Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (6 page)

“I was using
the parlour, but a man with evil sky-blue eyes arrived who paid
twice as much again for it. He asked me if I was a grace or
something and offered to share the parlour with me, but I couldn’t
bear to stay; he looked like a corpse.” John growled in horror and
dragged his willing companion past the wide eyed footmen and down
the hall to the breakfast room.

“Of all the
men in England…you would catch Lyndhurst’s eye…”

“This is a
lovely house Mr Smirke. How many rooms does it have? That marble is
a delicious green. Is it Italian? That looks like a Van Dyke. May I
take off my hat and gloves?” She was propelled into a room and
stopped. “Oh…good morning Mr Smirke, Mrs Smirke…” Agnes looked up
from the breakfast table and sighed with disappointment, her
brother-in-law was still alive and he’d brought home trouble.

“Good morning
Miss Lark, we understood you’d moved to Lincolnshire.”

“I’m just
visiting, I was lonely…”

“She’s
returning post chaste in the morning.”

“Mr Smirke’s
not feeling well…he had heart failure during the sermon and then he
fell over in the cemetery. Poor Mr Smirke is so unwell he can’t
think what kind of flowers he’d want planted over his grave.”

“I did not
have heart failure. Frederick, pull out a chair for Miss Lark and
then pile a plate with enough food to silence her for at least half
an hour. James…may I speak with you in the hall? Agnes, she’s not
to leave the house without my permission.” Stunned, Agnes looked
back and forth between the unlikely couple as the girl cheerfully
sat down content with her imprisonment. The improbable rumours had
to be true. The maddening innocent Miss Lark had become the ward of
a heartless rakehell. Agnes looked at the cheerful girl and smiled
with hope. If her infernal brother-in-law married Miss Lark he
wouldn’t need to come so often to Bath for company and Miss Joan
Lark was just the sort of silly chit who’d fall for a pretty
villain. Agnes felt the day brighten as hope dawned. She might not
have to see her brother-in-law for more than a few weeks a year if
she could somehow persuade him to marry a pretty lunatic.

John firmly
closed the door behind him, “You’ve got to help me get rid of her.
Do you know anyone who’d take a penniless bride?”

“John, it’s
very kind of you to want to help Miss Lark, but her future
happiness is someone else’s responsibility. You need to speak to
her guardian; I’m sure he’ll be grateful…”

“I am her
guardian.”

“John, Miss
Lark is a beautiful young woman, but there is no reason…”

“No James, I
was drunk when the attorney called with the papers and asked if I’d
agree to take on the wardship of the Reverend Lark’s daughter. I
thought one of my friends was playing a joke. That evil bastard
Lark has ruined my life. His daughter has been living at
Bolingbroke ruining my house…”

“But Lark
thought you were the devil. He abused you from the pulpit. Maybe I
finally convinced him he was wrong about you?”

“Of course he
hated me. He’s laughing in his grave. He’s saddled me with a vexing
creature that’ll torment me for life if I don’t get rid of her. He
wanted me to suffer.”

“She’s a good
lass, if a trifle talkative. A beautiful girl has been thrown into
your arms John. You could have a wife in a few Sundays. Just think
of all the comforts that come with having a wife.”

“Do you want
me to die of apoplexy? How can you suggest I marry that maddening
wench? Do you want to visit your little brother in a madhouse?”

“Children make
any house a madhouse.” John scowled at his brother and rubbed the
wound in his chest and tried to ignore his heart’s reaction to the
thought of begetting children with the annoying young woman. Hearts
were notoriously unreliable. His head told him to fling Miss Lark
into the arms of a desperate man and run.

“It sounds to
me like she’s affected you.” James smiled and gently yanked his
younger brother’s ponytail amused by John’s glare. “She may be just
the young lady you’ve been searching for.”

“She most
certainly is not. My wife will be nothing like Miss Lark.” It was
another lie he’d have to repent of. If only she became a mute; he’d
marry her even if her name was Bertha. John’s thoughts and feelings
were sloshing around in his head like two pairs of badly died
stockings. At any minute he was going to open his brain and find
that the black pair and bright yellow pair had both turned greyish
mustard yellow.

“Well, if
you’re determined to get rid of her Peter wants to remarry. Five
years is a long time for a man to go without female comfort. He’d
probably take one look at Miss Lark and gallop off to buy a special
license. Miss Lark may find the prospect of being the Viscountess
of Adderbury alluring and Peter may be satisfied with a kind
beautiful talkative young wife. You can make the girl your sister
and only have to see her at Christmas.”

“Peter? He’s
old enough to be her father.”

“He’s only
forty-one. She can’t be any younger than eighteen.”

“Exactly,
she’s a year younger than Cecil and the same age as George. How do
you think the boys would feel if I saddled them with a young
step-mother?”

“I doubt
they’d care one wit as long as she was pleasant. Cecil has grown
into a lovely young man. He’ll be in want of a wife soon. Perhaps
you can make her our niece?” John’s heart nearly broke through the
skin at the thought of spending family gatherings watching the
tempting slender curves being caressed and adored by either brother
or nephew.

“I don’t want
her in the family. She’ll completely ruin Christmas. It’s bad
enough I’ll have to endure Mamma’s Interloper and his brats.”

“Miss Lark is
already in the family. You can’t leave her at Bolingbroke alone at
Christmas; she’s practically your child.” John winced as his heart
deflated pressing moisture from his eyes.

“She’s not my
child!” James looked at his brother’s clenched teeth and heaving
chest and correctly diagnosed his brother’s affliction.

“You can’t
leave your ward alone in that house stuffed into a valley lost in
time. I’m sure they still think they’re living in the medieval
ages. Your neighbours probably took one look at her mourning
clothes and assumed she was a witch.”

“You can’t
expect me to have her live with me in London?” John lowered his
voice, “It’s been months since I had a woman and I don’t want to
wait a day longer than necessary to bed a wife. I can’t keep her!
How am I to persuade any woman to marry me with that lark chirping
at my elbow?”

James
swallowed a smile and put an arm around John’s shoulders, “We’ll
discuss what to do with her after you’ve been fed and watered. You
know you can count on your big brothers. I’ll write to Peter. He
may know some fat squire in need of a beautiful wife…”

“Yes, that’s
a…a good idea.” John didn’t sound convinced, but he was relieved to
be reminded he had two staunch allies. Feeling somehow unburdened,
John could sit down opposite his ward without wanting to scream.
She smiled at his terse glance and continued to clean her plate
without speaking.

“James?”

“Yes
Agnes?”

“Miss Lark has
been staying at The Maiden’s Head without a female companion.”
James turned a look of horror towards his brother.

“How could you
let her stay in that vice pit?”

“Don’t blame
me; I thought she was in Lincolnshire.” John helped himself to
another slice of ham and glared at his smiling ward. “Don’t worry
I’ll get her a room at some reputable Inn for the night and send
her home tomorrow.” He watched Miss Lark’s shoulders slump as she
transformed into an image of despair.

“Can’t I stay
a few weeks to get to know you?” John glared into pleading large
eyes as he battled temptation. “A week? A day?”

“No, you’re
going back tomorrow.”

“Miss Lark
won’t be going anywhere until you can escort her home yourself. You
can’t send a woman all the way to Boston on her own. She’ll be
ravished by every knave with time to unbutton his flap. No doubt
they’ll all be your acquaintances. She’ll stay with us until you
can do your duty.” Agnes ignored John’s horrified glare as she
buttered her toast. “Whatever was her father thinking when he made
you her guardian?”

“He wanted to
torture me.”

“It’s about
time someone did. I’ll send a footman to collect her things.” When
John gave in to the desire to look across the table he found his
ward smiling again.

“Thank you Mrs
Smirke. I’d much rather stay here.” She ignored her guardian’s
unhappy expression and stretched as if she’d awaken from an
unpleasant dream. John’s eyes were unwittingly drawn to her charms
outlined in black and white. He forgot he was the girl’s guardian.
He forgot about his search for the saintly Joan. He didn’t notice
his brother smile and silently nod his wife out of the room several
minutes later leaving the two alone. John was mesmerised by
blushing cheeks, admiring eyes and the sound of his heart tapping
happily in his chest. He could almost feel his arm around her waist
as he accepted worshipful kisses. Cracking the knuckles on his left
hand, he unconsciously prepared to bring the fantasy to life when
two identical pairs of eyes appeared just above the tabletop on
either side of his quarry.

“Papa says
you’re going to marry your ward…”

“…and have
lots of babies.”

“He says you
won’t be able to spare us a shilling.”

“There’s no
reason to be good no more.”

“We’ll never
get pudding again.”

“Not until we
grow up and go dancing.”

“I don’t want
to dance, I just want pudding.”

John’s lusty
thoughts popped like soap bubbles, his cheeks singed by the fires
of hell. What was he thinking? He couldn’t bed the wench. Two hours
in her company had already turned his brain to mush. “You two
hellions are going to have black teeth by the time you’re seven. No
one’s going to want to marry you. You’ll die old maids.”

“It won’t
matter if we have black teeth. Mamma says we’ll have
twenty-thousand each.”

“And if she
dies I’ll have forty-thousand.”

“Mamma says
you’ll die an old bachelor.”

“And we won’t
come to visit.”

“Because you
won’t share your lemon drops.”

“Get back to
that netherworld you call a nursery and stay there.”

“You don’t
want to marry Uncle John. Mamma says he’s a yellow bane.”

“Out!” John’s
satanic roar earned him a display of impudent pink tongues
harbouring his last two lemon drops stolen out of his pocket. The
identical heads disappeared back under the table allowing him to
focus on the fact that Miss Lark was about to explode with
laughter. He bit back the curses on the tip of his tongue and
clenched his teeth and loudly sucked in air through his nostrils.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed the entertainment Miss Lark, because you’re
returning home tomorrow where you can be amused at my expense for
the rest of your life.” The light in her eyes faded imprinting
John’s brain with a visual example of his heartless cruelty as he
stalked back to his room and locked himself away for the rest of
the day.

Eleven
thirty-seven the next morning Miss Lark was dressed for travel and
memorising the details of the handsome green and gold reception
room in between watching the large gold bracket clock gracefully
acknowledge each minute with agonising precision. She chewed
another fingernail as she waited for her guardian to appear and
order her out into the street. She was relieved when the door
opened and Agnes Smirke appeared with her work box. At last someone
to talk to. “How are your little girls?” Agnes took out her
embroidery and set it on her lap. Locating a tiny gold spoon, she
cleaned out her ears. Coating her thread with earwax she slipped it
into the needle and picked up her work.

“They’ve taken
it rather hard. Sensitive people always take death hard. They
insisted on viewing the body and donating two coins for his eyes.
It was rather sentimental, like one of those paintings they sell at
the seaside.”

“Do you know
if they’ve told Mr Smirke? How will he take it?”

“He’ll shrug
his shoulders and send an advertisement to the papers within the
hour. John’s incapable of caring about other people. I’m surprised
he hasn’t ravaged you yet. Perhaps he works down a list of
victims.”

“He said he
wouldn’t beat me.”

“No doubt to
save his strength for a more pleasurable form of torture. James
believes our brother will cough up some sort of declaration for
you, but my husband can think no ill of his loved ones. When we
hear you’ve been shuffled off to a convent with an increasing
waistline I’ll know he had his evil way whether you consented or
no.”

“Is he really
so bad?”

“My dear, his
soul is as black as his eyes. In his own words, after his last duel
he died and found himself in hell. He’s mad of course, but he says
he was sent back to his body so he could repent and change his evil
ways.” Agnes snorted in disbelief. “Have you ever heard anything as
ridiculous as God giving that bane a second chance at ruining
heaven for the rest of us? My dear, he knows he’s wicked.”

“Maybe he’ll
change?”

“The sun will
set in the morning before John becomes a saint.”

“If Mr Smirke
is so bad why did my father leave me in his care?”

“Clearly your
father had a singular hope that you’d torment our brother.”

“But I don’t
want to torment anyone. I try to be friendly and helpful, but I get
told to go away. I share what I’m thinking or feeling and people
become irritated or upset with me. What’s wrong with me? Why don’t
people like me?”

Agnes looked
up from a half embroidered grape vine. “You’re an indomitable truth
fairy flitting about cheerfully forcing the world to see its flaws.
Very few people want to know the truth my dear, it’s
uncomfortable.”