Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) (28 page)

She spent the day searching around the house and found a great many more items missing. Her alarm mounted with every moment of discovery.

But she stopped and considered.
Think
sensibly, Becky.

Firstly: Luke was not the sort of man who would steal from her friends.

Secondly: He knew what the music box meant to her.

Thirdly: She trusted him.

She
trusted
him.

In her heart, she knew Luke was not the man who had taken those things. Just like that, she knew it.

The clothes fit perfectly. He had to admit he didn’t look that bad. Just a little stiff. Would look even better without the semifaded bruises, of course, but at least the swelling had gone down and he hadn’t lost any teeth.

He had the clothes wrapped and boxed to take back to Midwitch Manor with him. As he left the tailors and limped along the busy Manderson street with Ness at his side, something curious caught his eye in the bowed front window of a pawnbroker’s shop. He stopped, took a step back, and looked again in astonishment.

* * *

The night of the dance was upon them. Mrs. Makepiece and the Book Club Belles were all traveling in the Wainwrights’ barouche, but the colonel had ridden on ahead as he had other business first, it seemed.

“He rides very well, even with his leg,” Sarah informed the other ladies proudly, as if they might not have noticed and admired the sight while he rode about the village. “Wait until you see him properly in his new clothes.”

“I wonder if the colonel will dance with Mrs. M first,” Justina whispered.

No, she smells of pears
. “He may not even remember the steps,” Becky whispered back, knowing her friend teased her.

“True. Let’s hope he’s on his best behavior.”

They arrived soon after this conversation and stepped out into the chill night air, all laughing and chattering with anticipation for the delights that awaited inside. Even Mrs. Makepiece appeared to be in good spirits, probably because Diana expected to see William Shaw tonight and she could inch them another step closer to a wedding date before his grandmama intervened again.

Stepping carefully to avoid horse muck, Becky walked across the cobbles and made an effort to cheer her spirits. She glanced across the steps to the candlelit coaching inn above which the dances were held and saw a very tall, darkly handsome fellow waiting there in black evening clothes with an ivory cravat.

And a walking cane. A new one with a shiny silver top.

He saw her, raised his hat in one gloved hand, and bowed.

“Papa!” cried Sarah, dashing by them to find the colonel.

He laughed and embraced his daughter, made her twirl for him to admire her dress. Then he whispered something and passed her a small parcel. Sarah came directly over to Becky and handed the wrapped package to her. “My papa wanted to give you this, but he said it wouldn’t be proper for a gentleman to give a lady a gift when they aren’t formally engaged. So he asked me to give it to you.”

It was a lace and ivory fan decorated with tiny silk violets.

Thank goodness, because from that smile on his face, she was going to need it tonight.

Their group moved inside and up the steps to the small vestibule where coats were left and hairstyles anxiously reevaluated. As she’d hoped she would, Becky felt that returning tremor of pleasure at the prospect of dancing again. There was a smell of fresh paint and polish, for the assembly rooms had undergone a transformation in preparation for the new year. All was bright and hopeful.

She flipped open her new fan—the first she had ever owned—and walked into the dance hall with Justina and Mr. Wainwright, feeling ladylike at last. As Luke had told her, she didn’t need to try; to him, she was a lady and always had been. But the fan was the finishing touch, the final flourish.

They were soon surrounded by the crowd. It was noisy and very warm, despite the weather outside, but as the music began, the people surged to the edges of the room, clearing space for the dancers.

The colonel took Sarah’s hand for the first dance, a minuet, while the Book Club Belles looked on with pride. And a few crossed fingers.

“That is my brother?” Justina’s husband declared in astonishment. “What have you ladies done to him?”

Becky too was wondering what they’d done. It was such a transformation that she thought it might take her a while to become accustomed to it. After what had happened on his bed, she was not so sure the “gentlemanly” colonel was a great improvement on the old Lucky Luke. One resisted her while the other never would have thought it necessary. On the other hand, one had purchased a fan for her and the old scoundrel probably would not have done so.

Or would he? Who really knew what he was, who he was, what went on in that mind of his?

She once assumed he looked at her and saw nothing more than a pair of bubbies. Now she knew he saw more than that. He saw all of her.

“Isn’t that Charles Clarendon?” Justina cried.

Slowly Becky followed the pointing fan.

“What is he doing here?”

There he was, in satin knee breeches and dark blue coat with dazzling cuff links, hands behind his back, looking around the room with a bright smile. At his side stood a young lady in a very fine silk gown, sprinkled with beads that caught the light each time she made a slight movement or laughed in a soft, lilting voice. She had fair curls piled high on her head and lavish diamonds hanging from both ears. They were standing with a small group of other, well-dressed folk, but it was clear they thought themselves superior to their surroundings.

Charles touched the woman’s elbow, steering her a little to one side. She looked up at him and laughed. He leaned over her and whispered through his smiling teeth.

He was supposed to be back in Oxfordshire by now. He was called home directly, he’d said, but there he stood, bold as brass.

The young man must suddenly have seen Becky at the other end of the hall. He blinked, went red, and quickly looked away again.

The Book Club Belles gathered around her. “Should you talk to him? How rude he is not even to say hello, after paying such attention to you before.”

She protested. “There was never anything more than friendship between us. I did try to tell you all.”

Probably not a good time to mention that he’d asked her to be his mistress. Her friends were angry enough on her behalf when they needn’t be. If they truly had a reason, he might not get out of there with all his hair attached. “There is that wretched Charles Clarendon,” cried Lucy, running over to the other girls. “He left me in the orchard, in the dark, and then he abandoned you, Becky, to gossip, after letting us all think he would propose.”

“I never thought that,” she replied. “I didn’t want his proposal.”

But Lucy was too furious. She had not forgiven him for deserting her at the treasure hunt, and any other sin he might have committed was merely icing on the cake. “He might at least acknowledge that he sees us, but he turned his back. I saw him—there he goes again, turning his shoulder to us.”

“Well, perhaps he didn’t see us.”

“Oh yes, he did!”

Afraid that Lucy would rush up to Charles and possibly punch him in the walnuts, Becky decided it might be best to greet the man politely and get it over with. A lady surely would. Just because he had forgotten his manners, she need not.

Then he must surely acknowledge her friends and stop acting in that stupid way with his nose in the air.

It felt as if everyone in that ballroom was looking at her suddenly, as if they were all whispering behind their fans. Some of the people there perhaps had heard gossip about her. News traveled fast. Particularly when Mrs. Kenton was behind it.

If she was not very much mistaken, the woman standing with Charles had just whispered something to him and glanced back at the contingent from Hawcombe Prior as if they had all brought manure in on their feet. She heard Charles laugh uneasily.

Well then, she would stick up for her friends as they did for her.

She closed her fan, took a deep breath, and walked around the room to where he and the lady stood.

Finally, she was behind him. “Mr. Clarendon. What a surprise to see you here tonight.”

She expected a smile, a flutter of those golden lashes, a hasty excuse.

Instead there was a blank, stony-eyed stare.

“Mr. Charles Clarendon,” she spoke a little louder, thinking he might not have heard above the music. “How pleasant to see you here again so soon. We thought you back in Oxfordshire.”

His companion drew back with a puzzled countenance. Charles lowered his eyelids a half degree. “Do I know you, madam?” he muttered. “Forgive me. I don’t recall…”

Becky laughed. “What can be the meaning of this attitude? You were once welcomed by all of us in Hawcombe Prior, and this is how you repay our hospitality?”

Again he stared.

“Charles,” his lady spoke softly, “do you know this person?”

Finally he licked his lips and said, “Ah yes, Miss Sherringham, is it not? Now I recall I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at my cousin’s house at Christmas.” He bowed his head and made no attempt to introduce her to his companion. And turned his back.

“You would not want to be introduced, my dear,” she heard Charles explain to the woman. “She is a dreadful slattern who threw herself at me this winter and made my time in the country utter hell.”

Slowly Rebecca turned. But her feet refused to move away. They swiveled around again. “I do hope your new curricle with the pretty and distinctive yellow-painted wheels runs well, Mr. Clarendon, and that you got the hood refitted. I know leather seats can get ruined in rain.”

His lady friend snapped her head around to look at him, her earrings swinging wildly as she glared, and a thin vein stood out on her forehead.

Well, that had warned the woman anyway. It was the best she could do.

She might burst out laughing and it would not be seemly, so she quickened her steps, heading for the cool air outside. She needed to look up at the moon and stars, to rid herself of the stifling rules of society that made so many people’s lives miserable slavery, because they feared life and living. They feared the unusual, the honest, and dared not follow their true passions.

* * *

Still concentrating on his steps, Luke had not seen any of the scene playing out at the far end of the hall until he heard the sweep of gasps that came his way like waves crashing against a stony shore.

And then he saw Rebecca dash by with a wobbling lip, a strand of copper hair falling down the side of her neck, agitated color heating her face.

Within a few moments, the news had flooded the hall. Charles Clarendon was engaged to Lady Olivia Moncrieff, an earl’s daughter with fifty thousand pounds. Her fastidious father had apparently opposed the match. There had been a quarrel and a falling out. Her father had sent her to Buckinghamshire to get away from the arrogant young buck who courted her, but the young lady was then followed into the country. Now, so the gossip went, it was imperative that they
did
marry.

For the meantime, they were staying in Manderson while her father cooled his temper and came to terms with this unexpected strengthening of his daughter’s stubborn will. Lady Olivia had a widowed aunt in Manderson and they had taken refuge with her—a widowed, childless aunt soon to die and leave the young lady a further fortune of ten thousand.

A few folk at the dance exclaimed that they thought Clarendon was almost engaged to a major’s daughter from Hawcombe Prior—and was that not her who just ran out of the room? The poor girl looked distraught.

Luke heard it all and then hurried outside to find her.

Afraid he would find a woman prostrate with sobs, he was relieved to find her dry-eyed, observing the moon, his gifted fan clutched in her hands as if someone might dare try to take it from her.

“You forgot your coat,” he said, limping up to her with it. “You will catch cold, woman!”

“I am not in the least cold. I was enjoying the bracing air.”

“He has hurt you. I shall go inside and beat him to a pulp.”

She frowned scornfully. “Oh, Lord! I thought you were at least too old to think of settling the score with your fists, man.” Then her scowl was gone and she chuckled throatily. “What on earth makes you think that peacock hurt me? I told you a long time ago that I am not a silly, romantic, naive girl. I did think he was a friend. About that, I was wrong. Hardly enough reason to mash him to a pulp.”

Although she resisted, shrugging and pouting like a sulky child, he managed to get the despised coat over her bare shoulders. “I don’t want you getting ill.”

She looked up at him. “He said his brother sent you a gift, and he hoped you enjoyed it. I’m sure you know what that means.”

Naturally, Kit was too cowardly to come back at him alone, man to man, and sent two thugs to do his dirty work while he kept his hands clean. Nervous for Sarah, Luke looked toward the hall again. “Did he say anything else?”

“Only that I was a slattern he barely remembered.”

“Good.”

She spun around. “
I
beg
your
pardon?
”

“I don’t mean about that,” he replied hastily. “I mean, that’s very bad. Very bad indeed.” He pointed toward the door. “Sure you don’t want me to go and mash his brains?”

“No.” She smiled. “I shall wish for a wife to plague him to the end of his days, though.”

“Excellent idea.” After a pause, he said, “Do you…will you dance with me, Miss Sherringham?”

Instantly her proud chin went up. “Certainly. I’m here to have fun.”

She was breathtaking tonight. He knew of no fancier word for it. Her hair shone like autumn leaves in rain.
Aye, that was quite poetic
, he mused. He’d write it down if he knew how to spell autumn.

“Before we go inside again.” He stopped and reached into his jacket. “I have something of yours.”

She frowned.

“Well, something of your mother’s, actually.”

He had wrapped it in a handkerchief—the same one in which she once tied a piece of pie for him and his dog. The letter
R
stood out in the moonlight.

“Open it,” he whispered, since she delayed and he was eager to see her reaction.