How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) (6 page)

Diana and her mother had had other plans. He was not good enough for them.

The injustice bit cruelly into his flesh and clung there. He could not shake it off. His desire for her had been too great.

Often at night, in need of comfort and release, Nathaniel lay in bed with his eyes closed and pictured Diana beside him. That’s where she belonged—naked, with open eyes, her lips damp from his kisses, her cheeks flushed, her hair spilled loose over her shoulders. Given the chance, he would have made love to her in such a manner that she knew her place was with him, that she felt as he did and understood they were made for each other.

Really it was ridiculous that he’d ever proposed marriage to her. He wished he could forget it. Undoubtedly she had. If he saw her again, he would treat her with as much chilly disinterest as she had shown him.

In the years since he’d left Hawcombe Prior, Nathaniel had learned to be less transparent about his thoughts and feelings. He kept his instincts and his hot blood reined in. Usually.

Alas, his mind and his limbs were too restless tonight.

Storming back across the room to the washstand, he poured water into the bowl and splashed his face. Unfortunately the water was frigid cold, so it woke him further, rather than soothing him into drowsiness.

Nathaniel dropped heavily onto his back across the narrow bed and gazed up at the low ceiling, memories of the green-eyed girl plaguing his thoughts.

* * *

“I certainly would never marry you, Captain. It is quite out of the question. What can you be thinking?”

“I know I’m a rogue with a repertoire of wicked jokes, absolutely no sense of propriety, and the grace of a plow horse on the dance floor”—he grinned—“but I do not believe you can say you have no feelings for me whatsoever. Say that you do not, Diana. Say it and I’ll believe you.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course I have feelings for you.”

In that second his heart had lifted. Only to be trampled and shattered in the next instant when she added, “I find you annoying, provoking, petulant, spoiled, and slightly unhinged. My feelings are that and only that.”

Recovering as best he could, he replied on a short exhale, “I suppose some feelings are better than none.”

She’d looked at him then in surprise, those expressive brows arched high. “If you can be content with that, it is no wonder you’re always pleased with yourself. I daresay if I didn’t care what people thought of me I could be eternally smug too and congratulate myself at every opportunity on my faults.”

* * *

Proving herself a mercenary, Diana had sacrificed herself to another instead. A man of “stability” and wealth, handpicked by her mother; a man for whom she felt even less than she had for Nathaniel.

“William Shaw rouses no emotion in me at all,” she’d admitted, “and I am thankful for it.”

To her, emotions were an abomination.

Nathaniel supposed that was why he had kissed her—to try and make her feel something real, something her mother had not taught her about.

Now she was just another girl he’d once kissed. There were many.

He sat up again and groaned. No good. Couldn’t sleep. Needed to be doing something.

So he left his room and went downstairs to the quiet kitchen where he spent a good hour polishing his boots. By the time he was done they gleamed like glass, his arm ached, and he was quite certain he’d erased all thoughts of Diana—now Mrs. William Shaw—from his mind.

He had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill; deserted and disappointed him; and worse, she had shown a feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided, confident temper could not endure. She had given him up to oblige others.

—Persuasion

It was with a much clearer head and happier temperament that he rode to Willow Tree Farm the next morning after breakfast. He was delighted to meet his little nephew for he’d always been fond of children. They were artless, curious, and had not yet formed a single judgment on anything more serious than whether or not they liked strawberry jam.

As for his sister’s stepdaughter, Miss Sarah Wainwright, he reserved his opinion for now. Her eyes were just a little too knowing, and she was the quiet sort. He’d had his fill of those. The girl became more animated, however, when prompted by his sister to bring out her portfolio of sketches.

One of the first sheets that fell out onto the table portrayed a too-familiar image and made Nathaniel start so suddenly that he bit his inner cheek.

“This is Diana Makepiece,” said Sarah. “It was very difficult to get her to sit for me, and when it was done, she said I could keep it. I thought she might want it framed, but she did not.”

Across the room, playing with the little boy on her lap, his sister had turned to look at him. He felt the cautious regard in her worried gaze, so he forced a smile and said, “Ah, but who is this?” He focused Sarah’s attention on another sketch, a drawing of one of the harvest workers apparently. His hand remained a moment on the picture of Diana and, when he thought he could do so unobserved, he glanced at it again.

Couldn’t help it. Ah yes, why not torture himself anew?

Sarah had called her Diana
Makepiece
, so this must have been drawn before her marriage.

In the sketch her face was calm, just as he remembered it from before—not as it was two nights ago when she seemed extremely agitated. She was staring away from the artist. Diana was not the vain sort and must have hated sitting for a portrait. No doubt she did so just to please Sarah, for she always complied with the wishes of her friends. She did not include him in that group, of course, despite his efforts.

Nate remembered walking across the meadow with Diana in one of their stolen moments alone together. He had chased after her, tumbling over a stile to tell the ingrate that she was beautiful.

He’d never seen her blush before then. “Don’t be silly,” she’d said, looking flustered and covering her cheeks with her hands. “For goodness’ sake.”

But she must have known how she looked. She surely had a mirror to see for herself and could have heard compliments aplenty whenever there was a dance to attend. Her beauty, however, was of a different variety than the usual rosy-cheeked, buxom country girl. Perhaps that was why she failed to recognize its full worth. He saw that possibility now, although at the time he’d been nonplussed by her lack of confidence. Three years of absence from a situation could cause a man to look at it from another angle. Through new eyes.

Nathaniel studied the portrait as long as he dared, sneakily following the charcoal lines and curves with a sideways glance, the direction of his gaze hidden by lowered eyelids.

Until her likeness was covered by another sketch and then another, for Sarah Wainwright was a prolific artist.

There were sketches of plow horses, dogs, and that very large pig called Sir Mortimer Grubbins. Soon, as the pile mounted, there was nothing of Diana left visible.

“Should I call you Captain or Uncle Sherringham? Or Uncle Nathaniel?” Sarah asked suddenly, her eyes very wide and earnest, as if this was a most pressing matter.

“Hmmm.” He pretended to consider her question with equal solemnity. “Uncle Sherringham sounds awfully old and dry. Indeed, I do not like the
Uncle
much at all. It brings to mind a stodgy old man with rancid breath and bulging waistcoat buttons. Would a simple
Sherry
be appropriate, do you suppose? It is what all my friends call me. Those that are still speaking to me, that is,” he added with an arch grin.

She nodded. “Very well, I shall call you Sherry.”

“Perhaps you can sketch my brother,” said Rebecca, “if he will sit still long enough while he is here.”

Nathaniel replied teasingly that he thought the real thing much more endearing, unless, of course, his future bride might want to keep his image in charcoal for the times when they were not together. “I would not want her to go into a decline if she does not have my handsome face before her every day.”

“Are you going to marry that lady you were with at the assembly dance?” asked Sarah, sounding slightly scandalized by the idea. “The one with all the rouge?”

“Good Lord, no.” She’d almost taken his breath away with that question. “Mrs. Sayles is just an acquaintance.”

A strange look passed between his sister and her stepdaughter.

“An
acquaintance
,” he repeated. “A traveling companion. I am charged with delivering her to relatives in Bath.”

“Well, I must say that’s a relief,” Rebecca muttered.

While Sarah took her drawings back to her room, Nathaniel whispered, “I told you, sister dearest, my bride must be between fifteen and twenty-five, sweet-natured and adoring, full of maidenly innocence. That hardly describes Mrs. Sayles, I fear.”

“Maidenly innocence?” his sister scoffed as she fought to regain one of her bronze locks from her son’s tightly determined fist. “How typical that you would expect virtue and considerable naiveté from your bride, while you, for years, have been free to gain experience of that nature wherever and whenever you desire it.”

With an amiable shrug, he replied, “A man should always seek knowledge and gain a familiarity with certain practices in order to guide his new bride.” He winked. “Such an education is invaluable, and no woman has ever had cause to complain that I lack skill.”

Rebecca snorted. “I’m quite sure you’ve never
heard
any complaints because you make yourself scarce the next day to escape fathers, husbands, brothers, and other consequences of that nature.”

“What a thing to say to your own brother.”

“I can say it to you
because
you are my brother. And someone has to show you the error of your flirtatious, unguarded ways.”

He laughed. “I never seduced any fragile maidens, I assure you.”

She looked skeptical. “I knew plenty of naive little misses who took your flirting seriously and suffered when you forgot them entirely the next day, once you were sober.”

“I never forgot a single one! I remember them all fondly and always made certain to send them a gift.”

Sarah dashed back into the room as if she feared missing any part of their conversation, and now he endured two sets of eyes studying him with a great deal of worrisome consideration. He suspected they were already running through a list of potential brides who might take him in hand.

When his sister once again pried for details about his business, Nathaniel was deliberately vague.

“I don’t know why you cannot say,” she exclaimed. “Clearly you wish people to know you’ve done well, or you would not be dressed that way.”

“Of course. But they don’t have to know exactly how well or how I managed it. Let them wonder.”

“They will assume the worst. That you came by your new wealth by some illicit means.”

He laughed. “Perhaps I did. But the woman I choose to marry will have to be brave and take me on”—he patted the side of his nose with one finger—“dark secrets and all.”

“What woman do you think will possibly be induced to take you knowing nothing about your life?”

“It’s a test, Sister. This way I can be sure she loves
me
, not merely the accessories that might come along with marriage to me.”

“An addled woman blinded by love, you mean.”

He widened his eyes innocently. “Are not all women addled to some extent?”

While she was still shouting at him for that comment, Luke Wainwright came in, walking with a cane. A short, stout, ugly dog—one that had featured in several of Sarah’s sketches—trundled solidly, with a certain degree of self-importance, at his heels. “Captain Sherringham! We are glad to see you returned after so long. I have you to thank for the acquisition of a wife, you know.”

“Ah, I did hear something of that matter.” He glanced at his sister, who blushed under her freckles. “A gambling debt, was it not? One of mine probably.”

Luke grinned broadly. “If not for that debt you once owed me, Sherringham, your sister would never have given an unsightly old sinner like me a kiss on the lips. And if not for that kiss, she’d never have been forced to marry me.” He limped to the window seat where his wife sat and placed a kiss on her forehead, then one on the baby’s soft hair too. “Now that’s a pleasant sight to come home to after a morning in the fields.” With a look back at Nathaniel he added, “You ought to get yourself one, Sherringham. A wife, that is.”

“Oh, I intend to. I am fully open to the idea of acquiring a wife now and babes at once, many of them.”

Luke took the child from his wife and carried him under one arm to wash his face in the scullery. The dog, having sniffed Nathaniel’s gleaming boots, flopped down by the fire and rolled leisurely onto his back, presenting a belly for Sarah to scratch in a motion that seemed quite routine.

“Well, don’t run hastily into marriage,” said Rebecca. “I know how impulsive you can be, Nate. You must make sure she is the right woman for you before you marry. I would hate for you to make a mistake and be unhappy, trapped.”

“I promise you, Sister”—Nathaniel put on a somber face—“I am far from the fool I once was.”

She looked doubtful, so he returned to his usual flippant tone.

“However, a man of thirty cannot afford to let more time slip by while he dillies and dallies. He must seize his chance with the first merry and agreeable young thing in his path. Something lively. Yes indeed! The less thought I put into it, the better. Expectations can too easily be shattered and disappointment leave a man’s heart in ruins if he wants too much and cares too deeply.”

He stopped abruptly, realizing his tone had turned serious just when he had not meant for it to be. So he clapped his hands together and exclaimed merrily, “I can hardly wait to see who you shall pick for me. Let her have a good bosom, a pretty face, and a quiet voice. Apart from that I’m not particular.”

“What about teeth, Brother?” his sister remarked wryly.

He pretended to consider. “A few would be handy, of course, but one hesitates to ask for too much.”

* * *

Diana took her Welsh cakes to the Pig in a Poke, and while there she heard the news she’d dreaded from an excited Lucy.

“Captain Sherringham has returned to the village!”

Diana managed to look surprised, or so she hoped. Lucy seldom bothered to assess anyone else’s feelings and was so full of this news that she scarcely glanced at Diana’s face as she told it.

“He sent a message to my papa.” Lucy leaned close and lowered her voice dramatically. “He has some business to tend while he’s here, but Papa will not tell us what it is. What do you suppose it might be? What could the captain wish to speak to my papa about in private?”

Diana politely declined to speculate.

But Lucy did plenty for the both of them. “Well, I don’t flatter myself too much, I think, if I suspect it might have something to do with me. He has shown me many kindnesses in the past and seems to find me amusing company. As my mama says, he is of an age now when he must be thinking to settle down and I am unattached.”

“Yes.”

“I can imagine no other reason for Captain Sherringham to desire a private discussion with my papa. Although I do not know how I feel about it. To be sure, he is exceedingly handsome and witty, but it is so unexpected.”

Diana began inching toward the door. A few moments later, after Lucy had observed, “You look rather crumpled today, and your hair is lank and listless…” she took her leave, explaining that her mother needed her at home to help kill some ants.

In no haste to return to the cottage, Diana chose the long way home. Instead of circling the common and going back down the High Street, she took the path along the stream toward the old mill. The ducks were out with their little ones—fluffy gold-and-brown smudges sailing along in a line behind them. The happy, peaceful scene should have kept her thoughts from wandering.

Should have.

Hands tucked into her muff, she marched along the bank, disturbing dandelion seeds and trampling long grass with a speed and violence that hardly lent itself to quiet reverie.

It made perfect sense for Nathaniel to return here to see his family. Of course it did. It was possible that he had also come back for a bride, and Lucy Bridges was the right age, certainly. She had a colorful personality, a lively temperament, and was undeniably pretty. She had spirit and boldness. She also knew how to speak up for herself.

Unlike Diana.

Nathaniel had once said to her, “Have you no will of your own? No gumption? Do not be a passive bystander in your own life, Diana.”

She sniffed, shaking her head as she stomped along.

He might think she took the easier path rather than struggle against her mama’s wishes, but then “Sherry” never thought of other people’s needs, did he? Nathaniel regarded life as sport, coming and going as he pleased, never worrying about consequences. He called it confidence. He was proud of it.

Foolish, imprudent man!

Now, as she imagined Nathaniel’s wedding to Lucy—oh Lord, would it take place right there in Hawcombe Prior?—a wretched pain in the region of her preciously guarded heart brought Diana to a halt on the path. There was also a shocking pinch of jealousy, when she had no right to feel it.

She’d always known he would have to marry someone. Someone other than her.

If only it didn’t have to happen here, on her doorstep so to speak.

Alarmed by the intensity of her objections to the idea, Diana shook her head. What did it matter?