Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Page 14

  Becky dismissed that with a sniff. She didn’t need it pointed out to her that the man had a habit of using his eyes as if they were fingers to unfasten hooks and buttons. He must have looked at many other women the same way. “Hmm. I wonder if Mr. Porter has any nice, thick, serviceable shawls. Big ones.”

  She saw her friend’s frown reflected in the window. “And Sarah says that when you met him, you didn’t know his name?”

  “Let’s just say we were not formally introduced.”

  “Becky, you are being very mysterious, which isn’t like you at all.”

  She groaned, her breath misting the window pane. “We met briefly in Brighton and then again two nights ago. I…I kissed him because he tricked me into it. Unfortunately, Mrs. Kenton saw us. He decided I’d do for a wife, since he needed one to claim his inheritance, and Mrs. Kenton’s wretched spying gave him the excuse he needed to try and force me into it. That is all. The entire tangled mess in a nutshell.”

  Since she’d lain awake again for the second night in a row, troubled by thoughts of that unworthy fellow, Becky’s eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, staring through the glass without seeing a single item on the other side of it.

  She added hastily, “Really, Jussy, you could not seriously have imagined the colonel and me together? It would be a most unsuitable match. Quite impossible.” She yawned, belatedly covering her mouth with one hand. “Not to be rude, since he is your brother-in-law, but he is dreadfully old and almost as boring as Mr. Kenton. Not to mention just as full of himself, terribly ill-mannered, and with a curiously eccentric sense of humor. I think he might be injured in the brain, as I saw him stand a full five minutes staring into his empty cup last night, and he couldn’t remember anyone’s name after they were introduced. Poor thing. He probably ought to be heavily sedated and wheeled about in a Bath chair for his own safety.”

  “I am always confused when a sentence is begun by someone asking me not to feel offended when the words that follow will almost certainly cause that very effect.”

  “I’m sorry, Jussy,” Becky replied briskly, “but I see no reason to sweeten the medicine with sugar water. It only dilutes the strength of the tonic and postpones the cure.”

  “Well, I admit I was a little surprised that you had kept the engagement from me, and I always thought that Charles Clarendon had a better chance of meeting your requirements, but I wanted to believe it when Luke told us that you’d accepted his proposal.” Jussy sighed heavily. “How perfect it would be for us to become sisters-in-law!”

  Becky chuckled. “I’m sorry, Jussy. As dearly as I love you, I can’t marry a man like that.”

  “But he vows to be a changed man. I suppose the proof of that will be in the pudding, as Mrs. Kenton says.”

  At mention of that woman’s name, Becky groaned, pushing open the shop door and waving her friend on ahead. “She does have plenty to say on the subject of the colonel, to be sure.”

  “None of it her business. Oh, I do hope he settles down at last, even if it is not with you. It would please my Wainwright to see his brother married.”

  “But if the colonel marries, he can lay claim to everything that now belongs to your husband and your future children!” On her friend’s behalf, Becky was appalled by this terrible injustice.

  Justina, however, barely acknowledged the fact that the colonel’s return was inconvenient. She had taken him under her wing as another of her missions. “It really doesn’t matter to us. My Wainwright is capable of earning his own money and we shall be happy wherever we go. We could live in Dockley’s barn and be content. When you fall in love, you will understand.”

  That sounded altogether too rosy for Becky. When people made statements along the lines of “All we need is each other,” it usually meant they weren’t practical thinkers or had never known hard times. “If you ask me,” she muttered, sullen, “it’s very thoughtless of Lucky Luke to come back. He should have stayed away another dozen years and left you both alone.”

  “You seem to have taken against my poor brother-in-law rather virulently, Rebecca Sherringham! Was his kiss so very bad?”

  Becky turned away quickly. “Oh, look, what do you think of this patterned muslin? Goodness, it’s expensive.”

  “Don’t change the subject!”

  Becky shook her head. “If the prodigal brother’s return doesn’t matter to you and your blessed Wainwright, then I suppose it can’t matter to me either…but don’t think you’re going to matchmake for the colonel and me. At his age, he would do better to court Diana’s mother if he truly needs a wife and isn’t very particular.”

  Although Becky hadn’t meant it seriously, rather than laugh, her friend immediately pounced upon the idea. “Now, there is a very good thought indeed. Mrs. Makepiece was unusually civil to him last night.” Justina inspected a card of lace. “And we must not forget that Diana’s mother has scandal in her past too. She once went against her family’s wishes to elope with a young man of whom they did not approve. Therefore she has a little streak of rebellion beneath her starched petticoats. Somewhere.”

  “Surely, at her age, all that is long gone.”

  “She is only forty. Too wise and stern to tolerate a young man, perhaps, but certainly not old enough to resign herself to a lonely bed. When Diana is married, what will she have left to do with herself then? The colonel would give her companionship in old age.”

  Becky swiped the lace out of her friend’s hand to examine it herself. “It is good of you to be so concerned for that prim fusspot’s future happiness.”

  “It would not all be for her benefit, of course.” Justina admitted with a grin. “Although you would never say it out loud, I know you feel as I do, that Diana should not be allowed to throw herself away on the awful Shaw.”

  “William Shaw is a very steady, responsible, reliable man and a prudent choice for—”

  “Diana is in love with your brother, despite her mama’s attempts to prevent it, and when Nathaniel returns, we cannot let her be married to another. It would be a tragedy of immense proportions. Therefore, her dear mama ought to be given some other occupation to take her mind off this course upon which she is set.”

  Becky marched purposefully around the table of trimmings, restlessly picking up and discarding various items as she went. Justina followed closely, still speculating out loud.

  “Why not the colonel? He is almost her age—only three years younger—and he too has a daughter. They have much in common, unlikely as it might seem at first glance. Really it is very clever of you to suggest it.”

  It is true, Becky thought morosely; he was almost forty. Forty. And father to a girl only six years younger than herself. Becky’s mind circled those facts until she felt dizzy, bewildered, and annoyed. At least those were the feelings she could name.

  Justina continued, “I heard Mrs. Makepiece say she thought his looks darkly appealing. And she even laughed at something he said.”

  Becky almost pulled a ribbon entirely off its reel, causing Mr. Porter to glare at her from the other side of the shop. She moved along the counter to scowl at some buttons. “I very much doubt he’ll do for Mrs. Makepiece. He barely kept his masquerade up for a few hours last night. Once that slips, she’ll see he’s much too uncivilized to suit her.” She could not picture Diana’s mother letting him kiss her the way he had kissed Becky. Did not want to picture it.

  Why was the idea so horrid? She struggled over the question but could find no answer.

  “My mind is made up on the matter,” said her friend. “I shall have the colonel married and settled before my sister’s wedding in the spring! You’ll see, Madam Doubtful!”

  Becky knew from past experience that trying to talk Justina out of anything would only make her more determined. Let the mission fail of its own accord, as it surely would.

  Eventually, to her relief, Justina moved on to other matte
rs. “Since you’ve lost Mrs. Jarvis again, you and the major should come to Christmas dinner at the manor this year. I’ve invited my parents to dine with us too. Monsieur Philippe is cooking an enormous goose and we’ll have plum pudding with brandy butter!”

  How could she refuse such a gracious invitation? Since Darius Wainwright’s fancy London chef had arrived at Midwitch Manor, dinner there was very much the prized invitation to be had. Her father would sulk if she turned it down.

  “If you can tolerate the dreary company of Colonel Wainwright,” Justina added, turning to assess her reflection in a mirror while holding scarlet plumes to her bonnet. “He will be there too, of course.”

  Well, that was unfortunate, but why should Lucky Luke Wainwright’s menacing intentions keep her from enjoying the festivities of the season and her good friend’s company?

  “I would have invited Diana and her mama too,” Justina added, “but they have those dreadful Oxfordshire snob cousins coming to visit, along with the beastly Shaw. As for Lucy, her father insists she stay at home to help her mama with all her little brothers.” She paused. “It is quite rude of the Clarendons to descend upon Diana’s mother with such little notice, do you not agree?”

  “I think she enjoys the attention.”

  “But Mrs. Makepiece barely has the room, as you know, and certainly not the housekeeping budget to feed all those extra mouths.” She shook her head. “If you ask me, it’s very strange that they are coming, traveling about in winter, to see two ladies whose comfort they never consider the rest of the year. Does their father not wish for them to stay with him for Christmas? It is very odd.”

  Becky studied some mother-of-pearl buttons. “It will give Diana’s mother something to boast about all season, in any case.”

  Quite casually, Justina said, “I suppose you are looking forward to seeing Charles Clarendon again.”

  “Not particularly. Why?”

  “Perhaps because he fits your ‘Attributes Required in a Husband’ so very well?” Then, as if the idea had just come to her, Justina spun around and cried, “Poor Colonel Wainwright! That is why you will not even consider him now. Because you wait for Charles to declare himself.”

  Becky tossed the buttons aside and folded her arms, too annoyed now to look at frivolous trimmings. Why was she bothering anyway when she never got anything right about her dress? “Diana told me the Clarendons are staying at Lark Hollow with Admiral Vyne,” she muttered. “So they will only visit for a short time. I may not even see Mr. Clarendon while they are here.”

  Justina huffed. “Oh, he will make sure he’s seen. That young man always wants everybody’s attention. I’ve never known such a peacock. He struts about and shows off his fine-feathered tail. As for the sister, she’s as interesting as a wet cabbage leaf, and the elder brother slept through church service the last time they came. Despite their grand pedigree, they are certainly an ill-mannered bunch.”

  Her friend, it seemed, was ready to forgive the formerly deceased Colonel Wainwright for descending upon her without notice, yet she looked upon the Clarendons’ Yuletide visit to Mrs. Makepiece with less accepting eyes.

  Becky would have pointed this inequity out if not for the sudden tinkling of the shop’s doorbell, followed by a loud voice. “Looking for cloth for your wedding clothes, eh, Miss Sherringham?”

  It was too late to duck away and hide. Mrs. Kenton was in “full boom”—a status they’d secretly assigned to her worst, most annoying moods, after she was heard referring to her husband’s rose garden in the same terms. Whether she knew she’d missed out an l or whether she thought this was the correct phrase, no one knew, and no one bothered to correct her.

  “Not closeted away at your secret society today then, I see?” she bellowed.

  The only reason Mrs. Kenton had not joined the Book Club Belles when she first settled there was because she claimed to have no time to read novels—a circumstance for which they were all grateful, and so they did everything in their power to keep her too busy. But as a consequence of not being a member, the meddlesome lady always referred to the book club as if it was some sort of screen for a wicked coven.

  She looked at Becky. “I hear that you are without a cook for Christmas. You and the major must come to us.” It was never an invitation with Mrs. Kenton; it was always a command.

  “Oh, dear! Such a shame, but I must decline. Mrs. Wainwright has invited us to dine at the manor on Christmas Day.” Just in the nick of time!

  “But I have already decided upon the seating arrangements at the parsonage. With all this business about the colonel, I knew you would be in need of some sound advice, which I, as a close personal friend of his stepsister, am at liberty to give you. And which, no doubt, the colonel’s brother would not, since he is tighter with his information than an oyster shell with its pearl.”

  “I fear I take too much of your advice as it is, madam. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “Fret not, Miss Sherringham. Now I am a resident of Hawcombe Prior, I will take my place here and my responsibilities as parson’s wife most seriously. You will never find me holding back with guidance and assistance wherever it is needed.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “I know that you in particular, about to be a bride, are in want of guidance. Without a mother to lend a hand or a word of wisdom, it must have been very hard all these years. Your father, dear man, was left quite alone to raise you. As I said to Mrs. Penny last evening, ’tis no surprise you can be a little masculine in your deportment and terse in your manner, for you have been surrounded by men all your life. That sharp tongue has a tendency to make you seem discourteous, which I’m sure you do not mean to be.”

  Before Becky could utter any response, Justina grabbed her arm, exclaimed at how they were late for nothing in particular, and then dragged her friend out of the shop. From the number of people who left her presence in haste, one would think the curate’s wife had some inkling of the offense she caused, but apparently she was immune.

  “I wish you would let me give her a piece of my mind,” Becky muttered as they tripped out into the street. “If someone ever did that, just once, she might not be such an insufferable woman. She cannot be five years older than me, yet for some reason she takes it upon herself to be motherly.”

  “It is Christmas,” Justina reminded her in a singsong tone. “Good will to all men. Even to Augusta Kenton.”

  Becky eyed her dubiously. “You did not think that way last night at the party. I rather imagined you were ready to throttle her.”

  “The anger passed when I realized she cannot help herself. We are none of us perfect and ought to be forgiving of faults if we too wish to be forgiven.”

  “I think marriage and impending motherhood has made you soft, Mrs. Wainwright.” And overly romantic, Becky thought.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Have you forgotten how Augusta Milford—as she was then—first came here to set her cap at your Wainwright and was quite determined to get him, along with the assistance of her most particular friend, Viscountess Waltham?”

  “That was before she knew he had fallen in love with me. Before even he knew it. But eventually she decided lonely Mr. Kenton needed her instead and she made herself extremely useful to him. So you see, everything worked out in the end. For everybody. Don’t set your face in that unbecoming frown, Becky. I am inclined not to let anyone annoy me these days. I am too happy and content myself, I suppose. Oh dear, did that sound conceited?”

  “A little, but mostly just addled.”

  “One day you will fall in love and be too happy to let the little things annoy you too.”

  Becky quirked an eyebrow. “This romantic nonsense again? You are relentless, Mrs. Wainwright.”

  “You will fall in love,” her friend repeated firmly and with a gleeful twinkle in her eye. “Then, since you have been so adamantly aga
inst the idea, I daresay you will be twice as much in love as anyone ever was. Your passion will entirely run away with you. Blind to all else, you will embrace Mrs. Kenton right here in this street, because you have finally fallen in love and can be happy.”

  “Or I might be struck about the head with an iron horseshoe to achieve the same cloudiness of memory and loss of reason.” Becky thought that was the more likely scenario.

  At that moment, they spied Diana hurrying across the street to join them, so they waited for her.

  “Have you seen my mama?” she exclaimed. When they informed her that they had not, she looked away down the street and moaned softly. “I believe she has gone off to Farmer Rooke’s to get a ham, for she will not pay a boy to do it. I told her I would go as she cannot carry it all by herself, but she stubbornly refused to let me. She thinks it common and unladylike for me to be seen carrying a ham—and bad for my posture.”

  Becky was amused, as ever, by Mrs. Makepiece’s impoverished version of snobbery. “You could always dress the ham up and carry it like a baby in a basket. Then no one would know.”

  Diana refused to laugh although the other two did. Instead she retaliated with her own thrust. “Well, you have certainly caused quite a stir with your colonel, Rebecca!”

  That stopped Becky’s laughter mid-gust. “He is not my colonel.”

  “He insists that you are engaged to him and you say you are not. What are we to make of it?”

  “Make of it what you will,” Becky replied grandly. “But I can promise you there will be no wedding. Not for him and me.” Catching a sly glance exchanged between her friends, she sputtered, “He is as old as your mama, Diana, and I know he suffers the stiff joints familiar to the elderly. I would not be surprised if he wears flannel waistcoats and has one or two wooden teeth.”

  “What is wrong with flannel? William Shaw wears flannel.”

  “Precisely!”

  “But why would the colonel make up such a story about being engaged?”