How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) (16 page)

* * *

Diana was relieved to find the Plumtres not at all the way her mother’s cousin had described them in her letters. She had some warning of that likelihood prior to her arrival—knowing Elizabeth’s disdain for most things and people—but it was still a relief to discover that they were pleasant, kind, generous folk without the slightest pretension.

She met Sir Jonathan first upon her arrival at Wollaford Lodge. “You must call me Jonty,” he assured her in his booming voice. “Everybody does, you know. Have done so since…well, ever since I can remember, what ho?” He was a smartly dressed, ruddy-cheeked, affable fellow who laughed a great deal, even at himself.

There was a marked contrast between his manners and those of his wife. While Elizabeth looked down her fine nose at most things, her husband found everything and everyone remarkable and worthy of his attention. Diana took to him at once, for he was the sort of person who entertained with his chatter, had much to say on the smallest of subjects, and never demanded much reply.

As soon as her trunk was unpacked, he insisted on taking her across the park to meet his mother and sisters, despite his wife’s attempt to stall the introduction.

“I really do not think I care to dine there tonight,” Elizabeth said. “That mournful woman Mrs. Ashby will be there again, I suppose, sniveling into the consommé. I hope you know she lives in Westgate Buildings, of all places.”

“Well, if you prefer to stay at home, Lizzie, you must do so. I can accompany your cousin. My sisters are very eager to meet her. I cannot let them down.”

Elizabeth sneered. “Of course you cannot let
them
down. God forbid. My wishes, on the other hand, can be ignored. As for my cousin, she must be weary. She is of frail health and the last thing she needs is your sisters leaping all over her like a pair of overexcited hound pups. And how many times must I tell you not to call me Lizzie? It is so dreadfully pedestrian.”

The fellow laughed jovially. “I am a scatterbrain, my dear. Whatever shall you do with me, eh?” He turned to Diana. “You must not mind my boisterous ways, Miss Makepiece. I am an annoying flibbertigibbet. If you are tired after your journey, perhaps you would rather stay in. My sisters can wait to meet you another day.”

But far from tired, Diana felt rejuvenated in her new surroundings, and she suspected an evening spent solely in Elizabeth’s company would bring her down again. The last thing she wanted anyone to think was that she stumbled feebly around, swooning at every opportunity, too weak to put one foot before the other.
Frail health
, indeed!

So she assured Sir Jonty that she was looking forward to meeting his family. “I am not at all tired, and I would very much enjoy dinner at Wollaford Park. In fact, I believe it might be considered rude of me not to go, if they’ve been looking forward to it.” She smiled.

Elizabeth stared. She was never happy about losing an argument, and it must have been a shock to hear her usually quiet cousin not only expressing an opinion but doing so with determination and without her mother’s prompting. “I was
sure
you would prefer to stay
in
,” Elizabeth said, her voice tight, her eyes unblinking.

“Oh, but you are quite mistaken.” Diana smiled again, wider. “I would prefer to go out.”

When it became evident that she would otherwise have to spend her evening in lonely splendor and miss a good dinner, Elizabeth eventually—and with extreme reluctance—agreed to attend with them.

Bolstered by this small victory, Diana spent extra time that evening on her dress and her appearance, anxious that no one should mistake her for a sickly, pitiful creature. Apparently that was how her cousin Elizabeth had described her to the Plumtres, and Diana wanted to let them know at once that this was false.

She took out one of her brighter, most springlike dresses—a light green, floral-print muslin with puff sleeves. She often wore a lace chemisette beneath for additional modesty, but not tonight. The air was warm and she did not want to feel overdressed. The Miss Diana Makepiece in Bath and Somersetshire would be unfussy and unrestricted. Unburdened.

For once, she could go out without fearing what her mother might catch her doing or saying. It was an awful sort of freedom, and she was not certain that this adventure would not go to her head. With a few minutes to spare, she returned to
Persuasion
.

…entering Bath on a wet afternoon, and driving through the long course of streets from the Old Bridge to Camden Place, amidst the dash of other carriages, the heavy rumble of carts and drays, the bawling of newsmen, muffin-men and milkmen, and the ceaseless clink of pattens, she made no complaint…

…after being long in the country, nothing could be so good for her as a little quiet cheerfulness.

As she closed the book and set it on the bedside table beside the bottle of Dr. Penny’s tonic, Diana heard her host calling up the stairs to inquire if she was ready. Her mother, she mused, would never approve of a gentleman bellowing up the stairs in such a fashion. But she did not mind it. Sir Jonty’s hearty voice was like an encouraging clap on the shoulder. Sad thoughts could not be completed or allowed to fall into moroseness when they were forever interrupted by the sound of raucous, unbridled laughter and her pompous cousin being called “Lizzie” five minutes after she’d once again protested the use of the nickname.

A calmness had come over Diana. For once she was not nervous about meeting new people. She was new to them too, an unknown quantity. She could reinvent herself and be bold like Rebecca or mischievous like Jussy. Even flirtatious like Lucy. Well…perhaps not.

Perhaps she would simply be herself. Whatever that was.

She descended the stairs to find Sir Jonty in the hall, merrily refusing his peevish wife’s demand for the carriage, while pointing out that the weather was fine and the daylight lingered so there was no reason not to walk across the park.

Diana agreed at once that she would rather go on foot. After all, she’d spent several days in a coach and was anxious for a chance to stretch her legs. Her cousin glared at her with far more anger than seemed necessary, but her host declared, “There, it is settled! Miss Makepiece desires to walk and so the vote is passed. Never mind, Lizzie. A leisurely stroll will give you appetite for a good pudding, what ho?”

However, their pace was neither “leisurely” nor could it be called a “stroll.” Sir Jonty proved to be a brisk, energetic walker. He swiped at the grass with his cane as they went along and bellowed congenially to the three leaping springer spaniels that accompanied their small party.

By the time they arrived at the large Jacobean manor house known as Wollaford Park, Diana felt very warm from the exercise and quite windblown, but there was no time to collect a breath or tidy her hair because Sir Jonty’s sisters were suddenly upon them. Elizabeth’s description of the girls was, on this occasion, not an exaggeration. They did indeed leap around like frisky, boisterous young hounds, and no one seemed capable of bringing them to heel.

On the other hand, Sir Jonty’s brother, George, was withdrawn and sullen. He surveyed Diana with heavy-lidded, lugubrious eyes and, in a cheerless monotone suggesting there could be no hope of such a thing, expressed a wish that she might enjoy her stay. During their march across the park she’d been informed of George’s bereavement to prepare her for his demeanor, but it was still such a contrast to the rest of his family that she found it startling.

The widowed matriarch of this brood, Mrs. Fanny Plumtre, was no taller than Diana’s shoulder but sturdily built. She had a round, sweet face and her voice was laden with a rich Somerset burr as she referred to the dusk as “dimpsey” and the bees on the lavender outside the drawing room window as “dumbledores.”

Whenever the lady slipped one of these colloquialisms into a sentence, Diana watched her cousin Elizabeth’s lips pinch tighter in disgust, her shoulders become even more rigidly squared. Not that the amiable Mrs. Plumtre paid heed to her daughter-in-law’s haughty expression. Like her son, she retained an easy smile and took eager, sanguine interest in everything around her.

“We are so excited to have you here at Wollaford,” she exclaimed to Diana, clasping her hands firmly. “I cannot think the last time we were all this excited.”

Diana suspected it was only a few moments earlier, because she already saw how every little thing that happened was greeted with excessive delight by the ladies of the house. From the arrival of the sherry tray to admiration of an apricot sunset that slipped through the leaded windows and made a diamond pattern on the rug at their feet.

The Plumtre daughters were pretty, vivacious creatures, sharing many rolling-eyed glances with each other and failing to smother giggles at every arrogant remark their sister-in-law made. As a new arrival and a relative of Elizabeth’s, Diana was inspected with wary curiosity, but once the sisters found her to be quite different from her cousin, they wasted no time extending friendship.

“You must come dancing with us in town, Miss Makepiece,” the younger sister, Daisy, cried when they learned that Diana had never been to Bath before. “What fun we shall have showing you all the sights!”

“Public balls in the Upper Rooms are not what they were,” Elizabeth commented coldly. “Nobody of importance goes there anymore.”

“
We
go there,” Daisy replied.

Elizabeth merely arched an eyebrow.

“Jonty has promised to hold a ball here at Wollaford this year,” said Susanna. “Surely you will look forward to that, Elizabeth, for private dances and parties are considered quite the thing these days.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “To have people trampling about the lawns, scratching the floor, and not knowing when they have stayed too long? Oh yes, I can hardly wait.”

Daisy chirped up again. “And we must take you to the Pump Room, Miss Makepiece. And shopping… Oh, there is so much for her to see, is there not, Mama?”

Mrs. Plumtre agreed that there was, but added gently, “We must not wear poor Miss Makepiece out. She is here to convalesce, you know, not to charge about hither and thither.”

“Quite,” muttered Elizabeth. “My cousin will not be dashing all over the place with the two of you. Might I remind you she has come to visit me?
I
invited her. Am I to sit home without my guest while you take her charging off about town?”

The sisters looked at one another and sighed meaningfully.

“Of course you must come too,” Susanna managed in a taut breath. “We didn’t mean to exclude you, Elizabeth.”

Daisy bit her lip and slumped in her chair—no one bothering to correct her posture or her impolite comment. Sir Jonty played with his dogs, not following the conversation at all, and his brother had picked up a book as if no one else were present. Mrs. Plumtre fidgeted in her chair, seemingly keen to find another subject but not progressing any further than opening her mouth, closing it, and exhaling a humming sound.

“Well, it all sounds wonderful,” said Diana suddenly, her voice firm. “I mean to take everything in while I am here, and I am sure I shan’t get tired.” They all looked at her and she continued confidently, “After all, who knows when I might have another opportunity to visit Bath? I promised my friends at home in Hawcombe Prior that I would have many adventures to relate upon my return. And if they are not wild adventures or very many in number, my friends will all be exceedingly disappointed.”

It was not like her to be talkative among strangers, but she pushed herself, not wanting her hosts to dismiss her as another Elizabeth—a Clarendon relative—too haughty and superior for her surroundings.

The young ladies of the house seemed extremely pleased with this reply. Plainly, their sister-in-law’s failure to appreciate Bath and its entertainments would never improve their opinion of her, but in Diana they had found a willing tourist.

Hearing her clear, determined voice, George Plumtre even put his book away, as if finally noticing there were other people in the room.

They were about to go in to dinner when more guests arrived and were shown in by the footman.

The group of three entered the drawing room—first a small elderly lady in mourning ribbons, and a younger woman displaying abundant cleavage, too much jewelry, and hair a suspiciously bright shade of copper.

But behind them, tall, lean, and magnificent in a dark green evening coat with an ivory silk cravat, was none other than…a man the very image of Nathaniel Sherringham.

How could it be?

Diana felt stuck to her chair.

His gaze swiftly traversed the room and stumbled to a halt when it found her.

There was a moment of confusion, which assured Diana that he had not come there on purpose to follow her, and then he blinked and looked away.

What was he doing at Wollaford? Oh Lord. Had ever a woman been so abused by fate?

Diana wound her fingers together in her lap and finally remembered to breathe. She was a new woman today, a brave woman. Not sitting in a corner, hiding in shadow.

The lady in mourning—Mrs. Ashby—explained in a faint, sad voice, “This gentleman was good enough to escort my niece to Bath. I persuaded the two of them to join me this evening. I do hope you don’t mind.” She directed this last sentence at Mrs. Plumtre, who hastened to assure her that it was no trouble at all to accommodate two more at her table.

“We always have room at Wollaford Park, do we not, Jonty?”

“Of course, Mama. Plenty of room at the trough, what ho?”

Diana saw her cousin Elizabeth wincing as if someone had stood on her foot and belched in her face.

While Nathaniel bowed to each lady in the room, Diana’s pulse skipped and danced. She almost didn’t dare look up at him, but she had to. How could she not? How could her eyes ignore his male beauty?

Each time she saw him, it was as if his looks had improved yet again—or perhaps it was simply because she dared look longer. His manners certainly had changed for the better since their first meeting ten years ago. He did not fidget restlessly the way he once had when he entered a room. He now exuded a quiet confidence that commanded attention.

“This is my wife’s cousin,” Sir Jonty boomed pleasantly. “Miss Diana Makepiece came to us all the way from the wilds of Buckinghamshire.”

Her eyes met Nathaniel’s. A slight smile turned up one end of his lips. “Miss Makepiece, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

So he meant to pretend they’d never met.

She was relieved. They could act as if they were strangers. It would be a clean page for both of them.

Her cousin Elizabeth would not know of their connection. Although she’d met Rebecca Sherringham during brief visits to Hawcombe Prior, she would be unlikely to link the captain to his sister. Elizabeth was not the sort to remember names unless they were attached to nobility or great wealth, and she had considered Rebecca too uncouth and far below her notice.

In fact, Diana was amused now to watch Elizabeth inspect Nathaniel with transparent appreciation and flap her fan hard enough to be in danger of taking flight. Her cousin was not the only one instantly rendered breathless, of course. The young Miss Plumtres gazed up at him with enormous calf eyes and completely forgot to say anything for ten minutes, which was the longest they’d been silent since Diana arrived.

When Nathaniel introduced his companion as Mrs. Caroline Sayles, Diana realized this was the infamous adulteress. She tried not to care. After all, it was, as she’d said to him, none of her business.

The moment Mrs. Sayles’s name was spoken aloud it had an echo effect, speedily circling the room on a fraught whisper. The woman’s infamy must have spread far and wide because even the Miss Plumtres seemed to know of it. They glanced at each other and then at the colorful guest with unconcealed and lurid inquisitiveness. Diana hoped her own expression had not betrayed her too. It would be far more ladylike to pretend she did not know the things that were said about Mrs. Sayles. A proper lady never listened to gossip or let down her guard to stare in complete horror—the way cousin Elizabeth was currently doing.

Keeping her own composure as best she could, Diana felt Nathaniel’s wondering gaze touch her frequently. This coincidence of them being thrust together again must be just as bewildering to him as it was to her. However calm she kept her expression, Diana was bursting inside with startling and intense pleasure at seeing him. His company and his warm smile were unexpected gifts that caught her with her drawbridge and her defenses down.

Although he spoke with his usual self-assurance during the introductions, Nathaniel seemed subdued, as if he was making an effort to be less effusive. She couldn’t imagine why, because he should have been in his element, surrounded by heaving bosoms and pretty, adoring faces.

But a curious thing happened. He looked most often at Diana and saved his smile for her alone. It was tempting to imagine she was the only woman he saw tonight, but that would be foolish vanity.

That did not mean that Diana, the virgin goddess, shouldn’t smile back at him.

Hadn’t she made up her mind to be more sociable here, to venture out of her shell and be brave?

When he caught her responding smile, he looked askance, touching his cuffs with fingers that suddenly seemed endearingly nervous. She couldn’t think why he would be. It was only a smile, for pity’s sake, and he must be accustomed to many of those from women.

Testing her power, she smiled at him again, and he almost tripped backward over the edge of a rug.

Clearly he wasn’t prepared for the newly improved Bath and Somersetshire version of Miss Diana Makepiece.

* * *

In the warm marmalade tint of candlelight, Diana’s face shone with more vibrancy than he had seen it of late. The surprise of finding her there was slow to pass and still skidded and bumped through his body as they sat down to dine. Just when he had despaired, there she was before him again.

Although there were many conversations at the table—for the Plumtres were a loud family, and they did not wait for each other to stop talking before they began—his ears were tuned to Diana’s voice and his eyes led to hers most often.

Tonight she engaged in the discussion more than usual. Perhaps she was making an effort while she was out in company without her mother at her side. She was bolder, letting her light shine again. The freedom could only be good for her.

Nathaniel’s gaze followed the elegant arch of her slender neck and traveled to the little dip below her ear where he longed to place his lips and dampen her skin with his tongue. It would be all the sweet dessert he needed.

Instantly he closed the door on that thought. She was a lady, not a strumpet. Diana had offered him friendship as they stood together by the old mill door, hiding from the rain. He didn’t know what her feelings were beyond that, and he shouldn’t let his own desires run away with him again. Remembering his sister’s advice about safe topics of conversation, he said, “Miss Makepiece, I hope the weather was pleasant for your journey. Few things are less convenient or more uncomfortable than travel in bad weather. Spring can be unpredictable.”

“Yes. It was quite favorable, Captain.” Usually she would volunteer no more information, but tonight she swallowed, took a breath, and added, “A husband of a very dear friend traveled with me. He was a good companion so I did not mind the length of the journey.” With no mother to deliver a cutting glare when she spoke, Diana’s voice gained volume as well as spirit. “He enjoyed his newspaper and I enjoyed my book. I do not think two people have ever traveled so far together in proximity without the need to quarrel or say anything much at all.”

“And how do you find Bath?”

“I have not seen much of it yet, except through a carriage window, but I look forward to exploring the town.” She smiled, and he thought of a tightly budded rose slowly unfurling its petals.

The young Plumtre sisters began advising her about all the places she should visit while she was there. Nathaniel would have joined in, but Caroline, seated beside him, fought for his attention by plucking at his sleeve again. He saw Diana glance at the woman in mild bemusement. Did she still think this was his mistress?

No doubt Diana had not believed his protests to the contrary, and now here he was with Caroline still at his side. This would probably be proof enough for Diana. Yes, her lips were smug, a little twitch dimpling her cheek. And her eyebrows were back to their old mischief, expressing the things she would not or could not say aloud. He imagined her thinking,
Oh, Sherry, you haven’t changed at all
.

How glad he was to see those eyebrows alive again.

“Will you stay long in Bath, Captain Sherringham?” Sir Jonathan shouted down the table at him.

“I…may stay longer than I intended.” Glancing at Diana through the tall candles, he saw her look down at her plate. He followed the graceful movement of her fingers as she picked up her knife.

Sir Jonathan went on to question him about whether he liked hunting, shooting, cards—all the usual pursuits of a gentleman. When cards were mentioned, Diana’s eyes briefly found his again.

“I do enjoy a game, Sir Jonathan,” he answered, “but not to the extent I once did. I’ve wagered too much in the past and finally learned to curb that impulse. And others. Mostly.”

“Ah, all young men have a rite of passage at the gaming tables. ’Tis naught amiss as long as it is all in good fun, what? I like a little wager myself. But you’ll find plenty here to keep you busy. I always say there is something for everybody in Bath. I never went in for this sea bathing that is so popular now and lures folk off to Brighton and Weymouth. As my sisters were telling Miss Makepiece, there is a great deal of good entertainment here.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel replied. “I see that there is.”

Diana kept her gaze lowered, refusing to meet his.

So then Nathaniel said, “Actually, Sir Jonathan, I came to find myself a wife.”

He heard Caroline’s knife clatter against her plate. All other noises ceased. The ladies present appeared to breathe as one, exhaling a mighty sigh in unison. Except for Diana, who ate on as if he had not spoken. Candlelight sizzled under her black lashes and specks of gold leaf danced among the emerald of her eyes.

“You never did!” Caroline exclaimed crossly. “You’re not fit for a permanent relationship, and you said that many times!”

For a moment, everybody paused what they were doing. Diana looked mortified for the woman. Not that Caroline Sayles appeared to note the effect of her impolite remark. Nathaniel, racing to the rescue as usual, gallantly tried to smooth it over for her with a little teasing jest.

“My dear Mrs. Sayles, a man is entitled to change his mind. Or is it only women who claim that prerogative?”

“Claim what?” she snapped, spraying his sleeve with little flakes of salmon.

“I hope to find a lady going spare in Bath,” he continued, calmly wiping a napkin over his arm, “anything between fifteen and thirty, robust and merry, likes to dance… I’m not terribly fastidious.”

The elderly Mrs. Plumtre laughed. “I like a man who’s honest and direct about his purpose, do I not, Jonty?”

“Indeed you do, Mama.” Sir Jonathan joined her in a hearty chuckle. “You had better watch out, Captain Sherringham, about making such bold statements in the presence of young ladies, or you might find yourself ambushed! Susy and Daisy will be after you now, and I don’t envy you trying to escape my little sisters.”

He and his mother continued to laugh, and the two young girls blushed. Diana’s eyes finally looked up again and sought his, bemused.

Sir Jonathan’s mother found some breath between her chuckles and exclaimed, “Surely a gentleman such as yourself has had many opportunities to find a bride.”

“I was in the army and traveled extensively. There was no time to consider a wife and family until I was in a position to settle down. I daresay that was what Mrs. Sayles meant. There was a time in my life when I enjoyed the freedom to come and go. I made the most of it.”

Again he felt Diana watching him.

“Now I am thirty, financially prepared, and my business thrives. I recently—very recently”—he threw her a quick glance—“decided this is as good a time as any.”

“Very sound,” his genial host agreed. “I waited a good while before I chose to marry. One gets one’s gun aimed at the hog before one pulls the trigger, what ho?”

His wife, Lady Plumtre, glowered at the fellow, her nostrils flaring.

He went on, oblivious, beaming at his wife. “Now we wait for the first litter, of course, to hear the clatter of merry little trotters, eh, my dear?”

She set her glass down with a bang that almost cracked the crystal.

Nathaniel caught Diana swallowing the urge to laugh, just as he did the same. In that moment, he lost the last remnants of anger he’d nursed against her for rejecting his proposal. It was impossible to remain bitter when sharing a joke with her.

Yes, she was looking much improved, flourishing in new surroundings like a plant moved to a bigger pot. Thinking of his sister’s gardening analogy, he chuckled softly.

A quizzical look passed over Diana’s face and he straightened his lips, staring at her for a moment and wishing he could see inside her mind.

“And what is your business, Captain?” Lady Plumtre inquired stiffly.

He forced his attention back to the conversation. “Hospitality, madam.”

“Inns?”

“Some, yes, but more specifically the ale and cider served within them.”

Diana’s eyes flared with a sudden understanding. “I believe I saw your name several times on my journey to Bath,” she said softly, as if speaking only for his ears.

“I daresay you did.”

“But I did not know it was the same Sherringham. I had no idea, for you never said.” Her lashes flickered. “I mean to say…when we were introduced tonight, I did not realize you were the same Sherringham.” A light flush swept her face, but no one else seemed to notice her slip.

There was something entirely too naughty about her expression. Something new. He’d never felt such heated desire surge through his blood. But he had misread her before, let his fanciful imagination run away with him, and then suffered great hurt. It could not happen again. He was not the same reckless boy.