Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (13 page)

“I’m hardly
going to appear at table smelling like a pig; someone pass me the
toast.”

Cosmo looked
up from his half eaten piece of bread, “This is the last one.” The
sixteen year old continued to chew with relish, glad he hadn’t
stopped to wash behind his ears.

“Someone tell
the kitchen I want some toast.” It was an insolent command.

Agnes looked
up from across the table, “I thought John the despot died in a
duel?”

James glanced
at his beautiful wife, “Agnes love, don’t tease our John. You know
he’s not well.”

“Here, have my
toast.” John sneered at Joan’s nibbled piece of bread.

Agnes’s eyes
gleamed as she wiped her mouth, “Why don’t you have some eggs
John?”

“You know I
hate eggs.”

“Perhaps you’d
like some porridge? Cook usually boils enough for a few street
urchins, but you’re free to eat as much…”

“You know I
hate porridge. I’d have eaten my biscuits if a lot of greedy pigs
hadn’t devoured them in the night.” His nephews all laughed
unrepentant.

“Have my toast
Mr Smirke, I’ve had four pieces.”

John took the
sad looking object as if it were his due. “Someone pass me the
butter.”

Peter Smirke
leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full stomach, “Robert just
used the last portion on his eggs; aren’t you going to thank Miss
Lark for giving up her breakfast? She’s going to think Mamma didn’t
teach you any manners.”

John glared at
his brother as he chewed dry bread. “I’m not in the mood to have my
faults enlightened at the breakfast table.”

“I daresay;
you should be in bed resting. You look ill. If you were my
son…”

“I’m not your
son! I’m thirty-three years old and I’ll do as I please.”

“Non. Tu est
mon fils and if you do not rest Jean Sébastien, I will lock you in
your room for three weeks while the banns are read. Comprends?”

“I can’t wait
three poxy weeks to read the poxy banns.”

Joan smiled at
her scowling guardian, “We’re going to ride to Bristol and purchase
a common license from the Bishop.” John’s felt a burning heat
scorch his cheeks as his nephews whispered to each other in between
snorts of laughter. Before he could blister his nephew’s ears his
mother disrupted his vengeful thoughts.

“Un moment de
plaisir will not be worth the dying.”

Discussing his
carnal needs with his mother over the breakfast table in front of
the desired wench and a smirking audience was a little too hellish
for Smirke’s taste. He clenched his teeth and swallowed a sharp
rebuke. “It’s only fifteen miles to Bristol Mamma. If we leave
first light we’ll be home in good time to marry by noon.” John
glared at his nephews as they laughed out loud before devolving
into a chorus of rude noises.

“I’ll wager
anyone my boots that Uncle John will be home long before the clock
strikes ten.” Cecil ignored his father’s unhappy look and resumed
eating.

“Jean
Sébastien, Bishop Mansel travels; what if he’s en voyage? What if
your purse is stolen and you don’t have ten shillings to buy the
license? What will you do?”

“We’ll come
home. Stop being so creative Mamma; it’s making my stomach ache.
Nothing bad is going to happen.”

“What if it
snows? What if your horse breaks a leg?”

“My horse is
not going to break a leg and if it snows we’ll get a room at an
Inn.”

“You’ll need
two rooms; what if there aren’t any rooms?”

“We’ll appeal
to Aunt Mary; Miss Lark is not going to sleep in a hay stack.”

“You can not
call on Aunt Mary. She would not feed you if you were dying of
hunger. You maltreated her daughter, remember?”

“That was ten
years ago Mamma. Cousin Annabelle is now a fat Squire’s dame.”

“You stole her
daughter to force a match and then changed your mind after…after
being an innommiable vilain. Lady Mary hates you like some people
hate le diable.”

“I’m sorry
Mamma. I was cursed lonely that month and…”

“Loneliness is
an excuse riducle for being a vilain!”

“You weren’t
in love with her?” John’s scowl didn’t perturb Miss Lark’s relieved
smile.

“Jean
Sébastien, you can not ride into the morning mist unprepared when
you’re responsible for a woman’s well being.”

“Mr Smirke
will take good care of me.”

“Jean
Sébastien, you should stay in Bath and have the banns read. Waiting
three or four weeks won’t kill you like a hungry highwayman, fever
or a broken neck.”

“I’m
thirty-three years old Mamma. I’ve travelled England and the
Continent without ending up with a bullet in my head. And I’ve
never been unable to find an Inn that had fire, food and bed.”

“Be sensible
mon cher; you are in no fit state voyager.”

“I’m not
decrepit, I’m merely…never mind my blasted health, I’ve made up my
mind.” John started cracking the knuckles on his left hand. “I’m
going to marry by common license or die trying.”

“Then ride
your carriage and use outriders. Agnes will lend a maid for
Joan…”

“And get
bogged down in the freak snowstorms you so kindly predict? No!”

“Three weeks
is hardly any time at all.”

“I’m not
waiting three weeks. What are you doing? Stop that!” Joan continued
gently brushing bread crumbs off his new blue and gold striped silk
waistcoat as the table watched in amusement.

“You’re so
lovely Mr Smirke; my own living work of art.” John forgot his
irritation and fell into adoring cornflower eyes. He could hear his
heart beating and feel the warmth of her knee pressed against his
leg. A new kind of pleasure surged through his veins making him
dizzy. John’s rare lopsided grin caused a round of applause and ear
splitting wolf whistles. Rudely returned to reality, John glared at
his family and stuffed his mouth with cold bread to keep from
swearing as his right hand, resting on his knee, willingly greeted
feminine fingers.

“If you can
not wait, you must take Jacque, Pierre et les fils with you.
There’s safety in numbers.”

Toast stuck in
John’s throat as he contemplated endless hours of husbandly advice
from his brothers and Cecil’s embarrassing questions all the way to
Bristol and back.

He tightened
his hold on Joan’s hand as she leaned towards him. “No! I refuse to
spend a whole morning listening to Peter’s brats snorting their
amusement at my perfectly normal desire to wed.”

“My sons will
be perfect gentlemen. We’d love to accompany you John, wouldn’t we
boys?”

Robert wiped
his nose on his sleeve, “I’d rather see a cockfight.”

“Men d-don’t
wipe their noses on their sleeve Robert and when your family needs
your assistance you d-don’t vocalise a preferred activity. That is
rude.”

“Yes
Papa.”

“We’ll be
happy to ride all day, won’t we b-boys!”

Cecil took no
notice of his father’s insistent tone, “I hate riding all day; it
gives me saddle sores. I always spend the following week walking
around like I’ve had an enema. I’d rather wait three weeks than
spend my wedding night with blisters on my…ouch…watch where you
swing your foot Auntie, that was my ankle.”

“Was it? I
thought it was a table leg.” Agnes continued sipping her chocolate
with unrepentant calm.

“That is
exactly why I’m taking Miss Lark and leaving the rest of you
behind. I refuse to put up with Cecil’s rude ramblings all
day.”

“It’s not my
fault you’re overly sensitive.”

“I am not
overly sensitive!”

James snorted
in amusement, “Peter, do you remember the first time Mamma let John
accompany us to the local assembly room? He took so long getting
ready that by the time we arrived all the pretty girls had filled
their dance cards and when Mamma firmly insisted he ask one of the
less attractive young ladies to dance he burst into tears and hid
behind a curtain until after everyone had gone home.”

“I was
fourteen.”

The fourteen
year old Robert Smirke looked at his uncle in disgust, “I never
knew you were such a milksop.”

“I was upset.
The young lady I particularly wished to dance with refused to erase
even one of several ugly bunglers from her card for me. She was a
cursed heartless wench. I’d waited four months for that dance and
she didn’t even remember agreeing to dance with me.”

“She was une
belle fille. She died several years ago in childbed.”

“Well maybe if
she’d danced with me she’d still be alive.”

Peter raised
his eyebrows, “James, do you remember when we t-took John to London
for his first season and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be a
Beau or a Fop? He kept changing b-back and forth every few days
confusing everyone. I nearly d-died laughing.”

“I remember
how he raged when the footman didn’t recognise him under his face
paint and refused him entry to the house. He punched the footman
and then broke his foot kicking the door.”

“It wasn’t
funny! I’d been jilted, given the cut-direct and held up by
footpads and relieved of a month’s allowance all in one evening.
Returning home and being refused entrance to my own house was
beyond endurable.” The five nephews were snorting with
laughter.

James winked
at Peter, “What was it we called him, Big foot?” John’s eyes
narrowed as most of the table snickered.

“Stop teasing
Jean Sébastien. You know his feelings hurt to be laughed at. He’s
un soul sensible.”

“Mamma, you
know John is overly sensitive.”

“I am not
overly sensitive; I’m short-tempered, cantankerous and moody.” The
entire table stopped laughing and stared at him in stunned
agreement. “Will someone please pass me the eggs before I starve to
death or is there some sort of Smirke conspiracy afoot to ruin my
one hope of happiness?” Oblivious to his own heavy sarcasm, John
congratulated himself on remaining kind under difficult
circumstances. Conversation resumed as the Smirke family cheerfully
argued over which implausible trial might afflict John’s journey to
wedded bliss, unfortunately John was too entranced by Joan’s
whispered assurances that all would be well to pay much
attention.

John grunted
as he mounted the large black mare. His boots firmly shoved into
the stirrups he shifted in his saddle until his stiff haunches
conformed to the uncomfortable seat. After eight days of forced
inactivity John’s state of health was irrelevant; the need to
acquire a marriage license was burning a hole in his soul. He
couldn’t wait another day to make Joan his wife. Meeting her
upturned adoring gaze he was scorched by an overwhelming sense of
his masculinity. Muscles bound to bone were ready to protect,
shoulders eagerly awaited the weight of responsibility. His heart
tapped his ribs in pleasure as he bent down and took the small
glove in his larger one. “Help her up Peter.” The entire Smirke
family stood nearby to witness the chilly morning departure.

Joan happily
mounted using John’s boot, Peter’s arms carrying most of her weight
onto the horse. Seated over uneven portions of horse and saddle
Joan couldn’t imagine anything more pleasant than leaning into
beautiful arms encased in a bottle green greatcoat. “Peter, could
you please hand me my bundle?”

John scowled
at the large lumpy bag, “What have you got in there, your
trousseau? You don’t need to bring anything; we’ll be back before
noon.”

“I made you a
few ginger biscuits last night.”

John lifted
the bag off her lap. “A few? The bag weighs at least five pounds.
You’re going to kill the horse. Leave it!”

“I’m going to
feed you as we ride. You need to keep up your strength for the
wedding.”

“After thirty
miles in the saddle Uncle John won’t have the strength to wed let
alone…ouch!” Cecil hopped up and down on one foot, “Watch where you
step Nana, that was my foot. Am I invisible?”

“We change
horses at Keynsham Miss Lark, we are not going to starve, now give
Peter the biscuits.”

“Don’t be
horrid Mr Smirke; I’m not coming without my biscuits.”

Panicked black
eyes met determined blue. “Keep them if you must; just put an arm
around me before the weight of that blasted bundle pulls you off
the horse.”

“Just wait,
you’ll be glad I made them for you.” Rolling his eyes in
exasperation John turned the horse towards the road. With Joan’s
cold nose resting against his cheek they set off at an easy canter.
As soon as they were over the river Avon and Bath was behind them,
John reined in the horse.

“Why have we
stopped? Is something wrong Mr Smirke?”

“I haven’t had
my morning kiss.” Soft doeskin caressed his ear firmly drawing him
deeper into large eyes until cold lips and warm breath held him
captive. John tightly held his companion with one arm as exquisite
waves of the strange new pleasure spread from his stomach through
his heart and into his head making him grin like a dazzled school
boy.

“I love your
smile Mr Smirke.”

“More than my
kisses?”

“I’m not sure;
you’d best kiss me again.” They were oblivious to the horse and
rider that galloped past and the high perch phaeton whose jealous
driver swore loudly as he nearly ended up in the river after
staring at the lovers. The countryside was a picture of serene
tranquillity by the time John’s lips were surrendered to the biting
cold. The sun had climbed higher into the sky; the laws of nature
and man were against him. A common licence had to be performed by
twelve noon in his parish church. The thought of suffering another
night on a sofa when there was a good bed being warmed by a
beautiful willing woman made John ill. He just had to get return to
Bath by eleven-thirty with his bride and the needed piece of
paper.

“Hang on Miss
Lark, we’re going to fly. Gee up!” John’s heels jabbed the mare as
Joan leaned back into his warmth, her arm wrapped tightly around
his middle. She half closed her eyes and listened to the horses
hooves work up to a pounding thunder as naked trees and barren
fields blurred into glinting greyish-blue bends of the river.
Thirty-five silent minutes later, John slowed the sweating horse to
a canter and took a deep breath of cold air. He’d never felt so
alive. The sun was brighter, the sky bluer and the woman in his
arms was making him his vital organs ache with the sweetest desire.
Light headed with anticipation, he ignored his bruised backside and
concentrated on getting to Keynsham.