How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) (19 page)

In any case, she didn’t want a man. And he would be better off with one of the Plumtre sisters. They had youth on their side and—as Elizabeth had said—considerable quickness of mind, as well as beauty.

No, no, Captain Sherringham could have no interest in Diana anymore. He had offered his horse merely to be kind, considerate of her advanced years no doubt. He had grabbed her sleeve only to save her from an embarrassing trip into the water. It was his way with any woman.

Oh Lord, Gloomy George was already reciting more poetry as he heaved on the oars and the little boat rocked with passion. This time, he assured her, the rhymes were his own creation.

Diana peered over the edge into the dark water and wondered how shocked they would all be if she dove in and swam for the reeds.

She had absolutely no doubt that only one of the men on the bank would actually leap in to save her if they thought she was drowning. Captain Sherringham wouldn’t be able to keep himself from rescuing her.

That would certainly give Elizabeth something else to complain about, Diana mused.

Fancy trying to drown yourself just to get attention.

Perhaps she’d save that idea for warmer weather.

When she closed her eyes she saw his image again, framed by the sun as he removed that naughty child from her back, lifted it high overhead with his strapping arms, and laughed, spinning around. And around. His strong, capable arms.

* * *

Nathaniel watched the little boat drifting away. Again she had slipped out of his grasp. As he listened to the young ladies, he realized quickly that they had settled on Diana as a perfect match for the bereaved man. Someone to bring him out of his grief.

He was forced to admit that Diana’s soft, pleasing voice and sensible manner would be very good for George. But that didn’t mean he had to condone the idea.

Was that why her mother had sent her to Bath? Diana seemed to be of the opinion that she didn’t need a husband, but of course her mother would want to see her well settled, regardless of Diana’s intentions. The Plumtres were landed and wealthy, and they had now formed a connection with the Clarendons, which must make them a suitable family—at least in Mrs. Rosalind Makepiece’s view.

“We think Diana is perfectly delicious, don’t you, Captain?” one of the young ladies exclaimed. “We are quite enchanted with her.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Perfectly delicious.” So sweet she made his teeth ache. Not to mention the other parts at her mercy. Even if she had tried to get away from his side so adamantly that she almost ended up in the lake. Was his closeness that abhorrent to her?

Good then. If she stayed out of his way, he wouldn’t have to suffer so many confused thoughts and be seized by that utterly humiliating desire. Or smell her dratted perfume.

“I must see the plans for the folly,” Lady Plumtre exclaimed. “Why am
I
not asked my opinion? I’m sure I know more about these things than my country cousin.”

Nathaniel readily gave up holding his side of the plans and walked a short way off, pretending to admire the scenery, but he was soon joined by the excitable Plumtre girls who wanted to point out every item of interest on their brother’s estate.

“Do you like to fish, Captain?” Susanna asked. He replied that he did, but that he invariably felt too sorry for the captured fish and threw it back.

“I prefer to swim,” said Daisy proudly. “I was once dared to swim all the way across the lake.”

“And you sank like a stone when you were not halfway across,” her sister replied. “It was lucky there were people boating that day and within reach to provide rescue.”

“I did not sink! I was caught on some weeds.”

“Daisy can never let a dare pass her by, Captain. Much to the detriment of my nerves.”

He laughed. “A young lady of gumption, eh?”

“I am not afraid of anything,” the girl assured him, chin up, arms swinging. “Why should I be?”

“Quite. I do admire a determined spirit. There are too few of them about these days. Too many women cowed by the constraints of propriety.”

When they returned to the lodge for the promised luncheon, Jonty soon had Nathaniel’s ear, away from the women, and made it clear that his thoughts were aligned with those of his young sisters.

“That charming Miss Makepiece would be excellent for George. Shake him out of his grief. I am so glad she came. Such a delightful girl. Something so very soothing and reassuring about her presence.”

Nathaniel watched the couple together. Diana
was
livelier than he had seen her in a long time. She was smiling and chatty, not hiding away as she used to. George trailed after her like a lost pup, and she appeared to have great patience for it. Not once did he hear her snap out a curt comment—ask the fellow whether his jacket buttons were caught on her gown or something similar, which was what she would say if Nathaniel scampered after her in the same manner. Nor did she shrink away in abject horror when that man stood near. Too near.

His irritation mounted, quite spoiling the sunny afternoon.

Damn her then, he thought crossly, if she could be impressed by a milksop who did nothing but droop over books all day. But if that was what she preferred, so be it.

When Lady Plumtre asked Nathaniel whether he would like more tea, he snapped out that he’d had enough, and everyone looked at him in astonishment. He coughed, laughed uneasily, and quickly turned to Jonty, raising the subject of hounds and their training.

Later, when the opportunity arose, he moved closer to where Diana and George were seated together and in quiet conversation. He hadn’t meant to contribute to it, merely to stand near and listen, but Diana turned to him suddenly and said, “We were talking of poetry, Captain Sherringham. I do not suppose you know much of it.”

Of course she would suppose that, he thought angrily. “I know poetry,” he grumbled.

She looked smug. “What is your favorite? That charming nursery poem ‘The Butterfly’s Ball,’ I suppose?”

“No. ‘To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.’”

Diana’s smile was slight, oozing condescension, so Nathaniel cleared his throat and began to recite from memory.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.”

The smile drained from her lips. Surprise lifted her brows.

He continued,

“The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he’s a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.”

Until he began to recite the poem aloud, Nathaniel wasn’t certain he would remember it all, but the gratification he felt when he saw how he’d shocked her helped his memory retrieve the words read long ago. Her eyes kept growing larger. He looked down into those lush green pools and swam in them.

“Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.”

Susanna and Daisy Plumtre applauded with enthusiasm, and Jonty squeezed glum George’s shoulder and bellowed that it was a timely reminder.

“I am impressed,” Diana admitted quietly. “Not a word missed, Captain.”

“May you never again doubt a gentleman’s capacity for poetry.”

“Indeed, I shan’t.”

“Or judge him by appearances.”

“Quite.” She lowered her lashes, hiding the glitter of emeralds.

“Or think he does not hold a great many things in his memory.”

“They say that elephants have good memories,” she pointed out.

He nodded. “Wonderful, majestic creatures, elephants.”

“They also mate indiscriminately and their courtship, once the urge is upon the bull elephant, lasts less than half an hour.”

Eyes narrowed, he studied her impertinent countenance. She rolled her lips together, clearly withholding a chuckle. Jonty, however, laughed loudly at her comment and eventually so did the others. Except for Lady Plumtre who apparently didn’t get the joke.

“Elephants? Who cares anything about elephants?”

Nathaniel suggested, “Other elephants, I’m sure. And apparently Miss Makepiece, who has made some study of the animals, it seems.”

“I find the study of all beasts interesting,” Diana explained.

“I shall have to take care then, or you might start to study me.”

Her lashes flickered, her brows twitched. “Perhaps I already have.”

“Alas!” Grinning, he held a hand to his heart. “And what have you discovered?”

Before she could speak, Lady Plumtre exclaimed, “She’s always reading books in a corner somewhere. It gives her a terrible stoop, as you see.”

Everyone looked at Diana, who had no such stoop.

“I always warned her it would have such an effect,” Lady Plumtre added, her tone superior and self-satisfied.

Diana picked up her teacup and soon had her ear requisitioned by George again.

Over the next few days, Diana was hauled around the streets of Bath to sample every delight in the company of the Plumtres. Remembering that Elizabeth had accused her of deliberately trying to win the family’s affections away from her, she often tried to refuse the events they planned, but there was no stopping the daughters of the house. Diana began to think that if she locked herself in her chamber, they might drop down the chimney or climb through her window.

So she shopped and tasted and admired until her head spun. She was paraded about the Pump Room, and up and down the Crescent to spot new fashions. Susanna and Daisy were tireless—their mama hardly less so. Elizabeth frequently protested, trying to find reasons for Diana to stay behind with her whenever she did not want to go out.

“Diana prefers to stay quiet and at home,” she would say. “She has not the urge to be out and about all the time.”

But her in-laws did not settle for that. It was shocking, but they insisted on treating Diana as a person with her own opinions and wishes, and an ability to speak for herself.

One afternoon about two o’clock, as they all walked around the Pump Room, Diana overheard a group of ladies by the fountain mention Captain Sherringham. She discreetly followed the path of their sly, darting gazes and saw him with Mrs. Sayles and her aunt, Mrs. Ashby. How strange it was, she mused, that she had run into him once again.

Bath must not be such a large place after all.

The ladies at the fountain were in a giddy state, gossiping about his companion’s brassy hair. Diana thought them all a little too mature to be acting like silly girls, but as much as she might wish not to hear their conversation, it was impossible to avoid. She certainly could not distract herself with the water. It was hot and possessed an awful taste, worse than any medicinal concoction she’d ever tasted.

Looking around, Diana suddenly realized she’d become separated from the rest of her party. And the crowd had grown, a large wave pushing her closer to the gossiping bunch at the fountain.

“He has been avoiding Madame De La Barque since he returned to Bath,” one of the women was saying. “He used to frequent her house, but goes there no more. They say it’s been years.”

“The same of Lady Fincher, so I was told by a very good source. He will not answer her invitations, yet he was once quite a favorite at her afternoon salon where, as you know”—here the gossiper lowered her voice, although Diana could still hear clearly above the music being played in the gallery—“all manner of wickedness went on into the small hours.”

“Although he had lost favor with Lady Fincher when he told her she had bad breath. He was drunk, no doubt.”

“But honest in his assessment of Lady Fincher’s breath.
In vino veritas
. In wine there is truth.”

They all broke into unpleasant titters.

“I heard he spent his last visit to Bath shouting rude epigrams from a theater box, losing at faro, and chasing after the wayward wife of a cabbage vendor. There was something about a rejected marriage proposal—to some little country girl. It put him in a terrible mood that winter, and then he just up and left.”

“If he wasn’t extremely pleasing to the eye, I’m quite sure he never would have been welcomed in any grand lady’s salon. He ought to be grateful, but he bit the hand that fed him too many times.”

Another woman snorted. “They’d still take him back again the moment he flashed those blue eyes. He’s never sorry, because he knows how to get around the worst tempers. There is no one else like Sherry. No one can compare in the boudoir. He knows how to…”

Much to her irritation, she could not hear the next few words, because the band playing in the gallery had reached a stirring crescendo. Only intermittent gasps reached her ears.

“And then he…”

“But he never…”

“With her feet over her head, for pity’s sake…”

“Under the table…”

“In her husband’s barouche…”

“Dancing naked…”

“With a rose between his teeth…”

“No, no, it was an apple…”

Having heard quite enough and yet, at the same time, nothing complete, Diana set down her half-empty glass and turned away. Only to find the notorious Casanova himself directly in her path.

“Miss Makepiece, how do you find the waters?”

She snapped out a breathless, “Wet.”

His lips quirked. “I meant the taste.”

“Hot.” Diana had no idea what her face was doing. She stared at his waistcoat, heat rising under her stays. “Bitter.”

“That would be the sulfur.”

“Would it? I suppose you would know, being so familiar with Bath.”

“Are you quite well? You seem a little…upset. Agitated. Has someone upset you?” He looked around as if ready to confront the person, whoever it might be.

“Not deliberately,” she muttered. “They cannot help themselves.”

It was the first time they’d had a chance to speak alone since they’d both arrived in Bath. Diana looked around in something of a panic, but neither her cousin nor the Plumtre girls were anywhere in sight. The noisy crowd was making her dizzy as another new surge of people filed in from outside, eager to take the waters before three o’clock.

“Please don’t trouble yourself, Captain. I am perfectly well,” Diana managed, clasping her reticule tightly in both hands.

Suddenly he advanced. She backed away. He silently advanced again, she moved back again, and in this way they had soon found a small space by a window.

“How is Mrs. Sayles?” she asked, trying to be civil. Ah, it was better here. A little more free air. What did he think he was doing, cornering her in this manner?

“She has a headache”—he paused—“as usual.”

“Yes, a lot of things go on as usual, don’t they?” Oops. She had not meant to sound so sharp. What did it matter to her what he did when he was in Bath? With his blue eyes. Under tables. Under skirts. With a rose—or an apple—between his teeth?

“Are you enjoying Wollaford?” he asked.

“Very much. The Plumtres are excellent company and wonderful hosts.”

“And Mr. George Plumtre. How do you find him?”

Bemused by his gruff tone, she looked up and replied, “How do I find him?”
The same as the water
, she mused,
wet
. “I turn around quite often and there he is.”

Nathaniel frowned, heaved his shoulders as if his clothes were too tight, and grumbled, “Jonty tells me his brother is quite smitten.”

“Is he?” What the devil was he playing at now? Trying to discover the tenor of her friendship with another man. For what purpose? He had made it plain that he would never resume his attentions to
her
. And she did not want him to, did she?

He had no chance to say anything more about that or his motives in asking, because suddenly George, Elizabeth, and the younger Plumtres found her again, descending through the mob to reclaim their guest.

“There you are! I wish you would not wander off from where I left you,” her cousin snapped. “I distinctly told you to stay there. You’re so quiet I hardly know where you are from one moment to the next. It is not convenient to be dashing about Bath trying to find where you’ve gone off to.”

Diana was confused. She did not know what to be, because nothing seemed to please Elizabeth. If she spoke up, she was putting herself forward in an ill-mannered fashion. If she stayed quiet, she was an inconvenience.

Nathaniel spoke up. “I moved Miss Makepiece out of the crowd, Lady Plumtre. She did not look very comfortable, and I thought she was in need of some air.”

“Air?” Elizabeth frowned. “
Air?
What on earth for?”

Diana bit back a chuckle and Nathaniel said solemnly, “Why, to breathe, madam. Or does she require your permission to do that too?”

Her cousin’s countenance wavered between fury and confusion. As usual she took her discomfort out on Diana. “If you were not feeling well, you should have said so. How was I supposed to know? I’m sure I take no pleasure in traipsing up and down the place like a tourist, but you will insist on coming out.”

“I am not ill, Elizabeth. I was merely—”

“Always thinking of yourself. Not a thought for me or what I would do when I returned to find you slunk off somewhere.”

Sir Jonty emerged from the mad throng at that moment and greeted Nathaniel with the usual excessive volume, while his wife continued to mutter and fume under her breath.

Once again, thought Diana, her moment alone with Nathaniel was over so quickly. Was that why his presence, when she had it, seemed such a luxury now? She wished she had not overheard those women talking. She didn’t want to know all of that. When he looked into her eyes she wanted—

Oh, she no longer knew
what
she wanted.

In any case, she needn’t think he was kind to her for any reason other than his habitual need to rescue every maiden in distress. Even
old
maidens.

Nathaniel stayed only for a few brief words with his new friend and to accept an invitation for dinner at Wollaford Park, and then he made a quick retreat.

George sidled up to Diana. “My mother and Jonty think him a splendid fellow, but in my opinion the captain is a little
too
…jolly, don’t you know?”

“I know precisely,” she replied with a tense sigh. He was too…everything.

* * *

That evening after dinner, Daisy Plumtre insisted on Nathaniel sitting for her while she sketched his profile for a silhouette.

Mrs. Ashby and Mrs. Plumtre were together by the fire, talking of old times, Caroline yawning loudly beside them. Jonty, his wife, Susanna, and George played cards, but Diana sat alone with her book, apparently absorbed in it. Even when George asked her to advise him at cards she politely declined and said she wanted to finish her chapter. But oddly enough, Nathaniel had noticed not a single page turned while he watched her. It was a rainy evening and occasionally she looked up to watch the raindrops on the window. Then she bent her head again over the open book, pretending to be engrossed in the story.

“Miss Makepiece is very fond of her book,” he whispered to Daisy. “Do you suppose she reads sermons? From her grim face it seems likely.”

“I believe it is a novel—a romantic story.”

He shook his head. “I suppose she thinks she’s safer reading about romance than enjoying any herself.”

Daisy was busy tracing the shape of his nose on her grid-covered paper. “Don’t sigh so heavily,” she exclaimed, “or you’ll blow out the candle!” After a pause she added, “What do you mean, she’s safer reading it?”

“That must be how she gets her thrills,” he whispered, trying not to move his lips too much. “She strikes me as the sort who doesn’t like to get a hair out of place or a stocking wrinkled for a gentleman.”

Daisy giggled. Across the room, Diana looked up but almost immediately down again. Still her page didn’t turn.

Nathaniel added in a louder whisper, “Romantic novels cause young ladies to expect too much. Make them think a man ought to be everything at once and never have any faults. A poor fellow like me doesn’t stand a chance when a lady’s head is filled with that nonsense.”

Daisy huffed, forgetting her own warning about the candle. “I very much doubt you have any problems once you decide to woo a lady.”

“On the contrary. My charms have been known to fail on one particular lady at least.”

“The one who refused you?”

“Yes,” he growled, reminded of that pain anew.

“And did she read a lot of romantic novels?”

He nodded. “She seldom had her nose out of them.”

“You must not have made it worth her while to put her book down, then.”

Nathaniel turned to look at Daisy, but she immediately shouted at him for spoiling his profile.

“Now I’ve made your nose too bloody big again!” she exclaimed, tossing another crumpled sheet of paper to the carpet.

“
Daisy!
” her brother George shouted wearily from the card table. “
Language!
”

She screwed up her face. “I don’t see why other people can use that word and I can’t. I’ll just start making up my own curses. Such as…as…fergalumph!”

Nobody answered her so she set to her task again, frowning determinedly. “Do sit still, Captain. I’ve never known such a fidget!”

All those paper roses littering the floor were the subject’s fault, apparently, not the artist’s. He asked the girl how much longer this would take. “I shall have to stretch my legs in a moment before they seize up with old age,” he told her. “Unless I have something to amuse me and take my mind off the cramp.” He glanced over at Diana again.

“It won’t take long if you stop talking and moving your great big head about.”

That made Diana look over the top of her book, her eyes shining with amusement.

“Miss Makepiece thinks I have an excessively large head too. See? She smiles. Although she tries to hide it.”

Across the room Lady Plumtre grew annoyed that a conversation was going on without her. It was not to be borne. Looking about for a scapegoat, she quickly found one.

“You should put that book away and join us over here, Diana,” she exclaimed. “What can possibly keep you so engrossed?”

Diana looked up. “I would like to finish—”

“You’re no company at all with your nose in a book. There is time enough for that when you are alone.” Lady Plumtre addressed the other players at the table in a lazy drawl. “My cousin has not had much benefit of good society, so you must excuse her. She is either too withdrawn or too excitable, as I pointed out to her the other day.”

Again Diana attempted to be heard. “I did not mean to be rude, but you are all occupied and I am almost—”

“Books are all she cares about,” her cousin exclaimed. “It is all the entertainment she is used to, I suppose.”

Diana read on, not letting Lady Plumtre’s snide words force her away from her book again. She was evidently accustomed to being berated by her family.

“Poor Miss Makepiece,” Daisy whispered. “She ought to throw that bloody book at Elizabeth. I would if I were her.”

But Diana would never be so demonstrative.