How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) (28 page)

“I thought you would have sent for me to come home by now.” She licked her lips and added cautiously, “Did Elizabeth not write to you?”

“Yes, a very odd, disjointed rambling letter, of which I could make neither head nor tails since many lines were scribbled over. Her spelling has not improved, I see. Nor has her use of punctuation.” She sighed, reaching for the teapot to pour a cup for her daughter. “But then I had a letter from Mrs. Fanny Plumtre in the same day, and she was most eager for you to stay as long as you could. She said what a good friend you have been to her daughters. They sound rather wild, I must say.”

So apparently her mother still did not know Nathaniel had been in Bath. Had Elizabeth thought better about telling her?

Oh, it was good to be home, she thought, standing in the old kitchen. How quiet it was there, compared to Wollaford. Her life at home might be more predictable and less elegant, but she had missed it.

She glanced back over her shoulder and down the narrow passage because she could hear Nathaniel whistling. It was…

Their
music.

She hid her smile in the teacup and watched her mother puttering about the kitchen, only half listening to her stories of what had happened since Diana left. How odd that her mother would let Nathaniel into the house at all, let alone bring him tea. Perhaps she too had learned to change.

* * *

He was sitting with his father after dinner that evening when the bell rang. It woke them both from a drowsy game of backgammon.

“Who could that be at this hour?” the major exclaimed. “Don’t show them in here, Nate, my boy, or I shall have to put my shoes back on.” His father liked to remove as many garments as he could while at ease in his own parlor, and he was always loath to put them back on.

So Nathaniel went out into the hall and opened the front door.

“I brought this month’s rent,” she said pertly, a little net purse dangling from her finger.

“Diana? At this hour?”

Not waiting to be welcomed in, she walked boldly into the house. He thought for a moment, knowing he ought to quarrel with her about the impropriety of this late visit, but then he closed the door and said in as formal a tone as he could manage, “Go through to my father’s study. End of the hall.”

He knew his father would probably be asleep soon by the parlor fire, if he was not already. With his father asleep, he and Diana were, in effect, alone together in the house. Her mother could not know where she’d gone. She wore neither coat nor bonnet, brazenly flouting the rules. Must have been a spontaneous idea, he concluded. The woman was having a lot more of those these days, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it.

What would she do next?

Following her into the small study, he said, “Miss Makepiece, could this not have waited until the morning?”

“No. It’s overdue.”

But when he reached for her purse, she put it behind her back and dodged aside with a low chuckle. Apparently the lady was in a playful mood. He propped his behind against the leather-topped desk and folded his arms. “Took you long enough to come home, Miss Makepiece,” he muttered. “I began to think you’d decided to stay and marry George.”

Her eyebrows arched high. “George prefers Mrs. Sayles—
your
friend. Didn’t you know? They are engaged.”

Nathaniel paused, surprised, then laughed as he realized he should have seen it coming. “That explains a curious discussion I had with Jonty.”

Diana walked up to him and pushed her way between his thighs, sliding her arms around his neck. “You left Bath abruptly. Not a word to me.”

“Once I knew Daisy would recover, there was nothing else I could do. I had outstayed my welcome at Wollaford, and you were needed there.”

Her fingertips gently stroked the back of his neck, and he quickly felt the growing heaviness of want traveling the length of his spine and settling in his loins. Her soft lips were mere inches from his, and she tempted him by letting her tongue out to moisten them. “And you came here. Why?”

Nathaniel took her hands to keep them out of trouble. “I wanted to be here, waiting for
you
this time. Since you complained that women are always left to wait for men, I decided to prove to you that I was capable of waiting.
If
you came back.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His heart clamored to hear her say she loved him. It was a pathetic, desperate state to be in, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Diana leaned back and he released her hands. “I saw the letter to my mother, by the way. The one that supposedly came from cousin Elizabeth,” she said.

“Did you? That’s nice.”

“You intercepted it somehow.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Would I do a thing like that?”

“Yes.”

They stood looking at each other for a long while. He was not going to confess anything until she did. Not this time.

Diana held the net purse out to him again. “I’ll be going then.”

“I think you had better, Miss Makepiece. Wouldn’t want anyone to talk. You know how gossip spreads.”

She sniffed, gave him an odd look, turned, and walked out, her head high, her proud nose in the air.

Nathaniel sagged against his desk and exhaled a low curse. That damn, stubborn woman. Would he ever get her to take that biggest risk of all?

* * *

The wedding of Lucy and Sam Hardacre was a merry affair at the Hawcombe Prior church, followed by a breakfast at the Pig in a Poke.

A large amount of ham, tongue, cheese, and eggs was consumed, but much of the cake ended up on the floor when Sir Mortimer Grubbins escaped his sty again and decided to invite himself to the party.

Amid the chaos, the parson’s wife sought Diana out to tell her she was looking “a little more rounded” after her trip to Bath. “And I am pleased to see the curl returned to your hair. But you came back with no husband? Such a pity. Here you stand at another friend’s wedding, poor thing. What shall we do with you?”

Diana smiled. “As it happens, Mrs. Kenton—and I must ask you to keep this under your bonnet as you are the first to know”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I think I might soon find a husband after all.”

The lady almost jumped out of her shoes. “But who is the fellow, Miss Makepiece? Gracious!”

“That I cannot tell you, for I have not yet asked him myself.”

“Asked
him
?” The lady’s eyes popped. “Surely you mean that he has not asked you, dear.”

She laughed. “Oh no. This time it’s my turn. I know this particular fellow won’t ask me. I wounded him once before, you see, so now it’s up to me to do the asking.”

Ever since she had walked up to her mother’s gate and seen him there, Diana had known what she must do, but getting up the courage was not easy. First she’d had to let Lucy’s wedding go by, because she would not want to distract anyone from that joyful occasion.

When the Book Club Belles had gathered earlier to salvage what they could of the flower garlands to decorate Sam Hardacre’s cart, Diana had felt her secret burning inside and longed to tell someone. Mrs. Kenton just happened to be a handy ear, and of course she—unlike Diana’s friends—would have no suspicion of the gentleman’s identity. Poked and prodded into silencing the gossiping woman, Diana now felt the great satisfaction of telling Mrs. Kenton something the woman didn’t know and could never have guessed.

* * *

The next afternoon, Diana sat with her mother in the kitchen, quietly sewing. She thought back to that long-ago day when Nathaniel had proposed to her. She remembered almost running home and her mother commenting on her heightened color. Diana had gone to bed early but could not sleep. Her mind had churned relentlessly over Nathaniel Sherringham’s proposal, and unable to rest, she had gotten up early the next morning. She was in the kitchen putting on her walking boots by the fire when her mother came down to remind her it was wash day.

“Where are you off to so early?” Mrs. Makepiece had exclaimed, glaring at her daughter above the bundle of bed linens she carried. “I need help here, young lady. I hope you don’t think to go gallivanting about the village with those friends of yours, leaving me here to struggle alone.”

Diana sighed heavily, remembering the anguish she’d felt, the indecision. She had thought to run and see Nathaniel before her mother came down, but she’d forgotten it was the day to tackle all the laundry.

“And you left your window open again, Diana, letting all that frigid cold air in.” Then, leaning toward the fire she had casually tossed a small, palm-sized crumple of paper into the flames. “Sometimes I think you deliberately court a cold, young lady, just to get out of your chores.”

The burned paper had not signified much at the time, but now, thinking back to that chilly morning, Diana set her sewing aside and said to her mother suddenly, “What did you do with his note, Mama?”

“His note? Whose note?”

“Nathaniel’s note. The one he left for me before he went away from Hawcombe Prior four years ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re very flushed, Diana. Are you feverish again?”

“No, Mama. I am quite well. Better, in fact, than I have been for a long time. My eyes are open. And so is my heart.”

Ashen, her mother stared. “What fancy have you got into your head now?”

“I wanted to give you a chance to confess and tell me you were wrong. Tell me you are sorry.”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Burn his note, or tell me you are sorry?”

Her mother shook her head, apparently speechless.

“You found it, I suppose, on the floor of my bedchamber that morning.” Diana spoke slowly, softly. “I remember I had left my window open and you went in to close it, because you chided me about it. That’s when you would have found his note.”

Still nothing from her mother.

“When you brought the bundle of bed linens down for the wash, you had his note with you. And you burned it in the fire. That is what happened. Is it not? He told me he tied it to a crab apple to send it through my window, and now I remember the kitchen smelled a little like baked apple that morning. I did not think anything of it then.”

Her mother must have pricked her finger because she grimaced, caught her breath, and bit her lip. “I have no inkling of any note. What are you talking about?”

“Mama, you knew that if I went out that morning I would go to him. You saw me lacing my boots and so you reminded me about the laundry. Because you knew…” She caught her breath and swallowed a sob. “You knew how I loved him.”

Now, at last, she could say it out loud. The walls did not crumble.

“You knew it before I did. Mama?”

Her mother looked up slowly. “Yes, I knew. Do you think it gave me any pleasure, Diana? I saw you were in love, and that is the worst thing in the world for any woman to feel. Certainly the very worst reason to marry!”

“But Mama, you had love. It doesn’t happen to everyone. Some people live their entire lives without it. Yet you found it. Even for the short time you had together, you and Papa had love.”

“And look what good it did me. I wanted the best for you, Diana. Always!”

“But not a marriage of love?”

“Good heavens, no! I saw how you loved that man, and I couldn’t bear to see you brokenhearted.”

“You didn’t think I was capable of winning his love in return, Mama? Capable of keeping his heart for long? Did you find so little strength in me that you imagined I couldn’t help him, couldn’t be good for him? As he could be good for me?”

“All men are duplicitous and fickle, Diana. I have told you that many times.”

“I would have made a difference in his life and he in mine.”

“Oh, that sheen would soon have dulled, believe me. Once he found something else or someone else… I could not let that happen to you as it did to me. I wanted more for you.”

“Regardless of what I wanted?”

Her mother’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Man cannot live on love alone.”

“And I cannot live without it. I don’t want to.”

Her mother looked into the fire. “I never meant for you to be unhappy for so long. I thought it would pass.”

“Did it pass for you, Mama?”

To that there was no answer.

She forgave her mother for burning the note. What else could she do? It was in the past and now everything had changed. They were all starting from the beginning. Besides, Nathaniel had gotten his revenge when he intercepted that letter from Elizabeth and kept her mother from knowing what Diana had been up to in Bath.

“You must know, Mama, that I will always look after you. I would not abandon you.”

“Don’t be foolish, child.”

Diana took a small, wrapped parcel from her sewing basket and passed it to her mother. “I brought you this from Bath.”

It was slowly and carefully unwrapped—a fragrant lavender pillow embroidered with a very pretty peacock, his tail on display. Her mother studied it for a long time but could find no fault with the stitching.

She shook her head. “All that detailed work just for a little pillow. Who would have the time to sew such a thing that is purely decoration? Such a waste of fine thread too!”

“A lady named Eleanor Ashby. Her mama gave it to me as a parting gift. Just in case we never get that real peacock you wanted.”

Then her mother smiled, sniffed the sweet, dried lavender buds inside the pillow, and ran her fingertips gently over the embroidery again. “I’m sure this will do me even better. Real peacocks make an awful lot of noise and mess, so I hear, and they can be temperamental.”

The pillow was given pride of place on her chair in the parlor, where it was much admired by every guest, and Diana quite often caught her mother smiling at it.

The subject of the burned note was never again mentioned, but as the sun began to set that evening, Mrs. Makepiece suddenly reminded her daughter about the fruit-picking party with the Wainwrights at the Midwitch Manor orchards. “You had best go and fill a basket with as much as you can,” she said. “Then I can get started on this year’s jam, can’t I?”

As Diana walked through the door, her mother called her back to tuck some violets behind her ear. It was the closest she would ever get to an apology.