

Sir Gerard froze, ready to take the man to task. Then his shoulders slumped. What would be the purpose? At one time, even he agreed with Linton's plan. Would no

one believe that he had proposed without a thought of the money in mind? Not even Annette.

He glanced at the letter lying where it had fallen on the rug. Life would be much simpler if he controlled the fortune. He may not have considered the money when he offered, but it very much dominated his mind now.

Perhaps because he wanted to hear Annette's answer, the day passed slowly until the dinner hour. He busied himself with a letter to the bank about a mortgage and brushed Silver Shadow's coat until the horse impatiently fidgeted under the attention. Then he wandered aimlessly through Hathaway Hall's grounds. The dead grass poked up through the light layer of snow. The air was quiet and still, as befitted the dead of winter. No bird's song trilled to break the silence. No longer did he see the sparkle in nature.

Now dread filled him. He feared her rejection.

At last, dusk fell and the ladies arrived. The welcoming bustle and the exchange of pleasantries occupied the time before they sat down to eat. Throughout the dinner, he tried to interpret Annette. What message did she send? She wore a blue gown made from a silk surely smuggled from France. Was such a dress a good omen? Or did the darkness of the blue mean to dampen his hopes? It was an extravagant choice for her, but it flowed on her with a smooth motion that made him want to kiss her again. Did she feel the same?

Her face offered no clue. In the flickering candlelight, he could not read the depths of her eyes. When he held her close that morning, the clarity of her gaze and the taste of her lips had lured him on.

Tonight she ate the soup and seemed to like the smoked

ham with pickled onions. He tasted nothing himself. Apprehension killed his taste buds.

She laughed at Linton's jokes and smiled uncertainly at his friend's extravagant compliments. He could have told the man that effusive praise only worried his practical Annette, but worry made his own tongue incapable of coherent speech.

After dinner as they returned to the drawing room, Linton said to him in a low tone, "I'll keep doing the pretty with Miss Courtney. She'll be so dazzled by my stories of London society, she'll accept your offer."

"No, she's not that type," Sir Gerard protested, reaching out to halt him, but his friend had already sauntered ahead.

In the drawing room, he poured Linton a glass of brandy and one for himself. The women seated themselves and took the glasses of ratafia he offered. Conversation centered around the doings of the village.

Sipping his brandy smuggled from France like the silk of her dress, Sir Gerard watched her. A log shifted in the fireplace, momentarily sending up a burst of extra light. Against this scene of domestic tranquility, his dinner lay heavy in his stomach. How could he draw her aside to hear her reply?

"Do you intend to go to London this spring?" Linton asked Annette.

"I had not planned to. My school is doing quite well now that it has a new stove." The smile she flashed at Sir Gerard warmed him like the stove must function for her students.

"I was not thinking of a business-related trip, but one of pleasure," Linton said. "The Season is definitely the time to visit the city."

Annette considered his statement. "I do not know how much pleasure there would be going to a city where I am unknown."

Sir Gerard recognized this as his opening. "An entree into society is what you need. I would be happy to introduce you." He leaned forward to say more, but Linton interrupted.

"Sir Gerard knows everyone. With him to guide you, London can be very exciting."

"Thank you for your very kind offer." Sir Gerard could see that Annette's interest was only polite.

Linton was not finished. "There is so much to do. Lots of people whom you would want to know. Parties and routs and theater—something is always happening. It's exciting and stimulating." The more he exclaimed, the more flushed his face became. He winked at his friend.

Sir Gerard frowned. Could the man not rein in his tongue long enough so he could speak? The social round did not appeal to Annette. He would lose her if Linton kept on.

Lucille said, "How can you ever choose what to do? There sounds like so much."

From the shine in her eyes, Sir Gerard knew Linton had won one supporter.

"So many people sounds overwhelming," Annette commented.

Fearing more of his friend's assistance, Sir Gerard tried to steer the conversation. "It can be overwhelming at first—"

"But that is part of the city's pleasure," Linton inserted. "The array of choices is splendid, not like here. London is lively."

Sir Gerard noticed her stiffening at this disparagement

of Upper Brampton. He hoped his friend would temper his speech, but Linton plunged ahead.

"The balls are grand affairs with an array of food such as you've never seen. The routs are so crowded that one is not considered a success unless the guests are crushed. You can ride in the park and be seen by all the right people," he told her. "You should come to London for the Season."

A frown creased Annette's head. "I could not leave my school for so long."

"Your school? Of course you could leave it. After all, once you are married, you won't be teaching there anyway."

"I am not married yet," Annette remarked with some asperity. "I have no desire to give up my school." She cast a challenging glance at Sir Gerard.

He could not let her reject his offer. His mind raced as he scrambled to persuade her. "There is no need to give up the school. It is a worthy charity." Suspicion still simmered in her eyes. "Perhaps you could hire a teacher."

She started to protest, then mulled over his idea. "It would not be the same."

"No," he agreed. The more he thought about it, the more he realized the suggestion was a lucky throw of the dice. "But if you hire a teacher, you will have more time to oversee your other charities."

"I never thought of it that way," she said slowly.

He pressed his advantage. "There are so many needs, and you are the woman whose abilities can make a difference."

Her gaze contemplated him. He smiled his most engaging smile. This was a delicate moment, and he did not want to ruin his chances. He remembered her clear gener-

ous spirit he had seen that morning, and it still lured him. He wanted her for his wife.

"You meant it at the farmyard, didn't you?" she asked, "When you said you intended to rebuild the cottage with your own funds."

"Yes," he said in a low voice. He did not want Linton to learn of his plans.

"I fear I misjudged you. I seem to do that fairly often."

He remained silent, allowing her time to reassess him. Confidence flowed within him. It would be a good marriage.

Then Linton spoke.

"Forget this talk about schools. London is where you want to be."

Sir Gerard saw the wariness flare up again in Annette's eyes. The harmonious bond, which had been forming between them, shattered like a broken goblet. To himself, he cursed his friend's exuberance while he attempted to repair the damage. "In London you would be able to learn more about how others are helping those in need."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Linton's look of disbelief, but he ignored it. Annette held his attention.

She set down her glass. 'True, but that kind of trip does not require being gone for the entire Season. I could do it on my own." With those words, he knew her answer even before she told him. "I regret I must decline your generous offer of this morning. Thank you, sir."

He could not believe she chose that school over him. "You need more time to consider."

She stood. "No, I fear I do not. I appreciate the excellent dinner, but it is time for us to leave. After all, we keep country hours here in Upper Brampton."

He would not beg. Her rejection was the low point of a

day that had begun with so much sparkling promise. They bade their farewells. He fought to act the part of the gracious host.

When the door closed behind them, Sir Gerard bleakly faced the future before him. The brilliance of the morning had not accurately foretold of the day ahead. It made the forthcoming night appear darker. Linton had not only ruined the evening, he had destroyed his chance to marry an admirable woman.