Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero (9 page)

Weak morning
sunlight slipped over polished oak floorboards and kissed John’s
slack smile ending pleasurable dreams. After a gentle stretch and
yawn he sat up and looked at the clock. It was only nine-thirty,
but thoughts of Miss Lark falling in love with the idea of being a
Viscountess pulled him from the warm cocoon and inspired him to
ring for help. James’s valet reluctantly assisted John’s ablutions
and made sure the grumpy invalid was presentable in a bottle green
jacket and cream trousers. Adventuring down to the breakfast room;
finding Agnes half way through her meal didn’t improve John’s mood.
He directed the footman to fill his plate and ignored the beautiful
woman giving him the evil eye. When she was silent she reminded him
of an ice maiden, but when she spoke…“Your Miss Lark has made quite
an impact on the family.” She was a silver tongued harpy. “Peter
seems rather taken with her. Personally, I hope she falls in love
with you. She’ll drive you mad.”

“No doubt
you’d enjoy seeing me chained in Bedlam.”

“Yes, I’d come
tickle you with a feather and entertain my friends with stories of
your past.”

“I could be
unkind and tell you what an ice-harpy you are, but I shall ask you
if James and Peter are at home instead.”

“They’re out
riding with the boys. If you’re in need of company your ward is
having a lark down in the kitchen.”

“What the
blazes is she doing in the kitchen?”

“Making
biscuits, she said you’d pay for any used ingredients.”

“Oh did
she?”

John stepped
into the kitchen and inhaled sweet warm air. Through the haze of
scattering servants, his heart purred with pleasure as a smiling
temptation liberally powdered with flour and sugar turned to greet
him. “Just the Smirke I wanted…come tell me what you think.” She
waved him over with one hand as she tasted her latest batch of
sweet biscuits. “Did you have pleasant dreams?”

John hoped it
was the kitchen heat making his cheeks hot. “Yes.” He took a
cautious bite and slowly rolled the biscuit over his tongue. “You
made these?” John held his breath as flour outlined cornflowers
leaned closer.

“I dreamt
about you last night Mr Smirke.”

John filled
his mouth with another biscuit and brushed the flower off her
forehead. “Did you?”

“Yes, I dreamt
that we were eating peaches in the garden at Bolingbroke, on the
bench near the beehives, and you were saying the funniest thing
when a marble bust of Wellington fell out of the sky and nearly
squashed us, but you picked me up and carried me to safety. I don’t
know why Wellington would want to flatten us, maybe it’s because
Agnes said he doesn’t like you.”

“You’ve got
flour up your nose.”

She rubbed her
nose on her floured sleeve. “Is that better?”

“Almost, where
did you learn how to cook?”

“School…Mrs
Bridewell, the head mistress, sent me to the kitchen every time she
was upset with me. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but Cook
was very kind. He was a French Lord who escaped the guillotine. He
used to tell me Mrs Bridewell was a vache who was jealous of my
beauté. He offered Father three hundred pounds to marry me you
know. He was very kind, but he had a big nose. Thankfully Father
refused him. I think it would have been more exciting to have my
head cut off in front of a roaring blood thirsty crowd than cook
for fifty people until I dropped dead.”

“You’d have
missed your pretty head.”

“I’d have
missed having all these adventures. It was so exciting to see a
play with real actors. I couldn’t hear the first Act because these
horrid men kept throwing oranges at the players and screaming at
other boxes, but Agnes asked James to go speak with them. Your
brother must be very influential…”

“He probably
threatened to unleash Agnes.”

“Whatever he
said, they stopped immediately. Agnes reprimanded me for suggesting
we throw oranges at their box. She said it would be rude, even if
you were one of the party. Agnes doesn’t like you…is that a new
coat? You’re looking very beautiful today. You must have slept
well, what did you dream about?”

“Do not under
any circumstance tell me I’m beautiful.”

“But you
are…”

“I know, but
it’s highly improper. Do as you’re told and…”

“I won’t tell
you you’re beautiful if it makes you upset, but…”

“And never
ever ask a man what he’s dreamt.”

“Even if he’s
my husband?”

“I’m not your
husband.”

“You’re
practically a husband. The only thing you don’t do is…”

“I know
exactly what I don’t do Miss Lark, now go change into something
sober before I lose my temper.” John congratulated himself on
retaining a languid posture as he leaned against the kitchen table.
His muscles were taut with the horrible desire to put his arm
around her waist and kiss the pink lips twisted in agony.

“Please don’t
send me away Mr Smirke.” Flour covered hands took hold of his
collar. “I’ll be good. I won’t tell you I think you’re beautiful or
that you’re almost a husband.”

“Be in the
hall dressed for long exposure to the cold in half an hour. I don’t
like waiting and I don’t like hysterics.”

“How am I
supposed to pack and change in half an hour?”

“Go change!”
John waited till she’d rushed from the room in tears before
addressing the kitchen, “Put Miss Lark’s biscuits on a tray and put
them in my room and let me know how much I owe my brother for the
ingredients.”

“All of them
Sir? Miss Lark made at least…”

“Get on with
it. My brother doesn’t pay you to dither.” John kindly didn’t
scream at the servants to move quicker and returned to his room to
change. He needed a long freezing walk to cool frustrated passions,
but he couldn’t leave the impressionable Joan behind. His brother
might try to carry the silly chit off to Gretna Green. The last
thing he wanted to do was challenge his brother to a duel. John
could see potential temptations that might arise from keeping the
girl on a short leash, but they weren’t as uncomfortable as the
thought of leaving her behind unguarded.

He found her
waiting in the hall wearing serviceable black from her bonnet to
her boots. John felt a twinge of remorse as she tried to hide her
sniffles. “Take my arm Miss Lark. You don’t want to slip on the
ice; if you fall over I’ll have to drag you home by your heels. Are
you going to open the door Frederick or stand there twiddling your
cravat?”

“Where’s the
carriage?” The two carefully made their way down the icy stone
steps.

“I didn’t say
you were travelling today.”

“But I thought
you said…”

“Perhaps you
shouldn’t think my dear.” John could see her frowning out of the
corner of his eyes. After a hundred yards of silence, John started
to relax until he realise his ward was glaring at him. “What?”

“You could
have told me we were going for a walk. I hate this dress. I look
like last year’s scarecrow. I hope people look at us and think
you’re a shabby husband too cheap to buy your wife a decent walking
dress. That will serve you for making me think you were taking me
home.”

“I’m not your
husband.”

“That man over
there doesn’t know it.”

“Lord Orlando
doesn’t know his expensive Mistress pleasures half of England for
free. A man who calls every woman Beth because he’s too stupid to
remember their real name is unlikely to notice your hideous dress.”
They walked on in silence for twenty minutes. He was completely
unprepared for her next question.

“What sort of
pleasure does a Mistress give?”

“That is not
an appropriate question for a young lady. Forget I mentioned the
subject.”

“Does she do
things like the naked ladies in your paintings at Bolingbroke?”

“Do you
intentionally ignore what I ask you to do? I told you it’s not an
appropriate subject end of discussion.” They walked on for another
ten minutes allowing John time to think he’d finally been
obeyed.

“Do you have
one?”

“One
what?”

“Do you have a
Mistress?”

“No, and
you’ll never ask me that question again.”

“Even if you
became my husband?”

“I’m never
going to be your husband so there’s never going to be a need to
wonder where I take my pleasure. I will not discuss the subject and
that’s final.”

“Your
housekeeper says you blackmail virgins into your bed. If you were
my husband I wouldn’t share you with anyone, I’d claw out your
eyes…”

“Enough! I
don’t want to hear you say the word husband for at least another
year. Do I make myself clear?”

“As clear as a
consort Mr Smirke.”

John stopped
abruptly and pulled his ward around and forced her to look into
angry black eyes. “I won’t endure contempt from a snivelling
dependent. What are you crying for?”

“I wouldn’t be
crying if you didn’t make me feel like a repulsive old maid.”

“What the
blazes are you talking about? I never said you were repulsive…”

“You say the
word husband as if it’s some sort of vile purgatory when connected
with me and yesterday you said you wouldn’t marry me if I was the
last English speaking woman in the world in front of your family. I
was so angry I nearly stomped on your foot. Horrid man, you’d make
an awful husband anyway…sniff…I don’t want to be your wife any
more.” The black brim lowered hiding her tears leaving John to roll
his eyes and silently beg God for patience. “Sniff. I don’t care if
you’re the man of my dreams, I’m going to marry an ugly stinking
Inn keeper and serve watered down beer and tell all our patrons
that my old guardian, Mr John Smirke of Bolingbroke, thought I
looked like a pig and they’ll all think you mad. Sniff.”

John forcibly
tipped back her bonnet and glared into wet eyes. “If you’re trying
to make me lose my temper Miss Lark, you are succeeding. I haven’t
been this angry since I was killed.”

“That’s all
you think about. You! You! You! Send me back to Bolingbroke, send
me anywhere. Sniff. I don’t care. Sniff. You’ll never love me
because you’re heartless. I’ll die pining for you stinking of beer
and unwashed linen.”

“I’m in no
mood for a tantrum. Pull yourself together!” Several curious men
walked by sniggering in amusement. John clenched his teeth, “Stop
acting like some ill-treated baggage and dry your eyes.” His heart
kicked him in the ribs as the black bonnet tipped back revealing
large cornflowers shimmering with tears. “You’re not supposed to
fall in love with me. Society considers me your substitute…parent.”
John’s voice cracked as he spoke the hateful word.

“Who cares
what the world thinks? Who is the world anyway? When I look at you
I feel like I’m in a magical painting. I wish you’d take me in your
arms like the hero in that play and kiss me.”

Longing set
him on fire making it difficult to resist the temptation to put his
arm around her waist and duly kiss her. “Merciful heavens…”

“Am I so
awful?” John forcefully looked at the sky and tried to control his
emotions. “Why can’t you let yourself love me a little? I know you
want to. I’d be a good wife. I’d never do anything to make you
ashamed of me…not on purpose…and I could make you biscuits…”

“The street is
not the place to discuss delicate matters.”

“You mean you
don’t want to discuss it. You want to bury me in Lincolnshire while
you find an heiress allergic to the truth. Well, if your brother
asks me, I’ll marry him just to spite you. I’ll be a Viscountess
and your wife will have to curtsey to me. That’ll teach you for
snubbing my kind loving heart.”

John’s heart
dashed against his ribs like a soft boiled egg. Self control
evaporated as he stamped his foot and waved his arms in painful
rage. “You’ll never marry into my family; not my brother, not my
nephew, not my cousin’s cousin. You’ll go back to Bolingbroke and
stay there ‘til I find an Inn keeper too stupid to realise that
you’re a maddening thankless chit!” Her quivering lower lip was
accentuated by a long indrawn shuddered gasp. John’s heart was
whipped into egg custard as she burst into tears. “Oh no…don’t cry
Miss Lark…please don’t sob like that…it makes me feel awful.”

“You heartless
villain; I wouldn’t marry you if you lost an arm and an eye and
told me you were Horatio Nelson.” She twisted to evade his grasp,
but John took possession of her wrist and turned back towards his
brother’s house as the cold wind stung his heart, making his eyes
water.

Lord Mulgrave
watched in dumbfounded amusement from the other side of the street
as his enemy loudly lost all sense of decorum. The news was
everywhere; Smirke had been saddled with the obnoxious Reverend
Lark’s even more obnoxious daughter. She had to be the severest
antidote to marriage ever born if the desperate John Smirke refused
to wed her. Mulgrave smiled as a cunning plan rolled out in his
head like the perfect summer lawn. If he couldn’t kill the smirking
swine, he’d ensure the pretty man suffered a life long dose of
hell. He rubbed his hands with glee. John Smirke was going to weep
like a baby.

John pulled
his ward all the way home, up the stairs past curious servants and
into her bedchamber. He pushed the crying woman inside and followed
closing the door with a firm click. Taking off his hat, he tapped
it against his leg as he stared at the back of an ugly black bonnet
and narrow slumped shoulders. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings…” Her
reply was a shuddered breath as she wiped her tears on a sleeve.
“…you made me lose my temper.” He waited several seconds, but there
was no sign of forgiveness as his custard heart started to curdle
from neglect. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you in the street…” John
scowled as she mumbled in agreement. “I am your guardian not some
pathetic unwanted lover Miss Lark. Turn around and abuse me to my
face if you wish to sneer at my apology.”