How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) Page 7

  But the person she encountered was not the blacksmith or the carpenter, or any other jolly, local face.

  It was Nathaniel Sherringham.

  Startled by the sudden sight of him coming rapidly toward her on his horse, she spun around so sharply that she nudged her muff from the edge of the parapet and it tumbled into the water with a splash.

  Seven

  Nathaniel had slightly longer than Diana to prepare, for he had seen her before she was aware of his presence. She was leaning over so far to watch the ducks sail by below that his heart had leaped in panic. He was ready to jump out of his saddle and dive to the rescue—he supposed even a woman who had insulted him the last time he tried to help her ought to be rescued—but the only thing that fell was the fleece muff.

  When she saw him, her face paled. Her lips parted and she reached behind to clutch the stone ledge.

  He had slowed his horse and now came to a halt on the hump of the bridge where she stood. Determined to keep his face empty of any expression, he stared down at her, waiting for something—a smile perhaps, some sign of gladness to see him. This time, let her be the first to speak. Could it be so hard for the damn woman to greet him? Others had welcomed his return with warmth. Why couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if she was in any danger of him renewing his attentions.

  But there was no sound from her. Only parted lips, and cheeks sunk in as if she were stuck on an inhaled breath.

  Finally he grew too impatient. “Madam,” he snapped out in terse greeting. Why was she there alone? Again she was unattended, Shaw nowhere in sight. “Are you on your way to visit my sister?”

  She tipped her head back slightly, and gentle sunlight reached under her bonnet to touch her face. His pulse had almost ceased to beat. For so long he had held her face in his memory, and now she was before him again. Yet changed.

  One small word squeaked out of her. “No.” She looked as if she was not sure where she was going.

  No smile warmed her expression. If anything, her countenance drained the sun of its heat, and when that word emerged from her lips, she looked perplexed. He stared down at those lips he’d once kissed. Their color was faded and they turned down at the corners, wobbling slightly.

  He thought of riding on and saying nothing more, but found that to be quite impossible. “Pleasant weather,” he said. Damn her. He would make her be polite to him even though she thought him so unworthy.

  She merely nodded.

  Nathaniel rested one hand on his thigh. “You look”—He decided not to lie. After all, flattery had never got him anywhere with her—“very ill. Is something amiss, madam?”

  “Amiss?” A sharp, humorless laugh escaped her as she looked away from him. “I’m afraid it’s simply the passage of time, Captain.”

  “Ah. I suppose so. And time is seldom kind to women.”

  Once, she’d accused him of being a boy, aimless, immature, and selfish. He’d waited more than three years to return the wounding thrust.

  It did not feel quite as satisfying as he’d imagined. And he realized that rather than assuring her of his new maturity, he had just done the opposite.

  Her gaze swept back to him but briefly, vexed. Then she looked down over the parapet again. Nathaniel waited, staring down at her, the horse restless under him.

  “Shall I fetch it for you, madam?”

  Her hands still grasped the stone behind her. “Fetch what?”

  She’d forgotten it already. Clearly the muff meant nothing to her.

  “The item you dropped, madam.” He paused and then added, “Unless, of course, you tossed it away deliberately.”

  She was breathing rapidly now, a little color returning to her cheeks. “Why would I toss it away—?” Her brows lowered in a deep frown, and then he knew she understood his meaning.

  Yes, he had recognized the muff he’d bought for her. He’d given it to her the last autumn he was there, while they stood under the sheltering golden leaves of the Bolt and he tried to dissuade her from marrying Shaw.

  Warm your hands in this, Diana, until I can return again to warm them for you.

  Nathaniel was quite sure she would never have dared tell her mother who’d bought her that muff. Indeed, he was shocked to see it was still in her possession for several years before being resigned to the murky, weed-laden depths of the stream.

  “It is floating away, madam,” he pointed out.

  “I–I can…” But her words floated away in the same manner as her muff and she did not move.

  Nathaniel dismounted swiftly and looked over the other side of the bridge, where he spied the object caught in some reeds beside the supporting pillar. He would leave it there to rot. Serve her right.

  When he turned back to look at Diana she was walking away hurriedly, apparently having made her decision to abandon it.

  Fury ripped long talons through his attempt to remain detached.

  * * *

  The stones slipped under her feet as she took the downward slope of the bridge at a reckless pace. It was not like her at all to risk a twisted ankle, but this was an emergency.

  Madam, he had called her in that deep voice. As if they were barely acquainted.

  Madam. How cold it had sounded, and how stern his face had been when he looked down at her from his snorting horse.

  Nathaniel had always had an easy smile and a mischievous gleam in his eye. That had changed, along with so many things. His blue eyes were cheerless today as they bore down upon her.

  He looked older too, she thought, but more handsome than ever. How was such a thing possible? The injustice made her even more annoyed and lent speed to her pace until she turned to the right onto the grassy bank of the stream. Then she had to slow down to keep from tripping over the tussocks on that steep slope.

  Now, where was her muff? Her darling, precious muff.

  Diana’s blood cooled in the shadows beneath the bridge, but her heart still thumped hard and fast. With one hand resting on the stone abutment to steady herself, she studied the water and the reeds, searching desperately. The ground was wet and soft because the sun had not yet reached there to dry it. Her walking boots sank in a few inches, the mud sucking her down and making the most hideous squelching noises as she pulled her feet out again.

  As if she needed his help to retrieve anything for her! As if she were a weak, defeated female. An old lady unable to help herself—just like two nights ago at the dance. Why did he think she needed him to rescue her constantly? How did he suppose she managed when no man was around?

  Hopefully he would not stay long. Would just take his bride and go away. Diana would certainly do nothing to encourage his stay. Even if he didn’t want Lucy, there would be others. Men were prideful, vain creatures and he was never lost for admirers.

  She spied a flattened stone boulder and thought that would be a good place to stand while she sought her fallen muff. It was a little mossy, but if she was cautious…

  * * *

  Nathaniel had rushed back down the other side of the bridge, removed his hat and coat, and looked around for a long stick—something with which to capture the muff. Having discovered the location of the fallen item before he ran down to the stream, he was soon wading into the weeds, makeshift fishing hook in hand. He didn’t care about his fine, costly new boots and breeches. What did they matter now?

  Much to his surprise, as he rounded the first pillar of the bridge he saw not only the trapped muff bobbing among the reeds at its base, but also Diana, thrashing about in the water.

  The stream was no deeper than three feet in that spot, but weedy, thick tendrils wrapped around her as she tried to stand.

  He had never heard Diana curse until that moment.

  When she saw him, the woman shut her mouth and glared as if he were responsible for pushing her in. She was standing upright finally but soaked from head to toe, h
er bonnet flattened to her head and strands of dark hair hanging down the sides of her face.

  It took every shred of his willpower not to laugh out loud. Oh, how far the haughty had fallen.

  “What, pray tell, are you looking at?” she demanded, her shoulders back, spine straight, as dignified as any lady could be in those extraordinary circumstances.

  Nathaniel pondered her prim face and weed-laden figure for a moment, his head cocked to one side. “I’m not entirely sure. I thought I knew it once. But I’ve never seen it quite so moist.”

  He had not meant to joke, but his heart was gladdened to see her looking for the muff—to know that she thought it worth saving, after all. He’d never expected such stupid happiness over so small a thing, and the humor bubbled out of him before he could maintain a stern face.

  “You’ll catch more fish if you bring a rod, madam.”

  Did she just curse again under her breath?

  “I am in no mood for frivolity,” she gasped, pulling a long weed from her sleeve.

  “Quite. At our advanced age I don’t suppose we can afford it too often.”

  In the shadows and dancing ripples of light that moved under the bridge, the color of her eyes had regained a startling brightness. Earlier he had thought them dull and darker than he remembered. But now her eyes were back to sparking and shimmering again. How he had missed that look! It stopped his pulse for a moment.

  But she was right about the frivolity. His days of joking with her, flirting with her, were in the past. They must be. She was married now, and he had struggled to patch his heart up before because of her. He would not endanger it again.

  Nathaniel reached with his stick and hooked the muff, lifting it slowly and carefully from the reeds. It hung limply, dripping water. “Yours, I believe, madam.”

  He had to take a few steps closer until she could grasp the recovered object and when she did so, it was with a quick motion, impatient, almost snapping his stick in two.

  Reluctantly her lips moved. “I must thank you, Captain.”

  “Must? Don’t do it because you must. Do it because you want to. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

  She looked down, the shimmering green of her eyes hidden from his view. Drops of water fell from her crumpled bonnet brim to her cheek and looked like tears.

  Nathaniel straightened up, tossing the stick into the water. “I would rather have a sincere thank-you from your heart.” He had said too much, no doubt, but he couldn’t help himself. Better than saying too little. Or nothing at all.

  When she turned away, her skirt and coat swishing in the water, he added breathlessly, “God forbid, madam, that I add gratitude to the burden of your duties.”

  She halted and he thought she might turn and berate him. Good. He welcomed it. He was ready to get a lot off his chest. He wanted to quarrel with her. Perhaps he would finally draw out her emotions.

  Instead, she waded to the bank and did not look back at him.

  “We’ll call it water under the bridge then, shall we?” he yelled. Ah, old habits. Still trying to make her smile, despite everything.

  As she came out from the shadows, Diana was illuminated in bright sun for two beats of his heart, and then she was gone again.

  Eight

  “I have absolutely no interest in meeting that man again,” her mother declared. “Why should we be hauled out on a rainy evening to fawn over his return? Trust him to come back again like a bad penny.”

  The note from Rebecca had arrived on Friday, inviting them to a small gathering at Willow Tree Farm. There was no mention of Nathaniel’s return, but Diana had felt it best to warn her mother. Mrs. Makepiece did not care for surprises of any kind.

  “If we don’t go, Mama, it will look rude, considering our long association with the Sherringham family.”

  “As if I care what it looks like!”

  But of course she did. Appearances were very important to Diana’s mother.

  “No one else is aware that he ever proposed to me, Mama.” Occasionally she’d had cause to suspect that his sister might know, but Rebecca never raised the subject so Diana didn’t either.

  After expelling a few more energetic grumbles into the air, Mrs. Makepiece was forced to agree it might be best to get it over with. As Diana pointed out, no one could guess how long Captain Sherringham would remain in the village, and avoiding him forever would be impossible.

  Diana said carefully, “We should be natural and polite with the captain, Mama.”

  “What can you mean by that? Don’t you think I know how to behave?” came the scathing reply. “I have nothing to say to the man and neither do you, I’m sure.”

  “But the past is behind us now. There is no cause for you to hold it against him after all these years.” For her friend Rebecca’s sake she didn’t want to seem aloof. She certainly didn’t want anyone thinking her upset by the notion of Nathaniel marrying Lucy Bridges. “It is not as if he is likely to repeat his mistake with me, Mama.”

  “Indeed not. Even he couldn’t be so very stupid as to bother you again. He’ll have his eye on someone younger. Some naive petticoat with money to fund his reckless wagering.”

  So the two women walked out to Willow Tree Farm that evening through a fine drizzle of rain.

  Rebecca met Diana at the door and was immediately cross with her. “I would have arranged the carriage for you, had I known you were coming,” she exclaimed. “How could you think to walk all the way here in this weather when you are still recovering from a cold? Poor Diana!”

  “Why did you think we would not come? You did invite us.”

  “Well, I assumed—” Catching Mrs. Makepiece’s stern eye, her friend quickly shook her head and ushered the newcomers through the vestibule. “Of course you must come in and get dry and warm.” Drawing Diana aside she whispered, “You look so pale and tired. Sarah said you were quite unwell at the dance, and it was my fault that you were there! Now you’ve come out in the rain! My fault again. Poor Diana. You look dreadful.”

  Diana stared at her friend and didn’t know what to say. She had glanced briefly in her mirror before she left the house and thought her appearance acceptable, if nothing remarkable. She wore her hair in a knot at the nape of her neck, a more severe style than usual, but she didn’t think it anything worth commenting on. She certainly couldn’t fuss over her appearance before seeing Nathaniel again. If she did, her mother would be suspicious and he must not think she ever regretted turning him away.

  “Thank you, I must say,” she said finally. “I can always rely on you for the brutal truth. Now all I need is Mrs. Kenton’s opinion and advice, and then my evening will be complete.”

  “My daughter took it upon herself to go swimming after fallen coins yesterday,” Mrs. Makepiece snapped, having followed closely to overhear their conversation. “She has no one to blame but herself if her cold lingers. She does not take due precautions or a word of my advice. Soaked through, she was.”

  In response to Rebecca’s puzzled expression, Diana explained, “I dropped my reticule in the stream. The string broke from my wrist, and then I slipped trying to retrieve it.”

  This was the best excuse she’d been able to think up. While her mother would never have thought it necessary to chase after a muff that fell into the water, she would definitely be angry if Diana lost her purse of coins.

  “For goodness’ sake, come to the hearth and get warm,” Rebecca exclaimed.

  The Wainwrights’ farmhouse was a spacious building with large, timbered rooms. Luke Wainwright had undertaken many repairs and improvements since he purchased the place from his father-in-law, and it was much grander than it had been before, although in a comfortable way. Even Diana’s mother was surprised, but she hid it well of course. When Rebecca urged her guests to take chairs by the fire and dry their feet, Mrs. Makepiece replied that she preferred to
stand, as if accepting the luxury of a padded, brocade seat in that company was the first step toward sin and debauchery.

  Then the dreaded moment was upon them. “You will remember my brother, no doubt,” said Rebecca, bringing Nathaniel over to where they stood.

  “Yes. No doubt.” Mrs. Makepiece could barely bring herself to look at him, let alone move her mouth, but when she did raise her eyelids, shock flashed through her gaze like sparks from a blacksmith’s hammer. Diana felt it too.

  Although she had seen him twice already since his return, she had not, on either occasion, been calm enough to take much note of his appearance or attire, other than to allow herself the galling acknowledgment that he remained as handsome as ever. Now she realized he was very well dressed indeed, the cut of his jacket in the latest style, the material costly. He looked every bit a gentleman of means and consequence.

  “Madam.” He bowed to her mother and then to Diana. As he straightened up again there was hesitation. Did he not know what to call her? Or was the tersely uttered “Madam” meant for both women, she wondered. Whatever the cause of his quizzical expression, it apparently prevented him from addressing Diana directly.

  Justina and Darius Wainwright arrived in the next moment, and his sister swept him away to greet them.

  Diana caught the faint trace of a sneer on her mother’s face and then heard her remark, “I daresay he had a lucky win at the tables, but he will waste it all on his appearance. As one might expect of such a vain fellow. All surface and no substance. Always be wary, Daughter, of property dressed up beyond the means of its owner. There will be cracks hidden by furnishings, mold on the wall covered by sly paintwork, and leaks patched up with temporary fixes.” Her mother looked around the room and added, “Go and sit down, Diana. You look very obvious and desperate standing in the middle of the room. Don’t draw attention to yourself. It’s not ladylike.”