Laurie's Painter (sweet Regency romance) (16 page)

If so, that almost
martyred, miserable air took on a decidedly unpleasant meaning.

Could she have guessed? Could
she dread his question so much? Laurie sat in the chair, staring at nothing,
searching for a solution. Was he doing it all over again, declaring his love to
a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, and he was simply too stupid to see
it?

Cold talons of fear sank
into his heart and squeezed.

He could not,
would not
back out without asking. He needed an answer, either way. But oh, he hadn't thought
this could get any harder. With Henry's good humour and blessing, he'd thought
it would finally become easier to get up his courage and ask Jenny.

~*~

Over eggs and their
breakfast kippers, Laurie tried desperately to think of innocuous sources of
conversation. Jenny seemed subdued, trying hard to keep up the act that
everything was fine. Mother's brief glance between them was shrewd, but she
said nothing of their gloom. When she took over the conversation, she had far
more luck drawing Jenny out than Laurie had.

He surrendered in relief
and applied himself to kippers. If he were a more eloquent man, he would write
an ode to kippers. But whilst quite learned in some areas, stringing words of
his own together on paper (or indeed in serious conversations) had never been
Laurie's strong suit.

He was just having a
second cup of hot chocolate when the butler entered. He stood by Laurie's chair
and coughed politely, looking pained.

Laurie looked up, cup halfway
to his lips. "Yes, Beech?"

"A man is here to see
you. William Vale."

Mother and Jenny had
stopped eating and sat watching. Inwardly, Laurie grimaced, though he kept his
face outwardly as impassive as he could. He rose, lowering his cup and napkin. "If
you will excuse me. It appears a friend of mine has dropped by."

Mother's look showed her
disapproval, but she said nothing. Jenny averted her gaze, lowering it to her
plate.

"Pardon me." Laurie
strode from the room, irritated in the extreme.

How like Vale to stop by
without any warning of his plans to do so! Whilst Laurie never stood on
ceremony with old school friends and people he cared about, he didn't wish his
mother to be imposed upon; and the situation with Jenny was so very tricky at
present, he didn't wish for any distraction—nor if he were honest, did he wish
for a possible rival.

For William Vale was the
handsomest of men. Though so far he had not taken it into his head to marry,
declaring he was young enough to take his time, he had an eye for a pretty girl.
They seemed to have an eye for him in return. Laurie had seen otherwise
sensible girls begin to simper when Vale was about. Vale, of course, seemed
smugly proud of causing this reaction. Laurie was not the only man who
sometimes resented it.

But Vale was all right
when he wasn't around women. He rode like the devil, was an excellent horseman
and whipster, and enjoyed a good round of boxing. Laurie and he had sparred any
number of times at Gentleman Jim's, to the enjoyment of both parties.

Laurie entered the hall.

"Hello Joysey!" Vale
raised a hand in greeting, smiling.

Laurie spared him a
narrow-eyed look up and down. "You are covered in mud."

"Your eyesight hasn't
abandoned you yet, then. Yes, I had a bit of an accident. Broken axel. I was
heading to the next county but your place was close, so I thought you could put
me up till my phaeton is repaired."

"Driving like the
devil, no doubt." Laurie sniffed. "On these rough back country roads,
you know that isn't—"

"Oh, come, Laurie! As
if you've never driven too fast in your life. Don't be an old scold. Put me up.
And while you're at it, how about some breakfast?"

"Very well. You may
eat in the kitchen!" he flung at Vale, preparing to head back to the
breakfast-room.

Vale grinned in a way that
showed he didn't take that seriously. "Always a jokester, Joysey!"

"No, clean up! You're
not presentable! My mother's at breakfast, and a guest." Then he could've
bitten his tongue. Vale turned a most interested look on him.

"Oh ho? A guest, eh? Of
the female persuasion? Never look so uncomfortable, Joysey. I shall
indeed
go and clean up."

He left with a roguish
grin, following Beech from the hall, muddy and confident and more attractive to
women than Laurie could ever hope to be. He stood in the hall in a fruitless
rage.

The only thing to do was
get rid of Vale quickly—or ask Jenny to marry him before Vale could catch her
attention. The only trouble with that was that she might say 'no' if he asked
too quickly, especially as nervous as she had seemed earlier—like a virgin
about to be sacrificed to a dragon.

Surely I'm not that bad! And
I don't understand. She enjoyed it when I kissed her—I'm sure she did.

Then he snorted at his own
arrogance. Coxcomb! What did he know about women? Perhaps she was just being
polite. For all her unworldly ways and lack of entrance into society, Jenny was
the nicest behaved of girls. Her manners seemed to spring from kindness of
heart, not following rules. And when she dropped them, it was for the same
reason. Surely her reaction to a kiss from a dear friend would be guided by
these same principles?

Yet I could swear she
enjoyed it as much as I did!

Anyway, even if he was
completely mistaken, they
were
friends. She had no cause to change in
her behaviour as if he'd grown monstrous horns.

Well, no doubt there was
some misunderstanding; he should clear it up as soon as possible—before Vale
started his raking! Vale wouldn't care that Jenny had no fortune, because he wasn't
interested in marriage anyway, simply indulging in his usual flirtations.

Unless Jenny was the woman
to bring him up to snuff. She was for Laurie; how could he possibly think no
one else would see her as a fine jewel, especially in a better setting than she
had been used to? The rest and good food had brought a beautiful glow of health
to her cheeks, wiping away the tiredness she'd sometimes been unable to
conceal. If she'd been beautiful before, she was even more so now.

He returned to breakfast
with a troubled frown, and answered his mother's questions very much at random.

~*~

Jenny watched her host
with growing concern. He had a preoccupied, unhappy look on his face. The
butler had certainly looked disapproving when announcing the unfashionably
early guest. Laurie seemed careworn and concerned now that he had spoken with
the man.

"I am sorry for my
absence. A friend of mine has appeared, and will be staying... briefly,"
he'd explained upon returning to the breakfast table. But he did not look happy
about it. Could this visitor really be his friend?

Perhaps Laurie owed him
money? Whilst it was difficult to imagine Laurie getting himself in the hole (he
had so much blunt to begin with), the very notion of debts of honour gave her a
chilling feeling. Her father hadn't been such a notorious gambler—at first. He'd
grown worse and worse as he gambled more, till nothing mattered more than the
roll of the dice or the turn of a card, not even his wife and children.

Because of Father, Jenny
hated gambling to excess as passionately as her brother did, though she wasn't
nearly so vocal about it. In truth, she'd been sheltered too much to be around
people who gambled the way their father had. Her brother certainly never touched
cards or dice, and they didn't associate with anyone who did. Their life had
consisted mostly of just the two of them, working hard to repay their father's
debts. But they could never forget how those debts had been earned.

When, a few minutes later,
a rather damp-looking, freshly groomed man of about Laurie's age entered the
room, all smiles and strong chin and smooth, blond hair, she gave him a very
careful look. Was he a notorious gambler?

Whether or not he was a
gambler, Jenny felt certain he was a rake. Surely this was how a rake looked,
but it was more than that. She felt herself bristling inwardly. Vale cast her
an interested, flirtatious smile as he was introduced, as if he had done so
many times before. The worst of it was that Jenny could feel just the beginning
of it working on her: he had pleasant eyes, a nice manner, and broad shoulders.
He looked exceedingly handsome in his gentlemanly clothes. What woman wouldn't
like the attention of such a man?

But he bowed over her hand
too low and lingered too long for her liking. Jenny presumed it was her lack of
experience in society that made her want to pull her hand away and wipe it on
her napkin.

However, after William
Vale was politely introduced and seated at the breakfast-table, she happened to
glance over at her host, and glimpsed a frown on his face. A very deep frown! Could
it be because he didn't approve of his guest?

But then why did he allow
him in? Does Mr. Vale have some hold over Laurie?

She had to force herself
to finish a few more bites of toast and jam. She must see if her brother was
awake and willing to partake of breakfast. (Laurie had finally given the order
that no one but his sister must disturb Henry in the morning, because he did
not react well and certainly would not take food from people who irritated him.)

Excusing herself as
quickly as possible (whilst Laurie pretended to eat, Laurie's mother look
disapproving, and the new guest tucked in with gusto), Jenny gathered a plate
of foods that would best appeal to her brother and made her way to his room.

Knocking tentatively, she
entered at his annoyed "Come in!"

The sun was peeking past the
curtains, though he hadn't drawn them back. She set down his tray and drew them
now, stretching on tiptoe to reach as high as she could. Beams of light flooded
in, showing little motes of dust dancing in the air and a splendid view of the
garden out the wide windows.

She turned to her brother,
who sat propped up in bed with a bleary, weary expression, and smiled at him. "You
look so mussed, my dear. Did you sleep?" She bent to prop his pillow up
more for him.

"I slept poorly,"
he admitted. "Leave it, sis. How about you? Did Laurie... ask you any
questions, eh, Jen?"

She cast him a look. "I—do
now know what you mean," she said stiffly, determined to brazen it out as
long as possible. It was far too nice a morning to ruin by talking of that travesty
of a wedding plan she suspected them of having concocted between them. It was
dreadful of Henry, but if she told him that now it would ruin the day for both
of them, and certainly put Henry off breakfast.

"But speaking of
strange things—" she began.

"We weren't."

She gave him an
exasperated look. "Well, we are now, so please listen! This is important."
She transferred his tray to his knees and he, yawning, thanked her and fell
silent as he examined what was before him as if trying to decide whether or not
it merited eating.

"The kippers are
excellent, and still hot," Jenny informed him. "You must try them."

"I shall. Don't nag! Now
go on with your tale of woe."

"It isn't. At least,
I hope it isn't," she amended. "You see, Laurie had a visitor today
during breakfast..." Sitting herself on the chair beside his bed, she told
the story of Beech's disapproving look, Laurie's irritation and distraction,
and her own doubts regarding the man's steadiness of character.

"Do you think he
could be a gambling man?" she finished, voicing her worst doubts. "Laurie
didn't seem exactly pleased to let him join us for breakfast, nor to have him
present. I hate to think it of Laurie, but suppose he's in debt to this man?"

Henry laughed. "No,
Jen, you've got it backwards this once. Believe me, I've been about society
more than you. That's the farthest thing from Laurie's reputation! He's not a
gambling man, except perhaps for a bit of cards at a party or ball to be polite.
Really, he's not at all like Father in that respect. I'd not allow him around
you if he were!"

A second veiled hint about
a proposed marriage arrangement. Jenny frowned. However, Henry was eating, and
she once again didn't feel up to broaching the subject with him—if she could at
all. Surely there must be a way for him to accept Laurie's generous help
without having to believe the man loved his sister.

Then again the whole thing
was ridiculous. Surely even Laurie wasn't selfless enough to sacrifice himself
to marry a woman he regarded only as a friend, merely to save her brother! Perhaps
she had it all wrong.

It would be straightened
out soon enough when he asked her the question he'd mentioned. She must stop
being silly and wishing to put it off; the sooner they got it out into the open
(whatever it was), the sooner they could deal with it sensibly, as friends.

For she wished always to
count Laurie as a friend. If he had stooped to the marriage deception to help her
brother, she would think less of him, and it would hurt her: but to help Henry
she would put up with a great deal, and she suspected she could also forgive
Laurie a great deal. At any rate, they might be able to solve this easily
between the three of them, if they simply talked about it.