Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Read online

  “Marianne thinks herself so clever, strong, and impervious to mistakes.” Justina sighed deeply. “I cannot think who will do for her. If anyone ever will. What do you think, Becky?”

  “What do I think?” She twisted around to face the room after spending most of the last half hour looking out of the window, battling with various emotions. “I think that if everyone continues to hint at Marianne and the colonel being a match, it will only separate them further. Marianne is clearly a self-governing spirit, knows what she wants, and will go her own way.”

  The short silence that followed was broken by Elizabeth Clarendon’s loud yawn. She sat by the fire, her dainty feet resting on a little stool, while she leafed nonchalantly through a ladies’ magazine. She had no interest in Sense and Sensibility as she’d already read it.

  Becky couldn’t see why Elizabeth had come there. Her brother, at least, seemed to find real pleasure in the countryside. He loved taking long rambles, just as Becky did, and he reveled in hearing all the village gossip, while his sister made no effort to fit in and showed no real interest in anything. The Clarendons and their fine apparel stood out like sore thumbs in that humble village, but Charles had a natural charm and ease that made him liked by most people he met, whereas Elizabeth was too proud and kept herself apart. She was clearly disdainful of her cousins, and as for the other ladies of the Book Club Belles, she could barely bring herself to speak to Justina, and Lucy was simply eyed from the side as if she were a gruesomely squashed hedgehog.

  While Diana paused her reading between chapters, Becky said, “I hope we are not boring you, Miss Clarendon. It must be hard to hear us speculate on a story to which you already know the ending.”

  “Oh, worry not for me,” she replied in her lazy drawl. “I am entertained. There is always something amusing to observe in a group of young ladies.” She paused, twisting a finger around the fringe of her shawl. “But do tell me about the colonel—Colonel Wainwright, that is. I heard today from the parson’s wife that he was presumed dead for the past twelve years and that now he is back, he will inherit a vast fortune. Is that so?”

  Becky was not about to be drawn into this conversation, but Justina replied that it was indeed the case.

  “And are you or are you not engaged to him, Miss Sherringham?” Elizabeth’s eyes glittered spitefully across the room and she licked her lower lip with the tiny pink tip of her tongue. “It seems a most confusing business, and when I heard of it today, I felt very bad that I had not wished you well.”

  Forced now to answer, Becky replied reluctantly, “It was Colonel Wainwright’s idea of a practical joke and Mrs. Kenton likes to perpetuate it.” She would tell no one about the wager he’d talked her into on the night of the party. He had just a week now to complete his transformation and convince her that he could be a gentleman. A week. The man was clearly an optimist.

  The other woman’s eyebrows writhed in bemusement. “Heavens! What a curious thing. He must have a very odd sense of humor, and he does appear very…earthy.” She broke into an eerie titter that went on too long in the otherwise quiet parlor. “But of course, one can overlook so much when a man is that rich.”

  “But he’ll only be rich if he gets married,” Lucy chirped. “Otherwise he won’t get a penny. That’s why he wanted Rebecca.”

  “Ah.” Elizabeth’s eyes glistened shrewdly. “That explains so much.”

  “And she says she won’t have him,” Lucy added. “So I suppose he’ll have to find someone else.”

  Becky turned her face to the window again, hiding her expression from the other women, but soon after that, Diana got up to close the curtains, complaining of a draft. Becky was then obliged to pay attention to the book, her elbow resting listlessly on the table, her chin in her upturned palm.

  * * *

  That day, after church, Luke had gone out to get some air again, unable to sit still. Darius found him with his shirtsleeves rolled up, mucking out the stables, having already done the same service for the pig sty.

  “It is Sunday, Lucius,” he exclaimed. “A day of rest.”

  “It might be a Sunday, Brother, but the beasts don’t know it, do they?” Luke gestured with the pitchfork at the pile of fresh manure he was in the midst of shoveling.

  “The sooner we find work for you the better, it seems, as you are so restless. In the new year, you must come to London with me and look over the business offices.”

  “Splendid.” The idea of working in an office made him think of those coffin walls closing in again, but he’d promised to make an effort. And there was more on his mind too. As Darius turned to go back inside, Luke shouted for him to stay a moment. Leaning on the pitchfork, he said, “I meant what I said, Handles. I don’t want the money or the houses. You and your lady wife can do as you wish with all of it.”

  Darius frowned. “But you—”

  “I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.” He thrust the pitchfork into a nearby bale of hay. “It seems no one around here trusts a single word I say.”

  “Perhaps you don’t realize exactly how much you’re giving up, Lucius.”

  He wiped one forearm across his brow and sighed. “I didn’t come back here for any of that nonsense. You know how I am with money. If you can spare me just a small annuity, to get me on my feet, that’ll do me.”

  “And your plans? Have you made any yet or are you still flying by the seat of your breeches, leaving those elusive details for later?”

  His brother, of course, always had to have a plan. Everything in neat order. Luke thought for a minute, looking up at the bruised clouds of the winter sky. “My plans rely on Miss Sherringham, I fear.”

  Darius winced. “Still hoping?”

  “I’m not giving this one up, Handles.” He winked. “This time I won’t be distracted.”

  His brother sounded bewildered when he said, “After the way she snubbed you in church, I thought you would have moved on to another woman by now.”

  “I’m stubborn in my old age, ain’t I?”

  Darius scratched his head. “My wife had suggested you might take an interest in Mrs. Makepiece instead.”

  He was amused, remembering what Rebecca had said to him in the gig. Clearly the Book Club Belles had come up with this idea between them. “That’s kind of Mrs. Wainwright to think of me.”

  “Well, don’t stay out here too long in the cold.” His brother had turned to go back inside when Luke stopped him.

  “I know she means well, Darius. Your wife has been very kind to me. Very welcoming. I did not expect it. She’s made me feel at home.”

  Darius still looked unsure, puzzled. “You’re family, Lucius. We’re family.”

  But Luke had never felt as if he belonged anywhere before. It took some getting used to. He wiped his brow on his sleeve. “If you want it made official…since it’s Christmas and I have nothing else to give, let the relinquishment of my inheritance be my gift to you both.” Luke gave his brother a quick smile. “You just find work for me, keep me busy, and I’ll manage.”

  Darius took a step toward him and then stopped, frowning. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then say naught. We don’t have to, do we? Too many words are wasted, if you ask me.” Actions were what counted to Luke, not words.

  Slowly his brother nodded. He looked quietly pleased.

  “Not going to start weeping on me, are you?” Luke exclaimed warily.

  Darius stood straighter. “Certainly not.”

  “Thank the Lord for that.” He went back to shoveling the manure.

  After muttering another warning not to stay out too long, and not knowing what else to say, it seemed, his brother finally went back inside.

  Once Darius was gone, Luke stopped a moment and reached into the pocket of his waistcoat. He’d found a necklace that day while cleaning out Sir Mortimer’s bed to put down fresh s
traw. At first he’d thought about handing it over to Darius, but he was entitled to keep something, surely. Evidently they didn’t even know about the necklace. Anyone careless enough to lose such fine jewelry in a pig sty didn’t deserve to keep it.

  He’d briefly conferred with Sir Mortimer on this matter and received the response of a complaisant grunt, which solidified Luke’s decision to keep his find.

  That rarely troubled conscience so easily soothed, he slipped the ruby and pearl necklace back in his waistcoat pocket and resumed the work at hand.

  A half hour later, Sarah and Ness came out to find him too. “Uncle Darius says you’re at a loose end this afternoon and that you need something to occupy you.”

  “You have something in mind, young lady?”

  “I do,” she said proudly. “You ought to come to the book society meeting with me.”

  “Books?” He sniffed.

  “Miss Sherringham will be there,” she said with an innocent smile, having saved her best card for last.

  Twenty

  As they reached the end of another chapter, the doorbell rang out and Diana got up to answer it, passing the book to Becky, whose turn it was to read next. Moments later, Diana reentered the room with Sarah Wainwright in tow. And the colonel.

  Instantly all the ladies sat up straighter, even Elizabeth, who finally closed her magazine. Becky’s pulse quickened. She had expected Charles, and here instead was his opposite. Midnight had come instead of the sun. And now, if Charles arrived, there would be an eclipse. Luke would give her one of those dark looks, and Charles would tease her about that “engagement.” Oh, why on earth had she extended an invitation to Mr. Clarendon?

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Sarah exclaimed, “but the colonel was grumpy as a bull with a sore head this afternoon. Uncle Darius said he ought to come out.”

  “I was told the book club is for ladies only,” he mumbled, shooting Becky an apologetic glance, “but Sarah was adamant I should come with her.”

  He was immediately welcomed by everybody, his novelty presence breathing new life into the little parlor. The other ladies fussed and flitted around him like hens around a new cockerel. Justina pulled out a dining chair from the table by the window. Diana even lit two extra candles without first running to ask her mother for permission.

  The colonel flipped out the tails of his borrowed jacket and perched tentatively on the fragile old chair. “I did not mean to disturb your reading. Please continue.” He sat with his bad leg out straight, his cane resting beside it. “Please don’t let my presence bother you.” Becky caught the sharp edge of a quick, cutting glance in her direction. “Forget I’m here. ’Tis easily done.”

  Catching a slight odor of manure, Becky glanced at his boots. Mrs. Makepiece was not going to be pleased about that on her faded carpets.

  Elizabeth Clarendon slid closer to the group, venturing away from her cozy spot, drawn out enough at last to show interest in something other than her own warm feet.

  “My brother reminded me, Colonel, that you are one of the Wainwrights of Mayfair.” As the young woman simpered and fanned herself with that tattered copy of La Belle Assemblée, she claimed a new seat between Diana and the colonel—a chair she’d previously declined, exclaiming it to be too hard and narrow and the creaky leg too uncertain to bear her slight weight. Now, apparently, it would do. “I believe you once knew our elder brother, Colonel.”

  “Really? I don’t think so.” He snapped it out so quickly, Becky looked at him, just when she’d made up her mind not to.

  Elizabeth exclaimed, “Yes, Charles remembered today after church. You knew our brother Christopher. Everyone calls him Kit. He would be about your age perhaps.”

  “I could not say,” he muttered, fidgeting so that the little chair creaked.

  Since this line of questioning had gotten her nowhere, Elizabeth found another. “I hear that you were thought lost for many years, Colonel,” she went on. “Yet here you are back again to claim your rightful…place in society.”

  “Whatever place that might be,” he grumbled dourly.

  Elizabeth fanned herself harder with that magazine. “I do hope you will be joining us this evening for the treasure hunt, Colonel.”

  “I—”

  “Of course, you must,” Justina cried. “We need you to make an even number, and my husband flatly refuses to play. He claimed to have some other important errand tonight.”

  “I will be pleased to join in,” he said, not looking at Becky. “But only if I am needed.”

  Elizabeth was uncharacteristically animated. “You are needed! It’s always much more fun to have another man around. I thought I would have to put up with my brother’s company since there seems to be a shortage of gentlemen here.”

  Amusement pricked, Becky watched the formerly icy Miss Clarendon slowly and drippily thawing all over the most unlikely of men.

  The colonel smiled in a stiff, unnatural way, suggesting his breeches were too constricting or he’d swallowed a cricket ball.

  Well, good, thought Becky, let Elizabeth occupy the man, if she wants him. In any case, he did not smile at Elizabeth the way he did at her. Not that it should matter to her at all how he smiled at anyone. What did she care?

  Justina had come over to whisper in her ear, “Do you think he came for Mrs. Makepiece? Better her than a Clarendon.”

  Not waiting for any reply, Justina continued on her way to Sarah, where she apparently had something of great importance to mention about the girl’s bonnet.

  Suddenly the parlor door was nudged open and Diana’s mother came in with a tray of fruit cake, marzipan, and Madeira wine.

  “I thought you would like a little Christmas cheer, girls,” she said. And then, “Oh, good evening, Colonel Wainwright!”

  She almost managed to look startled enough, but she was wearing her best earbobs and had removed her apron—both things she would never have done if her parlor held only females that evening. It was evident she’d heard the colonel’s voice.

  It occurred to Becky then, with a slightly sick feeling, that perhaps Justina would make a success of her mission and find the colonel another bride to make him settle down. One bride or another.

  He had not lost his seductive powers, clearly. They worked in mysterious ways, but that didn’t mean she would ever be affected by his magic. Just like that automaton her father had read about in the newspaper, she was quite sure there was a logical explanation, and a devious man behind the deception.

  * * *

  When Ham Lady entered the parlor with a tray, she brought with her a little chilly air and a general quieting. Rather as if she were a schoolmistress and the women thought she had come to punish one of them. But then they saw what she brought, and after a moment of wary silence, bouncy young Ringlets cried, “Lord, we never usually get wine before the hunt!”

  Luke had stood as the woman entered, but she set her tray down and urged him to take his seat again. The Madeira bottle chinked against his glass as she poured with an unsteady hand, squinting hard. “I would have brought tea, but my best silver spoons have gone missing. In any case, it is Christmas Eve. No harm in a little celebration. Do have some cake, Colonel. It is my best recipe.”

  When Ringlets, Ham Lady, and Clarendon’s sister all beamed his way at the same time and the room fell silent with anticipation, he actually looked around to see if someone else was standing behind his chair. So many eyelashes fluttered that he felt the breeze on his face.

  Now he began to feel uneasy. He thought he’d just heard Rebecca give one of her wry little snorts.

  “Thank you, madam.” He took the plate of cake and they all stared, waiting for him to try a bite. No one else, it seemed, would get their slice until he’d tried his. Only when he’d swallowed some and pronounced it “delicious” was the rest of it cut and served.

  While the others clu
stered around Mrs. Makepiece and her cake, Luke took the opportunity of addressing Rebecca without the others hearing. He moved his chair closer to where she sat and said softly, “I would advise you, Miss Sherringham, to use caution in the presence of Charles Clarendon. He is not all that he appears or that he would no doubt have you think him.”

  “Really?” she exclaimed under her breath. “You don’t mean to tell me that men sometimes lie and deceive, do you, Lucky Luke?”

  Might have known she would never pay heed to him. “Don’t get your garters in a twist. Unless, of course, you want me to untwist ’em.”

  “Then say what you came over here to say.”

  “Master Clarendon is like Willow Tree Farm, that place by the river.”

  “In what way?”

  “Pretty to look at, but needs a lot of work inside.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Sarah demanded, coming to stand by his chair.

  He groaned inwardly. “How best to manage naughty eavesdropping children,” he muttered. “Fetch me another slice of cake, will you?”

  Sarah glowered at him, hands on her waist. “What do we say, Colonel?”

  “Make haste, damn you, or I’ll take a strap to you?”

  Still she waited, lips puckered as a cat’s backside.

  “Please,” he added eventually.

  “That’s better!” The girl’s eyes gleamed. “And I am not a child.” With a hearty sigh, she took his empty plate and walked away to the tray around which the others had converged like gannets.

  “Did you come here this evening just to warn me about Mr. Clarendon?” Rebecca whispered sharply.

  “Certainly not. I came to see what the ladies of the book society get up to. I told you, I like books. Can’t get enough of ’em.” He looked at her soft, sensual lips and thought about kissing her again. Right there in that parlor, in full view of her friends. What was he saying? He’d lost track of his thoughts. “Can’t…get enough of ’em.”

  “Here you are, Colonel,” Sarah chirped. “Cake.”