How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) Page 13

  Struggling now with the wet knot in her bonnet ribbons, Diana replied, “Mama, Captain Sherringham offered his horse and escorted me home. It is nothing to fuss about.”

  “Nothing to fuss about?” Her mother advanced, eyes wide and dark with fury. “A lady’s reputation can only be lost once, Diana! The entire village will have seen you on that man’s horse in such a state of dishabille. How could you?”

  When her mother reached to help her with the knotted ribbons, Diana murmured weakly, breathlessly, “Mama, I can manage.”

  “I want better for you, Diana. Better than I had. Can you not see what he is?”

  “It was only a ride on a horse. Hardly an elopement.”

  “Do not use that tone with me!”

  “Mama, I think you’ve let your imagination run away with you for a change. Not me.”

  Her mother drew back, her face white. “You know very well how rumors can spread in this village. I have not worked my fingers to the bone and earned all these gray hairs raising you so that you can throw everything away on a rake who will—”

  “I know all this. Don’t you think I know? You instilled it in me from the day I was born.”

  “Yes, and he wasn’t there then, was he? Oh no, didn’t want to be troubled with a baby. Left me alone to manage. Couldn’t even turn up at the church…on time. Left us to the shame.”

  Diana could see the veins popping in her mother’s hands as they smoothed over her gown. And then it all began to blur, colors melting into one another.

  She tried to set her bonnet on the hook and missed. The edges of her vision fizzed and bubbled. Falling backward, she hit her shoulder on the spinning wall. She turned her eyes up to the ceiling, and a damp patch in the plaster between the old, low beams was the last thing she saw before it all went dark.

  * * *

  When she opened her eyes, she was in bed and Dr. Penny’s kind face leaned over her as he listened to her heartbeat.

  Her limbs felt very soft, and she was grateful that she didn’t need to do anything but lie still. She hurriedly sent her thoughts back in time to see if she had done anything humiliating. If one had to faint, she supposed doing so in one’s own front hall and out of public sight was the best way.

  Beside the bed, her mother waited to hear the verdict, her face tight and angry. As if this was something else Diana had done to disappoint or shame her.

  Shame. Yes, she remembered that word being yelled at her in the hall. “I’m sorry, Mama,” Diana whispered. “I don’t know what happened.” Nathaniel’s kiss had happened, she thought grimly, and just as he’d predicted in his sarcastic way, it had indeed caused her to swoon.

  Her mother’s mouth opened in surprise and she unclasped her hands, letting them hang at her sides. “For goodness’ sake, Diana, it is not your fault.”

  It wasn’t? Then it was the first time the blame was not hers, she thought bleakly. For twenty-seven years it had all been her fault—from her mother’s thickening waist to her worn nails and the threads of silver multiplying in her hair. Diana knew that if she had not been born, her mother might have remarried, would certainly have had more time for herself, would not have had her merry youth curtailed so soon.

  “You looked angry at me, Mama.”

  “For pity’s sake, I am not angry at you.”

  Dr. Penny patted Diana’s fingers where they lay above the coverlet and smiled. “You had a dizzy turn, m’dear. Frightened your mama, but you just need some solid rest and a warm bed. Soon you will be right as rain. This cold has brought you low.”

  She saw her mother’s shoulders sag slightly in relief. “Diana has not had much appetite lately, Doctor. She will not eat.” Then she shook her head crossly and added, “So stubborn!”

  The doctor smiled again and with his soothing, serene tone said, “Then you must find things that do entice her to eat. All young people can be tempted by something. Let her have whatever she desires.”

  When he called her “young,” Diana felt a tear in her eye but blinked it back.

  “This cold has worsened her condition, but I believe the underlying problem could very well be a lack of iron in her blood. Anemia. From what you tell me of her irregularities, Mrs. Makepiece, your daughter could benefit from my special tonic. Jussy can bring it ’round later when she visits the patient. In the meantime, keep Diana warm, rested, and comfortable. Nothing to cause anxiety or upset.”

  “She reads an awful lot of novels, Doctor. And they do excite her passions, I fear. In my day novels were never encouraged reading material for young ladies.”

  “Oh dear, yes.” The doctor looked down at Diana and she thought she almost caught a wink, but perhaps he simply had dust in his eye. “These modern girls get up to some terrible habits, but if they did not have those books on which to spend some of their time and unleash their horrifying curiosity, goodness only knows what they would get up to, eh?”

  Mrs. Makepiece persisted. “You do not think her reading material might be to blame?”

  “Perusing the newspaper these days, my dear lady, is likely to cause a person far more discomfort than reading a work of fiction.”

  As they moved toward the door, she heard her mother say, “I had thought to send her to Bath, Doctor. To stay with my cousin. She might take benefit there from the waters. And I hear it is not such a crowded place these days.”

  “Bath?” Dr. Penny paused and glanced back at Diana. “Yes, I think once she is feeling stronger and the remnants of this cold are fought off, a visit to Bath might do her a great deal of good. My son-in-law plans a trip there very soon, I understand. He can travel with her and save the trouble on your nerves, madam.”

  “To let her go without me?”

  Dr. Penny was already removing his white wig as he reached the door. He only wore it on official business and complained it made him itch. “I think, madam, the change will do you both some good, and she will have your cousin to watch over her in Bath.”

  Diana lay in the quiet room and closed her eyes. She thought of what Nathaniel had said, of how he’d climbed the tree outside her window to deliver a note. What a thing to do, and yet quite like him, of course. What was not as believable was the idea that he might put pen to paper for her.

  When her mother came back to the room, Diana asked if she might have the window open for some fresh air. Seeing her mother ready to disapprove, she added coyly, “Dr. Penny said I should have anything I wanted, Mama.”

  “That was food, Diana.”

  “Yes, but he also said I am not to be upset.”

  Her mother stared, her lips puckered.

  “If you open the window a little for me, Mama, I will eat a good supper. There, is that not fair? Fresh air will help my appetite.” Oh, what had gotten into her? Nathaniel’s forbidden kiss, of course. He was a terrible influence.

  Finally her mother agreed and opened the window slightly. The air was warm, the rain gone for now. Light birdsong swept in, along with the distant sound of a dog barking and the rustling of budding tree branches. She could smell the blooming honeysuckle that grew on the trellis arbor in the back garden.

  Diana smiled. It was pleasant to have her mother concerned about her health. Genuinely concerned, not just enough to shout at her for not eating her potatoes or not sitting with a straight spine.

  Doctor Penny claimed she’d frightened her mother when she fainted. Diana had never seen her mother frightened by anything. Appalled or disgusted by something, but never afraid.

  Her mother opened the bottom dresser drawer and took out a quilt that hadn’t seen the light of day for years. Diana remembered it from her childhood. On rainy evenings long past, her mother would get that quilt out and wrap them both snugly in it while they read The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes by the glow of candles and firelight.

  But once Diana was old enough to try her mother’s patience,
the quilt was folded and tucked away, keeping it safe from damage and sunlight. Possibly from the effects of moral decline too.

  Today, however, it was laid reverently over her bed for an extra layer of warmth.

  “Mama, you said something earlier about my father not making it to the church on time. What did you mean? He was late for the wedding when you married? But he did get there eventually, at least.”

  Her mother turned, bent, and made much of closing the stiff drawer. “He was never on time for anything.”

  Over the years Diana had saved little nuggets of information about her father as they came her way, but those scraps were few and far between. She didn’t like to ask questions, because they made her mother cross and short-tempered. Today she decided to take a chance while she had the advantage of being sick in bed.

  “Papa was an officer, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. I told you that. He was also a scapegrace and I should have known better.”

  Her mother had once shown her a silhouette she’d made herself and placed in a small oval frame. She’d kept that picture of the “scapegrace” all these years. “And he was killed in battle, was he not?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he left you no widow’s pension.”

  Her mother finally heaved the stuck drawer shut and then straightened. “There was something amiss with the papers.” She gave a small, disdainful huff. “He was never careful with such things.”

  “You had no recourse? Surely a solicitor—”

  “Would cost me more coin than I could have collected, as I have told you many times.”

  But Diana did not think she’d raised the matter more than twice in the past. She wouldn’t have dared. “You must have worried when he was late for the wedding.”

  To that her mother made no reply. She had found a mark on the dresser mirror and was rubbing at it furiously with her sleeve.

  “Where did you marry?” Diana persisted. “In Oxford, I think you told me.”

  “Oh, I don’t remember the exact place. Some little church.”

  “Do you have the license?”

  “What on earth—”

  “I would like to see his handwriting. Just to know what it was like, Mama. I have so little that was his.”

  Her mother frowned, her brows drawn together. “I will look for it. Now do get some rest, Diana. Try to sleep. I’ll bring you some soup when it’s ready.”

  Then her mother swept out, leaving the door ajar in case Diana needed anything. Having her mother tend to her was like being sick as a child, Diana thought wistfully. Oh, if only people didn’t have to get old, grow up, and face responsibilities.

  Some never did, of course. Like Nathaniel.

  Her mother was right again. He dressed up nicely and put on a good act, but he was the same underneath, the same bad little boy trying to get away with improper behavior, trying to lead her astray for his own amusement.

  Turning her head on the pillow, she looked at the curtains as they billowed gently in the warm spring breeze.

  Couldn’t even turn up at the church…on time. Left us to the shame.

  The pause was significant because Diana’s mother never stumbled over words, never made a mistake with her tongue.

  * * *

  Nathaniel arrived for dinner with the Bridges that evening and immediately saw that Sarah Wainwright was not the only soul trying to make a match between himself and Lucy. He had treated it lightly before, but with his sister’s lecture still fresh in his mind, he realized how his friendly nature—his desire to help a lady in distress—might have been misunderstood.

  He was placed at the table beside the chattering young lady, and she and her mother paid him great attention throughout the meal, to the exclusion of anything or anyone else. Not that the other diners cared. Mr. Bridges sat at his end of the table and seemed distracted, contributing little to the conversation.

  “How glad we were to see you back again, Captain,” said Mrs. Bridges with a hopeful gleam in her eye. “We had quite begun to despair of your ever returning to our little village.”

  “I daresay you have been to many more exciting places,” Lucy added.

  “A few,” he replied. “But I must say, Hawcombe Prior continues to be my favorite. No matter where I go, I think of this village with deep fondness. In some way, the air here has got into my blood and makes me think of it as home.”

  Lucy and her mama exchanged broad smiles. “Well, we are gratified that you think of us so highly,” the elder lady said.

  It was painfully obvious that he needed to say something to deflate their expectations before the situation worsened. “I wish I could stay longer. Alas, business takes me away again very soon.”

  “But you just got here,” sputtered Lucy.

  “I am merely passing through, Miss Bridges. Perhaps I will return in the future, but I cannot say when.” He shrugged and smiled. “That is why I always warn people never to wait for me. I am the most unreliable of men when it comes to planning. I can suddenly get a thought in my head and be off in a moment.”

  Mr. Bridges finally paid heed to the conversation. “It is good you are a bachelor then, Captain.” He glowered down the table. “A man with a wife and children cannot come and go as he pleases. He has to settle and take measure of his responsibilities.”

  “Indeed, sir.” Miss Diana Makepiece had assured him of his failings yet again that day. In case he might have forgotten what she thought of him. How quickly she had retreated into her mother’s house and shut the door, as if she could not get away from him quickly enough.

  “But we heard you had come to find a bride, Captain,” muttered Lucy.

  He laughed gently. “That was just a jest, Miss Bridges. I fear young Sarah Wainwright took me seriously. She does not know me as well as the rest of you. Surely you know that the things I say should be tasted with a pinch of salt.”

  After that, both females at the table showed their annoyance and disappointment by banging tureens and lids about. He thought again of what his sister had said about his flirting and the trouble it could cause. But he didn’t always know when he was doing it, or what might be construed as “flirting.”

  Was his annoying little sister right after all?

  After dinner he retired with Mr. Bridges to the tavern storeroom, which apparently also served as the fellow’s sanctuary—a place where he consulted his ledgers, calculated his accounts, and mostly just escaped his wife and children.

  “So, Captain, this business you wished to discuss with me had naught to do with my daughter after all.” Mr. Bridges pulled up two chairs around a barrel and bade his guest to sit. “You’ve caused quite a stir in this house, I’ll have you know.”

  “Yes, so I see. I’m sorry. It was not my intention.”

  “Aye. Fellows like you always say that.” Mr. Bridges poured some port for them both. “But I know my girl gets airy ideas in that head of hers that bear little resemblance to reality, so I’m sure it ain’t all your fault.”

  Nathaniel took the glass he was offered. “The Book Club Belles do tend to get romantic notions after they read those novels.” He hesitated. “I must put a word in for Samuel Hardacre, however.”

  “Yon carpenter?”

  “He’s a solid young man, hardworking, ambitious, reliable, and honest. And I believe he has a keen eye on Lucy. Although he hesitates to say it.”

  But the tavern keeper puffed his chest, stretched his legs out, and crossed his ankles. “Well, my girl will have bigger fish on her hook now. Soon enough she and her mother will have something else to put a spring in their curls.” As he exhaled a gusty sigh of contentment, his ruddy face cracked in a broad smile. “We’re about to be rich, Captain.”

  “Indeed?”

  “That crotchety old baggage, my wife’s mother, went and left us a nice bit o’ property in Hampsh
ire and some coin too. I ain’t said a word yet, but I just signed the papers and we shall be off to Basingstoke by summer’s end. Can you imagine the surprise on the lasses’ faces when I tell ’em?”

  “Then you’ll be leaving the village?”

  “Once I find someone to buy this old place.”

  It couldn’t have worked out better for Nathaniel. This was exactly the business that had brought him to Hawcombe Prior.

  * * *

  Rebecca, Justina, and Sarah came to return her coat that evening, all three very anxious to see their friend. They were distraught about leaving her behind in the rain, but the race to get a sick child home had momentarily panicked the group.

  “My brother insisted he would find you,” said Rebecca. “Poor Diana! To be caught in the downpour.”

  She assured them they were forgiven for leaving her behind. “After all, I wandered away from the party. It was not your responsibility to look after me.”

  Her friends exchanged strange, secretive glances.

  “Sherry did find you, did he not?” Jussy asked with an airy sort of unconcern that was almost believable.

  “Yes. Not that it was necessary. I was capable of finding my own way home.”

  Again the odd looks. Evidently the news of her riding his horse down the High Street had traveled with the speed of fire through dry kindling.

  Diana sighed and blew her nose loudly. They had better not get any ideas about her and the reckless captain, just because he was wearing a new suit of clothes and they thought she was an unhappy, unfortunate spinster with no other prospects.

  But their company soon lightened her spirits, and even when Sarah let it slip that Captain Sherringham was dining with the Bridges and the other two women glared at her, Diana carefully showed no reaction beyond a polite smile.

  She had other things to think about and look forward to. Fortunately.

  “I am being sent to Bath,” she told her friends solemnly as they sat around the bed. “Mama has written to our cousin Elizabeth.” It made Diana feel special that she was being “sent” anywhere, for she’d rarely been farther than Manderson. It was too expensive to travel far, and her mother would never condone the wastefulness. Until now. She was eager to get her daughter away from Captain Sherringham, of course.