Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Read online

  Despite their friend’s unconcealed disappointment in her choice, however, Diana would quietly remind the Book Club Belles that security and a steady income were perfectly suitable reasons to marry. Love and passion, as she liked to say, usually lasted only as long as the first set of candles, were long gone by the time a gray hair sprouted, and didn’t put food on anyone’s table. Since Diana and her mother lived on a threadbare budget, she had wisely chosen a reliable man with a good income first and foremost.

  It was very difficult, thought Becky, to love and admire her friend for those qualities of wisdom and rationale while also feeling envy. Even as she yearned to be as ladylike as Diana—to not let every emotion show upon her face, to be cool and unruffled no matter what the circumstance—she couldn’t help wishing there was just an occasional uncouth outburst from Diana’s elegant lips. Just occasionally. Something to prove she was not perfect after all.

  As they crossed the whitened lane toward the narrow path known as “The Bolt,” which would take them directly to the Makepieces’ cottage, Diana began to sound more cheerful. “Mr. Shaw is joining us for Christmas dinner, and so are the Clarendons.”

  Becky slipped on a treacherous spot of icy ground and had to grab Diana’s sleeve to save herself from a graceless backward tumble. “Your cousins?”

  “Yes. They called upon us once before. It was but a brief visit,” Diana grinned slyly, “and you may not remember them.”

  Becky frowned, knowing what was sure to come next, for her friends loved to tease her about this!

  “I daresay you’ve forgotten how you rescued my cousin Charles on Raven’s Hill. When he twisted his ankle.”

  As if she might need reminding. Charles Clarendon—quite possibly the most handsome man Becky had ever seen—had been out riding in the midst of a late summer thunderstorm when she encountered him, just after he’d fallen off his horse and was rolling rapidly down the muddy slope, collecting dead leaves. The young man, pale and angry at his misfortune, was convinced his leg was broken. Not knowing what else to do for the desperate fellow, she’d helped him to her own house and shocked a blood-curdling scream out of the cook, Mrs. Jarvis, when she arrived at the kitchen door, soaking wet and partially lifting Charles across her back like a bundle of dirty laundry. Luckily, her brother had once taught her how to carry a wounded comrade in battle—he seemed to think that, considering her capacity for encountering trouble, she might need the knowledge—and Becky had made a passable attempt at it, although Charles Clarendon’s feet were never quite off the ground.

  Her friends took delight in retelling the story of this “rescue.”

  “You’re supposed to be the dainty maiden that sprains her ankle and falls into the hero’s clutches, not vice versa!” Justina had exclaimed between chuckles. “Poor Becky! Apparently your ankles are too sturdy.”

  After that strange, improbable beginning, she and Charles struck up a friendship during the short time he was there, and the Book Club Belles liked to speculate that tomboy Becky was finally ready to fall in love.

  He looked the part, as everyone pointed out to her. When she drew up her list of “Attributes Required in a Husband,” she might well have been describing Charles Clarendon. He had even kissed her one sunny afternoon, under a perfectly picturesque arch of autumnal tree branches, and after returning home, he sent her a thin volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets as a memento.

  “The Clarendons are staying as guests of Admiral Vyne up at Lark Hollow,” said Diana as they walked along in the snow, “but they will visit us over the Christmas season. Mama is quite beside herself with anxiety.”

  “Diana, your mother would give herself an ulcer over an insufficiently boiled egg.” Really, there was nothing to fuss about. Even if it wasn’t every day that a pleasant, lively young man with fair curls and fine calves came back to visit.

  Once word spreads about my new undergarments, Becky thought with amusement, the romantically inclined Book Club Belles will probably assume Charles Clarendon is to blame for them somehow. Diana clearly thought that her slip on the ice just now was his fault too. So Becky made a concerted effort to measure her steps to Diana’s until her friend stopped on the path and exclaimed, “What’s amiss with you? Is there a stone in your boot?”

  She sighed, exhaling a billowing cloud of breath into the crisp night air, and then lengthened her steps to their usual unfeminine march.

  Four

  Luke stepped out of the moonlight as a cluster of villagers hurried by in the snow. No one appeared to notice him until he walked further into the barn and met the astonished gaze of his younger brother, Darius. For the first time in twelve years.

  The boy had matured since their last encounter, grown into his ears, which were once on the larger side and earned him the nickname of “Handles.” He was now a tall, fine gentleman. A man of consequence too.

  Luke grinned. It might not be appropriate to smile so broadly considering the tenor of their last meeting all those years ago and some of the things that were said in the heat of temper—he should be looking repentant, not glad. But he couldn’t help it, for he was pleased to see the boy again. More so even than he’d anticipated.

  Married life apparently treated his brother admirably.

  Darius did turn rather pale and sick-looking, though, when he looked over and recognized Luke standing there, back from the dead.

  “Good God! Lucius? It can’t be.” The boy had always refused to call him Lucky or Luke. He was so formal it was something of a surprise that he didn’t address his elder brother as “sir.”

  “Handles!” Luke exclaimed. “I see you’ve flourished without me.”

  “When did—? How did—? Christ, I don’t—”

  “When I heard most of the village was congregated here tonight, I thought I’d come and see for myself. Couldn’t quite believe my little brother would sit through a performance of amateur dramatics in an old barn.” He chuckled. “Seems you’ve changed, softened in your old age.”

  His brother’s eyes darkened in that suspicious way—one thing about him that hadn’t altered. “I hope you didn’t come back to cause trouble, Lucius.”

  Well, that didn’t take long. “Me? Trouble? That’s a fine thing to say to your long-lost brother upon his return.”

  “Yes.” Darius hesitated. “You’re right, of course. I…I’m sorry. But this is—”

  “A shock? Aye, no doubt. Not a pleasant one, eh? You look as queer as Dick’s hatband.”

  “You must come up to the house and—”

  “No, no, I won’t impose upon you so soon.” Luke laid an awkward hand to his brother’s shoulder, felt the muscle instinctively stiffen beneath his palm. “I’ll come up to the house once you’ve had a chance to air a bed and warn that pretty young wife of yours. I remember there’s a tavern in the village with a room above and that’s good enough for me tonight. Just wanted to look in on you. Say hello.”

  “Nonsense. You must—”

  “You’ll need time to make sense of old Lucky still being alive.” He laughed, attempting to lighten the mood, but it sounded hollow. “Oh, and don’t worry about laying on a vast spread just to welcome the wounded old bugger home, eh? Just a slice of plum cake and a cup of chocolate will do me. Nothing fancy. Tell your good lady wife not to concern herself unduly. If there is bacon or smoked kippers to be had, or some stale beer, I’ll take it off your hands, but I draw the line at a heavy breakfast. And you know how I hate fuss and fanfare on my own behalf.”

  “Indeed. Modesty is your middle name. We’ll see what scraps we can spare then. Whatever the pig hasn’t eaten.” Yes, there was a sense of humor in there, somewhere, but it was most often strangled by the boy’s iron-willed self-control. Luke was pleased to see this hint of light. Moved by it too. His little brother was thinking quicker on his feet these days. The old, insecure stammer was gone. “You should come up to the manor now, Lu
cius. In this weather, you can’t—”

  “Worry not for me, Handles!”

  “I would advise you to—”

  “I’ve lasted seven-and-thirty years, little brother, primarily by never listening when anybody starts out a sentence with those words.” He grinned again, teeth gritted against the cold air. After one last hasty wave, he moved out of the barn with his usual rapid, ungainly lurch. He knew he’d left his bewildered brother staring after him, probably not at all convinced he hadn’t just conversed with a ghost.

  But seeing Darius grown up, no more the shy boy, was a startling reminder of the time passed. How much had changed. They might be family, but they were strangers. His brother’s life had moved on without Luke in it, and he was a much more worthy recipient of the Wainwright fortune than Luke ever could be.

  But he’d seen those eyes quickly flood with dark waters of doubt and distrust almost immediately. Darius looked very much like their father now—at least, how he had looked in a portrait from his early years of marriage. Almost eerily so.

  Coming back to life, Luke realized, meant so much more than he had considered when the idea first flickered through his mind. Ah, but as his father would say, was that not typical of Luke’s reckless, thoughtless character? His sudden need to repent for old sins was just another selfish idea. As usual, he’d jumped in with both feet and not considered the consequences.

  Before he was spotted there, Luke had watched from a distance as his brother chatted with a pretty young woman who must be that newly wedded wife he’d heard about. They looked very happy. The girl with them must be Sally Hitchens’s daughter—the one they all thought was his child. No more a child now. Certainly no more a wrinkled bundle with a gargoyle face, he mused. Amazing how that tiny, mottled creature could have grown into a poised young lady.

  What could his return do for any of them but cause unwelcome ripples? They managed better without him.

  His hand trembled, but he gripped his walking cane tighter and limped through the snow, retreating into the shadows.

  Best let sleeping dogs lie.

  A small inner voice scolded him for being a coward, but he knew a reliable way to silence that meddling whisper. A tankard or two of good ale was all he needed to blur the unsightly edges of truth and help Lucky Luke on his wandering way again. He didn’t know where, but he’d work out the details later.

  * * *

  In the corner of her eye, a black blob spoiled the otherwise pristine white ground. Becky turned her head, and at the same time, her numb toes stumbled to a halt.

  A squat creature sat beside the milestone marker on the village common. It was not quite knee height, and as wide as it was tall. A layer of snow had settled on its ears and wrinkled brow, but its nose did not protrude far enough to collect the same frosting.

  She squinted through the falling snow. At first she couldn’t be sure the dog was real as it made no movement. Two large black eyes watched her with the same wary regard until, suddenly, it raised its short snout to sniff at the air. The dog lurched forward and down in one motion, burying its ugly, foreshortened face between its paws and letting out a soulful whimper.

  There didn’t appear to be anyone nearby to claim ownership. Its eyes were just visible above its paws and the snow, but as it watched her approach, there was no movement, not even a warning growl.

  “Hello, boy. Who left you here, I wonder?”

  The eyes blinked and it seemed as if more folds of saggy skin gathered across its broad brow. Was it possible for a dog to sigh with depression?

  Becky took the last few steps with caution, for one could never be sure with a strange dog. A sloppy pink tongue swept out briefly to wet the stubby snout. A very soft whimper emerged, evaporating in the cold air along with a puff of breath.

  “You’re a sad-looking thing,” she exclaimed, glancing around the snowy common again. “Who left you here?”

  The dog sat up. Its stomach grumbled and then it whined softly and gazed up at her through drifting snowflakes with the most doleful eyes she’d ever seen.

  “You’d better come with me,” she said firmly. “You need a good feed and a warm bed. Would you like that, boy? Yes, you would, I’m sure! And a belly tickle too, eh?”

  “’Tis kind of you to offer, ma’am, but I’ll take a look at your nails before I agree to that last. In my experience, a pleasant tickle too soon becomes a bloody scratch if my mistress hasn’t tended to her fingernails. Especially if she has a temper to match the color of her hair.”

  Spinning around in a swirl of skirt and snowflakes, Becky found a tall, bulky, unkempt fellow standing behind her, leaning on a walking cane. She hadn’t heard his approach because of the snowy blanket underfoot, and the dog had not given him away. “Is this your animal? You shouldn’t leave him out in the cold on such a night.”

  He laughed, but there was not much jollity in the sound. “And there I was thinking you extended your offer of hospitality to me. I might have known it was only for the damn dog.”

  There was something familiar about his voice. Becky squinted through the snow, trying to see his face, but it was only partially visible beneath the wide brim of an oddly shaped hat and behind the tall, upstanding collar of his greatcoat.

  “Perhaps you were trying to steal him, eh, missy?” He shrugged snow from his wide shoulders. “Took a fancy to my fine dog and thought to turn his loyalties with promises of heaven.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was not trying to steal your dog.”

  “Aye, now that I think of it, you have a sly look about you, a devious gleam in those hazel eyes. Never trust a redhead. Up to no good, I’d wager.”

  “Well, of all the—”

  He whistled to the dog. “Come, Ness!”

  The animal looked at him but remained seated and licked its snout again.

  “Now don’t be stubborn. Yonder wench was only leading you on with false promises. What can she give you that I can’t?” The man sighed heavily and leaned on his cane with both hands. His breath formed a fat cloud in the air by his collar. “Never believe a woman, Ness. They’ll tell us one thing and do another. No, you are like me. The life of a fancy lady’s lapdog is no life for you, Ness.”

  Still the dog did not stand, although a low whimper could be heard as it turned its eyes back to Becky and widened them further, letting them droop at the far corners, adding to the already fierce tug upon her heart. Again its stomach grumbled.

  Bending awkwardly and heaving a long, scuffed knapsack over his shoulder, the man muttered, “Come, Ness. We’ll be moving on, boy. This place isn’t for the likes of us.”

  The dog’s ears twitched and it finally stood on its four short, bowed legs, then ambled wearily toward its master, head lowered in the very image of resignation.

  “Wait, sir.”

  The two stopped and looked back at her.

  “Where are you going?” Becky knew she would have a sleepless night in her own warm bed if she let them walk away into the dark.

  “Just passing through,” he replied gruffly.

  “There is a room above the Pig in a Poke tavern.”

  “The landlord tells me ’tis taken.” He paused and she saw a brief gleam of white teeth as he smiled without mirth. “I doubt he wanted the likes of us around. People seldom do. We’re not pretty and civilized, me and Ness. I daresay he thought I might steal the plate from over the mantel, while Ness here rutted the eyelashes off his pedigree lapdog bitch.” He laughed coldly. “Aye, ’tis best if we move on again, for if there is any trouble near about, it is sure to be blamed on the two of us. It usually is.”

  “But there is more snow still to fall. Where will you take shelter?”

  “We’ll find out when we get there. Come, Ness. This is no place for us. I made a mistake.” As they began to move slowly through the snow again, she thought she saw the dog limp, just like it
s master. How bitterly cold its paws must be!

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Becky hurried after them. “You must both come with me for something to eat.” Mrs. Jarvis would raise a fuss about feeding a stranger, but what did that matter?

  The cook had been with the family three years and always handed in her resignation just before Christmas, only to want her post back again in the new year. Two more strays, therefore, would simply give the lady something else at which to grumble, should Becky fall short.

  As the man turned toward her again and his big coat billowed out like black wings, she saw a dilapidated uniform jacket beneath it and then the moonlight hit his face full on.

  “But I know you!” she cried.

  Slowly his lips turned up at one corner. “I thought you’d forgotten me…Gingersnap.”

  As if she could! Her heart, surely, had stopped for a moment. Surprise tumbled and flipped through her. Snowflakes whirled around them both, landing on the wide brim of his hat.

  I’ll find you again, one day.

  A spark of excitement lit her up inside and chased away the chill. Here was the first man who had ever looked at her as if she were a grown woman, not one of the lads. “Have you come to claim that debt?”

  His dark eyes widened then narrowed again, studying her thoughtfully through the fat, spinning flakes of snow. “Why do you think I’m here, wench? Why would any man come to this place so far from anywhere and so uncharitable to poor strangers?”

  His dog’s stomach grumbled loudly yet again.

  “See, Ness,” the man muttered, his gaze fixed upon her face. “I warned you never to believe a woman. Now she’s changed her mind about us already. She’s afraid.”

  “Indeed, sir,” she assured him firmly, “I have not changed my mind and I am not afraid of you. I’ve been expecting you for five years.”