Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Page 15

  “It was merely a mistake and nothing more,” she replied swiftly. “And I will thank you both never to mention it again.”

  But Diana and Justina could not stem their laughter.

  “Tease all you like! Some friends you are.”

  “Oh Becky, your face yesterday when you saw him at the party! If this mistake happened to one of us, you would be just as amused as we were.”

  She was forced to admit the truth of this comment. But only to herself.

  The idea of practical, determined spinster Becky marrying the notorious rogue Colonel “Lucky Luke” Wainwright—a man who did not possess a single item on her list of Attributes Required—was probably the biggest joke in the village. Let them have their fun; she would keep her dignity and rise above it.

  Fifteen

  Luke left his bed early that day and immediately got to work on Sir Mortimer’s sty. With Ness overseeing the project, he had soon reinforced the fence and built a small, sturdy step from which Sarah could fill the trough without needing to balance precariously on a pile of stones. He had further plans for the refurbishment of Sir Mortimer’s sty, but that would do for the present.

  His brother had acquired some fine horses for the Midwitch stables, and Luke was admiring them when he heard Sarah calling his name as she came around the gravel drive to seek him out.

  Ness instantly took himself into an empty stall and burrowed in the straw, still not yet recovered from the indignity of that large taffeta bow. Luke, unfortunately, was too large to hide.

  Framed by crisp morning light, she appeared in the stable doorway. “Good morning, Colonel. Uncle Darius said you wouldn’t be up before noon!”

  “I’m used to rising early these days. And so are you, it seems.” He’d hoped to get away for a few hours and go riding. Midwitch Manor apparently contained a good-sized park and several acres of woodland that he was keen to explore. After last night’s over-heated party and that confining, borrowed shirt, he was eager to let the fresh air brush fingers through his hair again.

  “I just took Sir Mortimer Grubbins his breakfast and I saw what you have done,” she said.

  “I hope it meets with your approval. And his.”

  She smiled. “We are most impressed. He has the finest sty in the village.”

  “Good. Well, you had better run inside for your own breakfast, Sarah, ’Tis cold out here.”

  “But I wanted to remind you about Dr. Penny. You will go and see him for your leg, won’t you? Yesterday you promised.”

  She was persistent as a gnat bite.

  “Of course, I shall.” He hadn’t planned on riding to see the village doctor, but now there was Sarah, looking expectantly up at him. “I shall go directly.”

  “I’ll have one of the grooms prepare the gig. I don’t suppose you can ride in a saddle—not with your leg.”

  She had no idea, of course, that for the past five years he’d earned his living in the saddle, herding cattle and breaking horses in Argentina and Brazil. He was better on horseback than on his own feet, but before he could explain this, she was organizing the gig for his jaunt down to the village.

  “You can’t get lost,” she assured him.

  Well, he’d see about that, he mused. He’d quite like to get lost for a few hours and mull over the stubborn temper of a certain troublesome, argumentative redhead.

  “The village is really only three lanes,” she added, “and Dr. Penny’s house is the first on the left as you pass the chestnut trees along Mill Lane. They have an arched gate with the name carved into it, so you cannot miss it.”

  To Luke’s relief, she did not offer to come with him. She had other tasks in mind.

  “Shall I organize your garments for the laundry and mending while you are out, Colonel?”

  Eager to get off on his ride, he made a hasty murmur of assent, barely giving it any thought. As soon as the gig was ready, Luke struggled into it, set his cane on the floor by his feet, and took the reins.

  “Don’t go too fast, Colonel,” she warned. “The lanes are uneven.”

  “I shall be the very soul of caution, Sarah.”

  The springs lurched with an ominous creak and then they were off at a steady trot.

  He felt her gaze following him around the carriage drive, but as soon as he had turned the corner and was out of her view, Luke urged the horse faster, enjoying the rapid bump of the small equipage and that glorious sense of flying along with the wind.

  In fact, he delighted in the speed so much that as the vessel flew downhill, he almost didn’t see the figure crossing the lane up ahead, struggling under the weight of a large ham.

  * * *

  The three friends were still in the High Street when the Wainwrights’ gig trotted toward them bearing the colonel and a fraught Mrs. Makepiece squeezed into the small seat beside him, her arms cradling an enormous ham wrapped in cheesecloth.

  Justina forgot what she was saying and nudged Becky yet again in the ribs. She whispered, “Look, our lovebirds! In no time at all, I shall achieve my mission, for it has already begun without me.”

  The roan mare slowed as it drew level with the three young ladies, and the colonel shouted a greeting. He was hatless, Becky noted.

  Hatless. Outdoors. In the presence of ladies. And on a winter’s day.

  “Does the man have no sense of propriety?” she muttered haughtily.

  Justina looked askance at this comment but said nothing. Diana, who was more likely the one to make such a remark, had probably not heard. She was too busy trying to compose herself at the sight of her usually dignified mama in considerable disarray and in the company of the wayward, harem-keeping colonel.

  He had scarcely halted the vehicle before Mrs. Makepiece was already half out, not waiting for his assistance and plainly anxious not to be seen by too many curious folk. She was ashen, sprigs of hair sticking out from her bonnet rim, hands shakily clutching her heavy, bulky burden.

  “I’m afraid there was almost an accident,” Colonel Wainwright shouted cheerily. “I very nearly ran this lady over in the lane. Still, no harm done.”

  No harm done? Mrs. Makepiece looked not only as if she’d seen a ghost but that it had whistled up her petticoats too.

  “The colonel insisted he give me a ride to the village,” the woman explained hurriedly, a loosened lock of her usually rigidly bound hair falling across her brow, “although I assured him I was quite all right, just a little shaken.” Her words rushed out on an exhale. “I couldn’t see where I was going, you see. I tripped.”

  Becky knew how the woman felt. He clearly had that effect on every female he met.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying that great heavy ham, madam!” the colonel exclaimed. “You should have got someone else to fetch it for you.”

  Mrs. Rosalind Makepiece laughed uneasily. “Oh, it is nothing, sir. Goodness, I am stronger than I look.” She hugged that ham like a battle shield when her concerned daughter tried to relieve her of it. “But thank you, Colonel. It was very good of you to assist me.”

  Becky could hardly believe her eyes and ears. The woman was a giddy mess, apparently charmed by the notorious Lucius Wainwright. No one was safe from the danger. Had it been Nathaniel who almost mowed her down in the lane, he would never be forgiven. Diana’s mother would have insisted he did it deliberately.

  The bell on the shop door behind them tinkled again as it swung open and Mrs. Kenton emerged in such haste that she almost fell to her knees on the path. “Good morning, Colonel Wainwright, Mrs. Makepiece. I thought that was you. Gracious, that is a very large ham, madam! Surely too much just for you and this”—she patted Diana’s hand—“terribly thin girl of yours.”

  “We expect guests, Mrs. Kenton.”

  “Guests?” The parson’s wife sounded annoyed, as if her permission should have been sought.

  “My cous
ins, the Clarendons, from Oxford, and my daughter’s fiancé, William Shaw, from Manderson.”

  Becky glanced up into the gig and found the colonel’s gaze pinned to her. He appeared to have forgotten the presence of the other ladies, so intense was his survey of her person, but when he heard the name of Mrs. Makepiece’s guests, an odd look came over his countenance, a tightening of all his features until they looked very grim and pained. He scratched his chin with gloveless fingers, looking away down the high street, apparently lost in thought.

  Gloveless. Hatless. So lacking in all the manners expected of a gentleman, she mused. He would never carry this transformation off and win his wager.

  “Well, thank you again, Colonel,” Diana’s mother managed, still short of breath as she backed toward the shop door.

  “Are you sure I can’t take you the rest of the way to your house?”

  “No, no. I have some last-minute items to purchase here.”

  Mrs. Kenton followed the woman and her daughter—and her ham—back into the shop, needling her for information about her expected guests and probably giving more unwanted advice about how to lay her table. The two other young women were left on the path beside the gig.

  “Would you pretty pigeons be in need of a ride?”

  “There is not room for both of us,” Justina responded instantly, “and I still have a few errands before I go back to the manor.”

  Becky stepped aside. “I can walk home. It’s only across the common.”

  “I’m going that way. ’Tis no trouble to take you.”

  Suddenly Justina gave her a shove toward the gig and whispered in her ear, “Now is your chance to heartily recommend Mrs. M. Don’t let me down.”

  The colonel reached for her arm and before she knew what was happening, Becky was hoisted up like a netted pike and crammed into the small seat beside him.

  * * *

  She clutched his coat sleeve. “Slow down!” she cried, her face pale, her gaze fastened on the curve ahead.

  “What’s the matter? I thought you were fearless.”

  “I’d like to get home in one piece, Colonel. Must you draw attention to us by racing this way?”

  “Good lord, woman, enjoy yourself. Take off your bonnet. Feel the wind in your hair.”

  “Why would I do that?” She looked at him as if he’d suggested she remove more than her hat.

  Luke finally slowed the horse, but not for the sake of caution—only for the sake of keeping her company a while longer. “I thought you’d prefer the speed. You seemed the reckless sort when I first met you.”

  “I can’t imagine what gave you that impression.”

  “Can you not?” he muttered dryly. “When you confronted me in that crowded tavern and pointed a pistol at my chest, I took you for a daring, brave lass. Reckless, spirited. A woman who preferred a gallop to a gentle trot.”

  “Well, you were wrong. I am never reckless. I am the most sensible of people.”

  He cleared his throat. “Keep telling yourself that, Rebecca. You don’t fool me any more than I can fool you.”

  Luke felt her stern gaze studying the side of his face, but he stared ahead as they rounded the next bend at a more civilized trot.

  “What happened to your hat today?” she asked. “Isn’t your head cold?”

  “Sarah burned it. She said nothing could be done with it. Fortunately, she has not yet given up on the rest of me.” Suddenly he realized he’d just given the girl permission to go through his things. Hopefully he’d have some garments left intact when he returned.

  The woman beside him exhaled a sigh that misted in the cold air. “Poor Sarah. I’m sure you were a great shock to her.” Although they moved at a slower pace now, her hand remained on his sleeve, a small, light weight, gripping the material of his old coat.

  Luke felt an odd sensation in his chest. It wasn’t unpleasant at all, just different. He stole a quick sideways glance at her and realized how nice it was to see her again today. Not only that, but he’d woken early that day, motivated by the thought that she was only a short distance away and he would surely see her again soon. Funny, that. He’d never looked forward so eagerly before to seeing a particular woman, never felt his pulse quicken in anticipation of being in her company.

  He cleared his throat. “Sarah is very eager to help my transformation. See, I have someone on my side. Someone wants me to succeed.”

  “She certainly has her work cut out for her.”

  “Wants to help me get a wife, doesn’t she? Has her heart set on you for a stepmother. For some reason.”

  She made a small sound of anguish and turned her head away, hiding her face behind the edge of her bonnet.

  Luke persevered. “You know, a mature man of experience, like me, has more to offer a woman like yourself than one of those fumbling pretty boys. I can give you a damn good—”

  “Yes, thank you, Colonel. Should I require servicing like a brood mare, I’ll let you know.”

  He glanced at the quivering rim of her bonnet and added slyly, “I was going to say supper. I can make you an excellent chicken stew, can’t I? You’ll never go hungry with me, Gingersnap.”

  She shook her head and muttered something indecipherable.

  Apparently she hadn’t noticed that they were passing her father’s house and heading for the old stone bridge over the stream. Luke urged the horse to pick up its pace again before she might realize. “I don’t know why you keep squeaking and whining about the idea of marrying me, woman.”

  “Squeaking and whining?”

  “Worse than a privy door in a gale,” he exclaimed gruffly, trying not to laugh. “If you’re so sensible as you like to think, you’d leap at the chance to marry me.”

  “And how, in God’s name, do you reach that conclusion?”

  “At the age of two-and-twenty, a rational wench with so few prospects should be considering a comfortable home and the practical advantages of marriage to ol’ Lucky Luke. I hope you’re not waiting for some grand love. I suppose that’s it, eh? All that chatter about not being a naive girl and having no expectations of romance…all that was a lie. My brother warned me about the Book Club Belles.”

  She turned to look at him again, holding the back of her bonnet with one hand. Her eyes gleamed brightly with sparks. “I. Have. No. Romantic. Expectations.”

  “There you go again. See what I mean? Squeaking and whining like a rusty hinge.”

  She groaned. He switched the reins to one hand so he could pat her knee. “Don’t you worry, Gingersnap, Lucky Luke is here to rescue you.”

  Only now did she realize they were on the turnpike road and moving at a smarter pace, away from the village and uphill. She must have had a lot on her mind to not notice their direction until that moment, he mused.

  “Colonel Wainwright, kindly turn this horse around.”

  “Why? What have you got to dash home to that’s more in need than me? Like you said to your cook, I’m a wounded old soldier and the least you could do is keep me company a while.” The wheels rattled along, the small equipage shaking as he gave the horse its head. “You can show me the sights,” he yelled above the noise of merry, clattering hooves. “I see there’s another hill up ahead, and from there you can tell me all about your neighbors. Fill me in on the important facts I should know. Aren’t you proud of your village?”

  She glared at him. “You are truly ready to settle down here in sleepy Hawcombe Prior?”

  “Why not?”

  “You will be bored and restless in a matter of days.”

  “Bored of you? Don’t hold yourself in very high regard, do you?”

  “In many respects, Colonel, you are just like my idiotic brother. He too escaped marriage for years and then finally asked the one woman too clever for him. Well, Lucky, you too have chosen to pursue the wrong woman, because you will not
wear me down or charm me. I have scant patience for fools.”

  “Me neither. Best hold on even tighter, Romantic Rebecca. We’re going over a bump.”

  He was very much enjoying her warm curves crammed in beside him in that little seat, her hand on his arm. But now, of course, she let go of his sleeve, because he brought it to her attention. Luke sped up again and she clung to the edge of the seat instead of to him, staring ahead with a face like a thundercloud.

  “What’s that place backing onto the river?” He pointed to a small farmhouse with a snow-capped thatched roof and two dormer windows peeping out. He’d noticed it the night he arrived because it was the one place with no smoke blowing from its chimney or candles lit on that cold evening.

  “That’s Willow Tree Farm. One of my father’s tenants died there recently and it stands empty.”

  “Looks a good place.”

  “Although it’s pretty on the outside, it needs a great deal of work on the inside. Not many would want to take that on.”

  Luke wondered why the major did not pay for those repairs himself since he was the landlord, but fearing that would give her something else about which to be angry and insulted, he changed the subject. He slowed the horse again to a gentle trot. “Tell me how your father came to settle here. He said something about the village holding fond memories for him of your mother?”

  Reluctantly, her lips snapped open to reply, “My mother was born on a dairy farm near here at Hawcombe Mallow, a hamlet on the other side of that hill. My father met her when he was encamped at Manderson. After they married, she never came back here, although he says she often talked of visiting one day.” Then, as if she thought she’d told him too much or sounded too wistful, she added peevishly, “I don’t remember, of course. I was only a very little girl when she died.”

  “I’m sorry.” He thought of his own mother’s death and how that sorrow had darkened his childhood. Sometimes he wondered if his life might have turned out differently had his mother lived longer to keep him in line. When she died, his father and brother had hidden their sadness away, and since Luke had no one else with whom to share his tears, he’d let his anguish and grief out in other ways.