Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Page 25

  “Hmm.” He didn’t know about that; he was fairly sure he had once been every bit as bad as people thought.

  They listened to the music for a while and then the older man said, “My good lady wife would not have me at first either, but I persisted. Sometimes a feller must persist.”

  Always interested to hear more about her background, Luke perked up. “Rebecca told me her mother was a local girl. A farmer’s daughter.”

  “Indeed she was.” The major closed his eyes, savoring his pudding and his memories. “The most beautiful milkmaid I ever laid eyes upon. Hair the color of sunset. Just like my daughter’s.” He opened his eyes and they twinkled up at Luke, also like his daughter’s. “She fancied herself in love with your great-uncle, in fact.”

  “Phineas Hawke?” Is the major in his cups already, Luke wondered. As far as he knew, his great-uncle had never loved anyone or anything as much as himself and his coin.

  “Aye, the stinkin’ rich feller that lived here in this manor house. They had an affair one summer, but he could not marry her. His family wanted better for him and they would not accept a farmer’s daughter. She was heartbroken, but I took her in and saved her from scandal. At first I believe she was merely grateful to me, thankful that I could take her far away. But I was persistent. I was patient. I cherished that woman with all my heart and she did grow to love me. We had our years of happiness together.” He beamed. “So you see, there is always hope when there is love.”

  Luke found it difficult to imagine haughty old Phineas indulging in a love affair with a farmer’s daughter, but he must have been young once, of course. There was a time when Luke did not believe he would ever fall in love either.

  He stared at the wall over the major’s head.

  Was that what this was? This anxiety, this yearning, this madness that tormented him? This admiration for something more than a set of bubbies and good teeth? This need to make her his alone? Had he fallen in love?

  “On the very day of our wedding, your sly great-uncle had a change of heart. Sent her a pearl and ruby necklace to try and lure her away, but the lass said her mind was made up. She would not even take it out of the box but returned it to him along with a few harsh words. Aye, she had a temper to match that hair.”

  No surprise there, mused Luke.

  “Hawke was reputed to be such a miser with his coin and yet he sent her several presents, including a music box, which is the only thing she never sent back to him. Becky is very fond of that music box.”

  “I know,” he said, remembering.

  Darius had walked over to see what they talked about and when he heard about the pearl and ruby necklace, he exclaimed, “That clears up a mystery for us, Major. While my wife and I were sorting through my great-uncle’s papers, we found a receipt for just such a necklace from Gray’s in Sackville Street. We have never found the item itself, however, and I assumed it was a present for a lady. Although, of course, he never married.”

  The major insisted that his wife had sent it directly back to Phineas, so where the necklace might be now was unknown.

  “Considering the old man’s foul temper, I wouldn’t be surprised if he buried it in the backyard,” muttered Luke, one hand laid against his waistcoat, where he felt the slight bulge of his secret pigsty find.

  So now he knew to whom it rightfully belonged.

  * * *

  Becky was still trying to come up with an excuse for arriving breathless and pink-faced in the Makepieces’ dining room when Charles entered behind her and told the folk seated around the table that they’d been racing.

  “Racing?” Diana’s mother frowned in disapproval.

  “Yes, indeed. And as you see, the enchanting Miss Sherringham is the victor.” He pulled a chair out for Becky and she sat quickly. “You know my sister already, of course, and you will remember Kit, my brother?”

  The thick-set gentleman sprawled in a chair across the table gave an indolent sneer in her vague direction. He was a little wider than the last time he visited, his cheeks fleshier, and perhaps his lank, sandy hair had receded another inch from his forehead. “Miss Sherringham,” he drawled, “still entertaining my little brother, eh what?”

  Charles sat beside her. “She has been a most excellent guide and shown me all the sights of the village.”

  “I’m sure she has.” Kit leered across the table and Elizabeth tittered slyly into her napkin.

  Becky realized that Diana was rather subdued, picking listlessly at her pear poached in wine. “Where is William Shaw?” she exclaimed. “I thought he would be here by now. He has missed dinner.”

  Diana lifted her eyes, although they were heavy with sadness. “I’m afraid his grandmama’s health took a turn for the worse yesterday and Mr. Shaw could not be spared.”

  Kit Clarendon gave a series of snorts like that of a boar rooting through a trough. “Seems he ain’t so keen as you thought, coz. Old lady rich, is she? I daresay the chap has to stay on her good side. You’ll always come second in his affections, but the pin money will make up for it.”

  Diana looked embarrassed and her mother didn’t seem to know where to direct her gaze.

  Perhaps it was the anger and shame of getting caught by Mrs. Kenton again when this time it was not her fault. Perhaps it was her frustration with Luke for suddenly being concerned with “proper” when it probably hadn’t troubled him for thirty-seven years. Or perhaps it was Charles thinking he could kiss her even against her will. Whatever the reason, Becky could not stay quiet and ladylike. “Not everyone’s motives are led by coin, Mr. Clarendon. Diana is marrying Mr. Shaw for more than his fortune, which, incidentally, has been earned through his own hard work and not inherited.”

  Kit’s eyes became two wary slits in his puffy face. “Opinionated, hain’t you?”

  “Yes, I have opinions. I assumed that since you had just expressed yours, I ought to be allowed to express mine. But perhaps if I weren’t a female, it wouldn’t cause nearly as much concern.”

  At her side, Charles laughed softly and slid a hand under the table to squeeze her fingers.

  “Isn’t she delightful, my rebellious, hot-headed lady?”

  She pulled her hand from his.

  Kit sniffed, still glaring at her through those unattractive, water-logged cracks in his swollen facade.

  “I hope the major is in good health today,” Diana said politely.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “And the colonel? He seemed a little out of sorts yesterday evening after the treasure hunt.”

  At this, Elizabeth Clarendon bunched her napkin in her bony fist and drew it away from her face to snarl, “So he should have been, after that vulgar display. It was shocking that I should be spoken to in such a manner. I have never heard the like of it. So crude!”

  “Colonel?” Kit murmured. “Colonel who?”

  “Wainwright,” his brother replied with a sly laugh. “You know Lucius Wainwright. He cost you a few teeth once.”

  “A horrid, uncouth fellow,” Elizabeth added, shuddering delicately.

  “Wainwright, eh?” Kit growled the name. “He was supposed to be dead. So he’s nearby, is he? Interesting.”

  “He has a plain, spiteful little daughter too. Out of wedlock, of course,” Elizabeth remarked nastily. “His family seems to think they can hush up the fact that she is illegitimate. They treat her as if she is a normal child and should be welcomed in any drawing room of society. I wonder what they can be thinking to raise her with false expectations. It will only make it harder for the girl to accept her place later in life.”

  “Her place?” Diana looked astonished. “What can you mean by that?”

  “You know very well that she will never be accepted by fine society, and her family is doing the girl an injustice by raising her that way—with music tutors and dancing instructors.”

  Becky�
��s fury mounted quickly. “Perhaps you think she should be kept in a dark room and fed bread and gruel to make recompense for the sins of her parents?”

  “She only needed a very basic education, enough to find her a governess post eventually. Giving her so many opportunities, they have produced a girl educated beyond her needs. She will never make a good marriage, and to raise her as a lady with prospects is a mistake.” She smiled in a cool, condescending way that further curdled Becky’s blood. “The parson’s wife told me today that the girl’s mother was a music hall trollop. A slattern with no family and not a penny to her name.” She sighed with false concern. “Lucius Wainwright appears to prefer that sort of woman and it’s no surprise to me now, as I’ve seen how he behaves. A decent woman would never put up with it.”

  Becky would not listen to any more. “Sarah Wainwright is a pleasant girl, well-read, well-behaved, and a talented artist. As for being raised as a lady, madam, she has more natural elegance than some other women of my acquaintance who could not achieve the same sweetness of temper and ladylike demeanor if they were schooled for a hundred years in the subject. Indeed, I have wondered a great deal lately about the definition of ‘a lady’ and ‘a gentleman.’ I find myself more confused than ever by their meaning.”

  There was a pause.

  “Well said, Miss Sherringham,” cried Charles.

  His sister shook her head. “You know that I am right, Charles. And your friend, it seems”—she glared hard at Becky—“only champions a female opinion when it is her own.”

  Mrs. Makepiece was back to her usual stern countenance today, her hair pulled severely back. “There must be something in the air lately,” she muttered sourly. “A lot of this…expressing of one’s opinions and emotions.” Glowering at Diana, who bowed her head and studied her lap, she added, “It is unseemly. If you ask me, those Wainwrights will quite spoil this village.”

  Her fancy for the colonel had ended the moment he crossed her and stopped being polite. Perhaps he now reminded her a little too much of her deceased scapegrace husband.

  “A bastard daughter, eh what?” mumbled the elder brother, who appeared to be a little slow when it came to keeping up with the conversation.

  “It is Christmas,” Diana ventured meekly. “Let us talk of something more cheerful, shall we?”

  * * *

  Kit and Elizabeth Clarendon left the village that day, returning to their host at Lark Hollow, but Charles remained at the Pig in a Poke tavern. Lucy Bridges’s father was delighted that his fine guest decided to extend his stay a while longer, and other local men were equally pleased that the young gentleman was still around, as he had won quite a lot of money from them during his visit and they wanted the chance to win it back.

  Becky’s appreciation of his “harmless” charms had waned considerably since Christmas Day under the arches of the Bolt, but he did apologize to her for his behavior and begged to keep her friendship. Since she did not expect him to stay much longer, Becky accepted his olive branch but kept him at a warier distance.

  Mrs. Kenton had soon spread her gossip, suggesting Rebecca was leading two men along in competition. The story of what that woman had witnessed in the Bolt was enlarged upon until it was barely recognizable to Rebecca, who was actually there.

  From her bedchamber window early one morning, she saw Luke Wainwright on horseback riding down Mill Lane, with his dog trotting proudly alongside. He sat the horse well, as if he had been born in the saddle. But he did not come to see her.

  She stood at the window and wished he might look up and smile. He did not. The last time they had spoken, she had yelled at him that she was off to have fun, wounded that he did not want to play that day. He would have heard about her and Charles in the Bolt by now and must think that was what she meant by “fun.”

  It should not be any surprise, therefore, that he rode by their house and did not call in.

  Twenty-six

  Luke called on Sam Hardacre to check on the gig, which was still being mended. Then he headed for the turnpike road and Raven’s Hill. Ness certainly could do with some exercise, for he was growing fat and lazy thanks to Sarah’s pampering. The fresh, crisp air could do them both some good.

  “What do you think, Ness? Shall we head for Willow Tree Farm?”

  The dog gave a confirming bark and skipped ahead, chasing a soggy dead leaf that blew across the lane from the common.

  * * *

  “Oh! Elinor,” she cried, “I have such a secret to tell you about Marianne. I am sure she will be married to Mr. Willoughby very soon.”

  “You have said so,” replied Elinor, “almost every day since they first met on High-church Down; and they had not known each other a week, I believe, before you were certain that Marianne wore his picture round her neck; but it turned out to be only the miniature of our great uncle.”

  “But indeed this is quite another thing. I am sure they will be married very soon, for he has got a lock of her hair.”

  Justina paused her reading. “Becky, are you paying attention to this story anymore?”

  “Of course.” But truth be told, she was no longer very interested in Marianne, who acted so unwisely with Mr. Willoughby and left herself open to speculation.

  At first she had liked the character of Willoughby and thought him a good match for lively, spirited Marianne, but there was something about him that she didn’t warm to.

  “If Marianne has indeed given Willoughby a lock of her hair,” pronounced Diana, “she must truly be in love, although I do not think he is half the man Colonel Brandon is. That poor colonel.”

  Justina had just turned the page to read on. She made a surprised exclamation, “What is this? Why, it looks like…Becky!” Holding the book open, she turned it to show the others. There, on the edge of the page, where there was no printing, someone had sketched a face. It was carefully done, by an observant artist.

  Someone whose mind had wandered while they read. Or tried to read.

  “It is Becky,” cried Diana. Then, remembering where they were, she corrected herself. “Rebecca, I mean.”

  Becky knew who had sketched her image on the page, of course. He had very skilled hands.

  Since they were all looking at her, she said brusquely, “How dreadful to doodle on the page like that. Some people have no appreciation for books.”

  But when she heard hooves passing, she looked through the parlor window and there he was, riding by, Ness at his side. How fine he looked in the saddle.

  Becky leaped up and grabbed her muff from the table. “I must go out. I just remembered…something.”

  They all protested her sudden haste to leave in the midst of a meeting, but she was determined.

  As she passed through Diana’s front door, the first spots of rain made themselves felt. She looked to see which way the colonel had gone, but he was nowhere in sight. Her shoulders sagged. She wanted to know why he’d drawn her face on the margin.

  “My dear Miss Sherringham, where do you go in such haste? Do you look for me?” Charles Clarendon rolled up before the gate in a brand new curricle, all shiny paint and soft leather. “I was just taking this new beauty out for a jaunt. Will you join me?”

  She looked again to search for any sign of the colonel. He had been traveling down the High Street, which meant he could turn down Mill Lane to pass over the bridge or back up Drover’s Way toward the manor. But his horse had not been sweating, which suggested he’d only just set off and would not head home yet.

  It was raining harder now, but Charles did not seem to mind. Of course not, she thought, for that was how they met—both of them wandering about on a rainy day. She decided to go with him, hoping she might see Luke further along the road. The need to speak to that man today was overwhelming. She did not want to go another day waiting for a chance, but he seemed to be avoiding her. He was always out when she called at the mano
r. While he was on horseback, he was too fast for her to catch on foot, and she did not have the luxury of wheels with which to follow him, since her father had recently, quite inexplicably, decided to sell their old carriage and not replace it.

  She must, therefore, rely on Charles to chase the colonel down.

  “Let’s go over the bridge toward Raven’s Hill,” she said, climbing up beside Charles.

  “What a capital idea! We shall retrace our steps and revisit where we first met.”

  She gripped her hands together in her muff and stared ahead, not wanting to encourage him into thinking she had romantic intentions about this ride.

  The two horses moved smartly forward, manes fluttering in the sharp breeze that had come up with the darkening of clouds overhead. There is not much shelter on Raven’s Hill apart from an old, burned-out shack, she thought. If they, or the colonel, got caught out there, they would be soaked.

  Soon they were traveling along the turnpike road and then they turned up the rough path to Raven’s Hill. There, over the crest and down in another valley, were the remnants of the little hamlet where her mother was born and raised. When she married, she traveled far away. Becky often wondered whether her mother had been afraid to leave or excited by the prospect of a new adventure. Becky’s life had happened the other way around, of course. She had enjoyed travel and adventure first then settled into a quiet village. She knew which she preferred.

  “My darling, Becky.” Charles slowed the horses to a walk, heading for the abandoned shack. Wind whipped at the ribbons of her bonnet. “Will you let me have that lock of hair now?”

  He could not be serious, surely. Did he think they were living in a novel?

  “I thought you were done with this nonsense,” she said.

  His eyebrows rose, lowered, and rose again. “Nonsense?”

  “Mr. Clarendon, we cannot—”

  “Just because we cannot be married does not mean we cannot share more than a friendship. I have certain needs, Becky. I desire you. I need you! You are everything I know my wife will not be. Cannot be.”