Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (5 page)

The Vicar
loudly thumped the pulpit with his hand in irritation, “Miss
Lark…if you must converse with Mr Smirke, be so good as to do it
outside where it won’t disturb the entire congregation.”

“We can’t go
outside, it’s raining. My guardian is recovering from serious
injuries. He might catch a chill and die and then who’d look after
me? I’d have to throw myself on the parish. Oh dear, I think he’s
having apoplexy…don’t die Mr Smirke!” The Vicar took a deep breath
and visibly struggled to remain calm as John loudly hyperventilated
at the thought of being legally saddled with the young woman at his
side for the rest of his life. No woman would ever marry him with
the beautiful Miss Lark lurking at his heels; he’d never find his
Joan. His groans of horror only drew more unwanted sympathy from
the young lady. “Where’s the pain Mr Smirke? Is your cravat too
tight?” Slender feminine hands untied his neck cloth and lightly
massaged his throat. John choked as unsolicited pleasure jolted
through his veins, his vital organs toasted by genuine concern.

“By all means
please do look after the health of your guardian, Miss Lark, but
perhaps you might do it elsewhere?”

“I think he’s
stopped breathing. Mr Smirke?” The congregation crammed around the
pew and gleefully watched the wicked man being slapped by the
maddening young woman they’d hoped had relocated permanently to
Lincolnshire. John caught his breath and blinked away tears of
horror. “Thank the heavens, he’s breathing…I’d best take him
home.”

“I’m not going
anywhere with you, you vulture. Someone take her away before I have
heart failure.”

“Is there
something wrong with your heart?” Smirke clenched his teeth as her
hand slipped under his shirt. “It’s beating far too quickly. You
need to relax Mr Smirke, just breathe slowly.”

“Please
someone take her away…anyone…I’ll pay.” The congregation looked
away hoping to avoid having to explain why they were relieved the
innocent girl was in the clutches of a notorious libertine. They
turned their gazes back to the Vicar and prayed that the Smirke
family pew would empty quickly.

“Don’t be
silly Mr Smirke. This is a church not a charity auction. You’re
obviously unwell. You’d best let me take you…”

“Get your hand
out of my shirt! I’m not going anywhere till the end of the sermon.
Didn’t your mother teach you anything about being a lady? Leave me
and my linen in peace.” He knotted his cravat with shaking hands as
he scowled at his ward’s large unhappy eyes and quivering lips.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re not going to cry now are you?” His
horrified whisper was nearly drowned out by the Organ wheezing into
life for a hymn.

“My mother
died the day I was born. Father said I killed her. He couldn’t
stand the sight of me.” Miss Lark frantically searched her person
for a handkerchief as the sad whisper poked John in the
stomach.

“Here, use
mine and don’t give it back.” She took his handkerchief and blew
her nose while Smirke tried to sweeten his future misery with a
lemon drop as his tapping heart frantically tried to get his
attention. After a few minutes the sniffling young woman inched up
against him and tucked her hand around his elbow before helping
herself to another lemon drop. John closed his eyes and tried to
ponder his wickedness, but his thoughts kept drifting into a
frightful daydream that he was sitting in church with his Joan.
After several agonising minutes staring ahead trying to be good his
black eyes slid back towards the woman at his side to find wide
cornflower eyes studying him with a strange wistful expression. On
catching his eye Miss Lark gently squeezed his arm and further
enchanted his inner organs with an adoring smile. Scowling at his
body’s reaction, he made a firm mental note to send the girl
packing before he could do anything he would certainly regret.

The Vicar
having finished thumping the pulpit, the congregation scurried out
into the rain, moving splotches of colour against impassive yellow
stone. Jostled off the path into the grass, John paused in the
overgrown churchyard to put up his umbrella and shake off the
smiling young woman. “You will begin the journey back to
Bolingbroke House tomorrow and unless you run away to marry some
fool, stay there. Do whatever you wish to my house, just leave me
in peace.” His heart tapped a desperate tattoo against his chest as
large cornflower eyes lost their smile.

“But there’s
no one to talk to.”

“Talk to the
servants.”

“They never
have time.”

“Talk to the
villagers.”

“They treat me
like I have the plague except the local lads who whistle at me as
if I was some sort of filly and ask me all sorts of strange
questions that make no sense. Why would I want to roll in the hay?”
John sucked in cold air through warm teeth and exhaled the desire
to shoot his neighbours and servants. “I’ll write you a letter of
introduction and explain that you’re my ward not my…”

“Let me stay
with you in Bath. I can keep you company…I can nurse you back to
health.”

“You’ll be on
the next mail coach to Boston or I’ll…” What could one do to
punish a wayward ward without incurring the wrath of God? Something
was wrong with his brain. He couldn’t think straight with those
eyes staring up at him. “Must you stand so close? Leave me some
air.” Her nearness was too pleasant. He had to get rid of her
before he did something stupid.

“I want to
stay with you.”

“Well I don’t
want you chirping in my ear till I lose my mind. I’m recovering
serious wounds. I need peace and quiet. Don’t look at me as if I’ve
gambled away your virtue. I may be a wicked sinner, but I wouldn’t
abuse a dependent…well, not anymore. Go home and torment me from a
distance.” Turning to walk away, he tripped over a broken headstone
hidden in the grass and fell on his face. Moaning into the ground
John cradled his right arm in hopes it would dull the pain.

“Mr Smirke?
Are you unwell?” Forcibly turned onto his back, wet black eyes
glared upward.

“Do I look
well?” John’s satanic growl only caused the large blue eyes to fill
with worry.

“No. You look
worse than my old school mistress after her third bottle of sherry.
She always said it was to fortify her nerves, but I think she was
trying to pretend I didn’t exist…”

“Silence! Help
me up before I catch a chill and not another word.” John shivered
with pleasure and pain as feminine hands dragged him upright, held
out his bent umbrella, retrieved his hat and helped him into a
hackney carriage. Braced against the corner by Miss Lark, he could
feel her warmth as she gently fussed with his coat front causing
his heart to rebel against his resolve. Sneaking a glance at the
girl she returned a wide smile and wrapped a hand around his arm.
It was as if his most secret desires had been brought to life by an
evil fairy godmother. He broke free from her smile and stared out
the window gripped by one thought; if he slid his good arm around
her waist…

“Shall I call
you Uncle John? You’re almost sort of like an uncle.”

Sanity slapped
John as his head whipped back towards his companion, “I am not your
uncle. You’ll address me as Mr Smirke until you wed some madman
after which time you’ll forget we were ever associated.”

“I don’t want
to wed a madman.”

“He won’t be
mad until he wakes up in his bridal bed to find his retiring
cornflower has turned into a noisy sunflower.”

“I’d never be
a sunflower, I don’t like yellow. If I was a flower I’d be a
snowdrop or a pink tulip. What kind of flower would you be?”

“I’m never
going to be a flower.”

“You will
after you die…someone’s bound to miss you and plant flowers over
your grave. Do you have a favourite flower?”

“I’m going
into the family vault. I will never be a flower.”

“How dull and
smelly…what about some tulips? No, you’d want something that stood
out and demanded to be admired. When you die I’ll put you in the
ground and plant a rainbow of hollyhocks over you. They’ll grow
over six feet tall and wave in the breeze, beckoning to be admired.
How could you resist anything so lovely? Have you made provisions
for me?”

“What are you
talking about?”

“Have you made
provisions for me for when you die?”

“I’m
thirty-three. I’ll long outlive you if I deserve any mercy. Don’t
think for one second I’m going to peg out so you can use me as
plant food. If you must chatter, chatter about something other than
death. I’ve had a gutful of hell and I don’t wish to be reminded of
the experience.”

“I was just
curious. When you die, I won’t have anyone.”

Pierced by
large sad eyes, John sighed in resignation, “Of course you’ll be
provided for. I was the drunken idiot who agreed to be responsible
for you, wasn’t I? You won’t starve in any case.”

“I think
you’re a wonderful guardian even if your ancestors’ taste in art
was rather unseemly. Why would anyone want so many paintings of
naked men and women?”

“That is my
art collection. I bought every single piece.”

Blue eyes
contemplated him with disappointment, “Oh…perhaps your servants
were right.”

John’s stomach
sank, “Right about what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me!”

“No, it would
hurt your feelings.”

“Tell me or
else!”

“Or else
what?”

“What
difference does it make what I do to punish you? It won’t be
pleasant.”

“Are you going
to beat me?”

“No, I’m not
going to beat you.”

“I thought you
said you were wicked.”

Smirke took a
deep breath and rubbed his eyes. “You’re going back to Bolingbroke
tomorrow and that’s final. I am not enduring endless months of
this…insanity…” The young woman’s broken hearted expression caused
a strange pinching sensation in his chest.

“I guess I
could purchase a dog…”

“No dogs!”

“You said I
could do what I wanted.”

“I didn’t say
you could get a dog.”

“But you said
I could do what I wanted and besides you haven’t been home in ages.
Do you want me to die of loneliness?”

“I hate dogs.
I hate dog hair. I hate dog smell. I absolutely forbid you to spend
my money on one of the evil stinking creatures.”

“Poodles don’t
smell. If you send me back to that ugly pile of stone without
company I shall buy ten poodles and they shall all sleep on your
hideous red bed. You’ll never know anything about it because you
never come home anyway, so there!” She stuck out her tongue in
defiance and turned away from the pretty man who looked like he was
about to explode.

“Just do as
you’re told or you’ll wish you had.” Even with her head turned away
he could see she was silently mimicking him. “And don’t make rude
faces when I’m talking to you. I’ll hire you a companion…”

“From where?
The Colonies? I contacted London agencies, advertised in every
paper and personally combed Bolingbroke, Boston and Bath. When
young ladies find out that I’m the ward of the Honourable John
Smirke they contract consumption or some other fatal disease.
Couldn’t you come home just for a few months Mr Smirke? I promise
I’ll take good care of you. Please?” No one had ever begged him for
his company, not even his mother. John breathed in the delicious
feeling of being wanted and exhaled his irritation.

“I can’t plant
myself in Bolingbroke. There’s someone I have to find. I’ll hire
you some company.” The hackney stopped and John climbed out with
the assistance of his ward. Leaning on his bent umbrella, he threw
a coin to the driver and turned his back on the blues eyes holding
the carriage door. The impossible woman would be taken to her
lodgings and he wouldn’t have to think of her again until he got a
bill for ten smelly puppies and was forced to travel to
Lincolnshire to enact some sort of punishment. His rebelling heart
was already tapping out the hours. He heard the carriage door click
shut and the wheels crackle over the cobblestones as it pulled
away. He restrained himself from turning to watch the carriage
disappear and cursed his good arm still itching to encircle her
waist.

Overall it had
been a most unpleasant morning. He’d learned he was saddled with a
maddening wench that no sane man would marry for less than a
princely fortune, contemplated the improbability of escaping
eternal damnation and fallen over in a graveyard. Just to ensure
that his Sabbath was ruined, he was swamped by an inexplicable
sensation that he’d just snuffed out all future prospects of
happiness. He couldn’t even remember hearing her give her
directions to the driver. Growling, he clutched his chest and tried
to withstand the desire to hobble after the carriage.

“Are you in
much pain? I can mix you a glass of laudanum and rub your wounds
with ointment. Here let me help you up the stairs.” John grimaced
as his insides lurched with pleasure.

“What? You’re
supposed to be in the carriage!” He thumped his umbrella to
emphasise the point and nearly lost his balance.

“You need me
and I’m hungry. The Inn filled up last night with a loud group of
young men. I’m hoping they’ll be gone by the time I return. They
kept staring at me as if I was on the menu.” The door opened as
John took hold of his ward’s arm and dragged her up the stairs and
into the house. “Where the devil are you lodging?”

“At The
Maiden’s Head; it was the only place that would accept an
unaccompanied female.”

John’s grip
tightened as he gargled on his distress, “Of all the places…have
you no sense? Why didn’t stay at Bolingbroke where you were
safe?”

“I was lonely
and the servants said you’d be in Bath.”

John pulled
the young woman close and hissed into her face, “Why the blazes
didn’t you hire a private parlour? You have no reservations about
spending my money on everything else.” The arrival of a strange
young woman with the master’s younger brother drew curious servants
from all directions with cocked ears.