Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) (18 page)

Walking out to the barouche, Justina put her hand on Luke’s arm and confessed, “How glad I am that they don’t plan to stay long. The Clarendons are some of the most pretentious people I’ve ever known.”

He sniffed. “They’ve been here many times before?”

“Only once, a year or two ago. Mrs. Makepiece is anxious to be accepted back in the bosom of her fine family, so for Diana, I am glad that they visit, but I cannot say I like any of them very much.”

Luke wondered why she’d been so eager to introduce him to them. “And the dead leaves comment?”

Justina laughed softly, rolling her eyes. “Becky loves to ramble through the autumn leaves, and if the weather is stormy, all the better. Nothing, she assures me, is quite so exhilarating as to shake one’s fist at a thunderstorm.” She stepped up into the carriage behind Sarah, and Luke followed. “Becky was out one day doing exactly that—in the rain—when she found Charles Clarendon, who had been thrown from his horse and rolled down the hill to be covered in leaves. It would have all been very romantic if it was the other way around, of course, but Becky carried
him
home. I expect that was Elizabeth’s meaning.” She paused. “Your leg hurts today, Colonel?”

No
, he thought,
it
isn’t my damn leg
.

She leaned closer and whispered, “Keep your chin up, Colonel. She is only one woman. There are plenty more from which to choose.” She fluttered her lashes. “Did you not used to say to your brother that there were many daisies in a field and it would be unwise of you to devote yourself to only one?”

Oh, yes, he’d said that many times. But he hadn’t met this particular daisy back then.

Darius was the last to enter and he closed the carriage door. As the horses pulled them slowly down the lane away from the church, Luke looked out and saw Charles Clarendon and Rebecca walking together, her father a few steps behind. The young man made a great fuss about an icy patch in her path and as he guided her around it with a hand on her waist, he glanced over at the passing barouche. His formerly merry countenance sharpened when he saw Luke watching. Those blue eyes narrowed, losing the boyish gleam with which they had shimmered and flirted throughout the church service. There, in that moment, as the strong, mercilessly unflattering winter sun shone in his face, he looked exactly like his brother Kit. They might have been one and the same man.

Across the carriage, Darius was discussing a letter he’d received from their stepmother. “She informed me that Admiral Vyne has some earl’s daughter staying at Lark Hollow. It is, so I understand, quite a social coup. Apparently she befriended one of his daughters in London last season and she’s been at Lark Hollow for over a month. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if that’s why the Clarendons came. They are notorious social climbers.”

Luke scratched his chin and stared angrily out of the carriage window.
Then
why
didn’t they stay at Lark Hollow? Why leave that place to come here and inconvenience the ham lady and her woebegone daughter?
The more he thought of it, the more suspicious their motives became. He didn’t like it.

Someone would have to keep Rebecca out of trouble. Her father clearly wasn’t up to the task.

Darius went on, “Stepmother’s letter also informed me that she was visited in the small hours recently by my brother’s restless and tormented spirit.”

The carriage rumbled around a bend, and since he could no longer see Rebecca, Luke sat back in his seat and looked at his brother. “Really? How extraordinary.”

“Quite. Apparently this ghastly specter advised her to repent her sins by giving all her jewelry to the poor, eating only bread and gruel, and beating herself twice daily with a willow switch.”

Sarah, who had been silent and sulky all morning, now perked up. “Colonel, how wicked of you!”

“Me?” He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think it is anything to do with me?”

The girl eyed him skeptically.

“Do I look like a ghost to you?” he demanded. “Might I ever be mistaken for a spirit?”

She pursed her lips.

Luke leaned across the seat and whispered, “Of course, there are certain beastly, unholy terrors that might visit a lady in her chamber, in the dead of night, and wail in her ear until she wakes and huddles under the coverlet. Nightmarish visions from the depths of some horrid, dark place that come up to capture naughty, disbelieving, accusing young girls and punish them for their wicked, unfounded assumptions.”

Now her gaze lowered to his bad leg and his cane.

“Especially little girls who question their elders about the veracity of their aches and pains.” He sat back again, satisfied that he’d put the little mite in her place.

She did not relax her lips, but her eyes narrowed, watching him even more intently than before, until her aunt suddenly exclaimed, “Sarah, did you by chance borrow my silver bracelet with the mother-of-pearl inlay again? I could not find it this morning, and the last time I wore it was at the party on Friday evening.”

“No, Aunt Jussy. I would not borrow without asking you.”

“I did not think you would, but it is so strange that I cannot find it anywhere.” Her husband suggested the clasp may have broken somehow at the party and she conceded the possibility. “I shall search the drawing room when we get home, for it is one of my favorites. Curiously, Diana told me today that her mother has misplaced her cameo choker too since our party.”

Sarah volunteered to help her look for the missing items.

Luke looked out of the window, angrily surveying the frosty country lane and those rotting leaves that apparently caused Miss Sherringham and her charming young man such unbridled delight.

“What a grim, weathered, ugly fellow that Colonel Wainwright is,” Charles observed as they negotiated an icy patch on the path.

“He has led a full life,” Becky replied thoughtfully. “I suppose that shows on his face.”

Charles looked at her. “My cousin tells me you are engaged to him. Or you were. There seems to be some confusion about the facts.”

She might have known it wouldn’t take long for the rumor to reach his ears at the tavern where he had taken a room. “It was a misunderstanding and nothing more. We are not engaged.”

He beamed. “Thank goodness. I could scarce believe…after all, he is so old. Surely, my sweet Miss Sherringham would not tie herself to such a man, thought I.”

She waited to help her father around the same treacherous ice and so Charles stopped too. It seemed as if he had forgotten they were not alone, and his eagerness to be introduced to her father had very soon been satisfied with no more than a few hasty sentences. Once they were on their way again, Charles seized her hand, tucked her arm under his, and resumed his speedy pace until they had outstripped the major by several yards.

“Then I said to myself,” he went on, “perhaps Miss Sherringham has made a wise choice. As much as it would wound me deeply to admit. After all, Colonel Wainwright, so my cousin assures me, is a wealthy man of property. In which case it would be selfish of me to expect my lovely and very dear friend to remain unwed. Especially since I, being only a younger son, cannot offer her the same. It would be a good match for her and I cannot begrudge her the opportunity, even if my heart must be broken. I know she would not begrudge me if the situation were reversed.”

Again she assured him, wearily, “I do not intend to marry the colonel. Or anyone. The idea of being a wife does not thrill me.”

“Then you and I can still enjoy our nature walks together,” he replied, his melancholy demeanor instantly vanished.

She smiled at him. Smiling seemed the thing for a lady to do. He paid her great attention, singling her out to walk with her after church, and she knew other village girls would envy her. Lucy Bridges, for one. It was rare for Becky to know what that felt like. She could manage being valued for her aim, her throwing arm, and her bold courage in the face of adversity, but she had yet to be comfortable with flattery of the sort that other women received more frequently and graciously.

Charles went out of his way to walk at her side, be introduced to her father, and make her smile, but she didn’t know why he worked so hard at it and just for her.

“You must know,” he announced grandly, “that I came here only to see you again, Miss Sherringham. It is for you that I make my sister annoyed. It is for you that I insult the admiral by leaving his house party and his guests.”

“Goodness, I would not want you to insult anyone for me.”

He laughed. “Of course you would. Lovers are always selfish.”

“Lovers?”

“My dear Miss Sherringham, if only I could keep you for my own amusement.” His golden lashes fluttered downward briefly and he gave a strange, high laugh. “You must not mind me. I get swept away in the joy of your company. Carried away by my sensibilities. Especially with you, Miss Sherringham.”

It was odd that he claimed to be carried away by his feelings, yet he had not written to her more than once or made another effort to see her in fifteen months.

“But perhaps, one day, our friendship can become something more,” he added. “Something more intimate.”

Surprised, she exclaimed, “Mr. Clarendon, I wonder what you can mean by speaking that way to me.” She might expect forward remarks of that nature—and worse—from Lucky Luke, but not from her fine gentleman. It was quite a disappointment.

His eyes shone, unconcerned. “We are friends, are we not?”

“Certainly.”

“And I hope we always will be.”

“Then why would you infer there might be more between us, when you know there cannot be? You cannot marry where you would choose, as you told me before, and I don’t want to marry at all.”

He shook his head as if bewildered for a moment. Then he looked at her. “I am flirting with you, Miss Sherringham. Surely you know. It is all quite harmless. I meant nothing untoward by it.”

“Oh.” Now she felt foolish. She knew about flirting, naturally. It was what ladies and gentlemen did because they had so little else to occupy their time. But she had never indulged in the practice, having too much else to do.

“And you flirt with me, Miss Sherringham,” he said. “Don’t pretend otherwise!”

Did she? Puzzled, she tried to think what she might have done that could be construed as flirting. She had been told she had lips too ready to mock, and her brother once accused her of having eyes that stared too openly—whatever that meant.

“I say things I should not,” he added. “I let myself imagine things that cannot be. You, Miss Sherringham, bring out the worst in me.”

She looked away, grieved and frustrated. It seemed she brought out the worst in a lot of men, without knowing how she did it. Just like the errors she made in her clothing choices from time to time, it was done before she knew it.

“But we are friends. I shall be content with that. I cannot expect anything more.”

When she remained quiet, he began to talk about the book of sonnets he’d sent her and so their conversation turned to Shakespeare and poetry. Becky was relieved, for she preferred to talk of books than to try that odd sport of flirting.

Poetry was a subject she could never talk about with Lucky Luke. It was doubtful he knew the first think about a rhyming couplet, she mused. He would probably think it was something naughty and indecent.

Thus
he
had crept back into her thoughts even as she tried to keep him out.

She’d fought so hard in church not to look at the colonel, but his presence was too much not to feel. Even if she didn’t look at him, her other senses knew he was there. But he was the very worst sort of man, the opposite of everything she’d ever imagined for herself. Somehow she had to get him out of her mind.

She took a deep breath and looked at the charming fellow walking beside her. The well-spoken, well-groomed, and mostly well-behaved gentleman, who loved poetry and dancing.

“Mr. Clarendon,” she burst out, “you must come to our book society meeting this evening, before the treasure hunt.”

He agreed at once. There was nothing, he said, that he would enjoy more. In fact, he was so enthused about spending that time in her company that Becky set her reservations aside and relaxed again. She was being overly critical of his flirting, she decided. Just because it was still strange to her did not mean it was wrong. Charles Clarendon was a civil young gentleman with playful manners. As he said, flirting was the fashionable thing to do. There was no harm in it.

A certain person had recently shouted at her “
Good
lord, woman, enjoy yourself. Take off your bonnet. Feel the wind in your hair.
”

Enjoy herself! As if it was that simple. Perhaps it was for him—a man with no fixed abode and a dog he couldn’t even admit he was fond of. Becky was sure she could enjoy herself too if she didn’t care about other people and worry about being hurt.

And for pity’s sake, she was not going to start thinking about him again!

* * *

“I remember last Christmas, at a little hop at the Park, he danced from eight o’clock till four without once sitting down.”

“Did he indeed?” cried Marianne, with sparkling eyes, “and with elegance, with spirit?”

“Yes, and he was up again at eight to ride to covert.”

“That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation and leave him no sense of fatigue.”

“Aye, aye, I see how it will be,” said Sir John. “I see how it will be. You will be setting your cap at him now and never think of poor Brandon.”

“That is an expression, Sir John,” said Marianne warmly, “which I particularly dislike. I abhor every commonplace phrase by which wit is intended; and ‘setting one’s cap at a man,’ or ‘making a conquest’ are the most odious of all…”

As Diana read aloud this conversation from
Sense
and
Sensibility
, she raised her eyelashes and glanced at Becky above the top edge of the book. Becky, in turn, looked out of the parlor window and found the lane still just as empty as it was the last time she glanced out, two minutes ago.

“Who do you watch for so avidly?” Justina wanted to know.

“No one,” she lied.

Although Charles Clarendon had eagerly accepted her invitation, he was very late, and as each moment ticked by with no sight of him emerging from the tavern, Becky found herself hoping he would
not
come. That might be for the best after all. The awful enemy known as “second thoughts” had come to her many times in the hours since she issued the invitation.

She had told Colonel Wainwright that their meetings were “ladies only.” If he heard that Charles Clarendon had been invited, what would he think of her? Guilt, something she rarely had cause to feel, fizzled through her veins.

And what, pray tell, did that matter? She had never looked for
his
approbation. Never sought or wanted it.

It wasn’t as if Lucky Luke truly had any interest in books. He had only mentioned invading the book society to annoy her. Or perhaps to impress her? No. Why would he bother with that, when she’d already told him plainly that she could not be charmed and seduced like the women of his harem?

Becky clasped her hands tighter in her lap.

She had watched him with Sarah that morning in church, saw how he listened to the girl with patience, made her change seats on the pew so that she would not be in the draft. Of course, Becky had not let him see that she noticed.

But she could not get his words out of her head.
“You’re hiding from life, missy. Hiding behind your father and brother. Hiding from your true self and your own passions
.
”

How could he know anything about her passions? A proper young lady wasn’t even supposed to have any. Other than music, dancing, needlework, and perhaps drawing.

Her mind in a confused pickle this evening, she barely listened as Diana read on.

Sir John did not much understand this reproof; but he laughed as heartily as if he did and then replied, “Aye, you will make conquests enough, I dare say, one way or another. Poor Brandon! He is quite smitten already, and he is very well worth setting your cap at, I can tell you, in spite of all this tumbling about and spraining of ankles.”

“I agree with Sir John, and say poor Colonel Brandon,” exclaimed Justina when Diana paused to turn the page. “Marianne is being rather unfair to him. I’m sure he’s a perfectly delightful gentleman, even if he does not meet all her expectations.”

Diana set down the book, leaving it open in her lap. “While I admire Marianne’s spirit, she
is
a little too romantically inclined. Marianne, I fear, is bound for disappointment. She expects a gentleman to embody everything heroic at first sight. If they do not instantly meet with her requirements, she doesn’t look at them. Her sister Elinor at least has the sense to see the good in Edward Ferrars.”

“Marianne thinks herself so clever, strong, and impervious to mistakes.” Justina sighed deeply. “I cannot think who will do for her. If anyone ever will. What do you think, Becky?”

“What do I think?” She twisted around to face the room after spending most of the last half hour looking out of the window, battling with various emotions. “I think that if everyone continues to hint at Marianne and the colonel being a match, it will only separate them further. Marianne is clearly a self-governing spirit, knows what she wants, and will go her own way.”

The short silence that followed was broken by Elizabeth Clarendon’s loud yawn. She sat by the fire, her dainty feet resting on a little stool, while she leafed nonchalantly through a ladies’ magazine. She had no interest in
Sense
and
Sensibility
as she’d already read it.

Becky couldn’t see why Elizabeth had come there. Her brother, at least, seemed to find real pleasure in the countryside. He loved taking long rambles, just as Becky did, and he reveled in hearing all the village gossip, while his sister made no effort to fit in and showed no real interest in anything. The Clarendons and their fine apparel stood out like sore thumbs in that humble village, but Charles had a natural charm and ease that made him liked by most people he met, whereas Elizabeth was too proud and kept herself apart. She was clearly disdainful of her cousins, and as for the other ladies of the Book Club Belles, she could barely bring herself to speak to Justina, and Lucy was simply eyed from the side as if she were a gruesomely squashed hedgehog.

While Diana paused her reading between chapters, Becky said, “I hope we are not boring you, Miss Clarendon. It must be hard to hear us speculate on a story to which you already know the ending.”

“Oh, worry not for me,” she replied in her lazy drawl. “I am entertained. There is always something amusing to observe in a group of young ladies.” She paused, twisting a finger around the fringe of her shawl. “But do tell me about the colonel—Colonel Wainwright, that is. I heard today from the parson’s wife that he was presumed dead for the past twelve years and that now he is back, he will inherit a vast fortune. Is that so?”

Becky was not about to be drawn into this conversation, but Justina replied that it was indeed the case.

“And are you or are you not engaged to him, Miss Sherringham?” Elizabeth’s eyes glittered spitefully across the room and she licked her lower lip with the tiny pink tip of her tongue. “It seems a most confusing business, and when I heard of it today, I felt very bad that I had not wished you well.”

Forced now to answer, Becky replied reluctantly, “It was Colonel Wainwright’s idea of a practical joke and Mrs. Kenton likes to perpetuate it.” She would tell no one about the wager he’d talked her into on the night of the party. He had just a week now to complete his transformation and convince her that he could be a gentleman. A week. The man was clearly an optimist.