Sharon Sobel (12 page)

Ben returned his gaze to the pieces of the map on the table, noting ink stains on the edges of several of them. Surely someone doctored his own notations onto the dissected map of Winchelsea, though the particulars would remain a mystery, as they had all but disappeared. He lifted one small piece to the light, hoping to appear so indifferent to Matthew’s comment that he could not be bothered to grace it with a reply.

In fact, as he knew with perplexing certainty, he had not come away unscathed. He did meet a lady who provoked and fascinated him, and who had managed to spark the unbidden flame from wood that had seemed impervious for so many years. She resented and distrusted him, and insulted him to his face. And yet, he found he could not keep away, no more easily than on the night they first met, when he had dared to approach her and ask her to dance.

Of all the things he might confide to Matthew, this surely was not one of them.

“It is Winchelsea, certainly,” he offered instead. “Looking at all the towns along the coast, I would have thought it of the least consequence.”

“I have been there, and never thought to return. But we do not know if the king holds it in any special regard or, more specifically, if he holds one of the townspeople in special regard. I am sure the ladies there are as lovely as elsewhere,” Matthew murmured. “Should we inform the king’s men of our find?”

“I am not sure,” Ben said, willing himself to concentrate on the business before him, and not on the tempting remembrance of a brief reel danced in London. “But as the royal entourage will not arrive in Brighton for many days, we have some time to make sense of Mr. Wallis’ tricky map and prepare some sort of statement. With Thibeau and his message gone, there may not be any cause for alarm.”

“In that case, I suggest we return to matters of more immediate concern. I have noticed, for example, we are nearly out of our supply of bandages.”

Ben pushed his chair away from the table and massaged the back of his neck. He had been engaged in very intricate surgery the night before and had barely allowed himself time to rest.

“I already asked Mrs. James to have several cases delivered,” he said and rose stiffly to his feet. “But you are right to remind me of our most pressing matters. I should like for you to examine Jed Parker, for the wound on his leg is not healing. And last night I stitched the mauled hand of a child bitten by a dog; the bandages ought to be changed. Did you ever have occasion to reset broken bones while you practiced in London?”

Matthew nodded.

“Excellent. A man is being brought to us this afternoon whose crooked leg prevents him from work. We may have to break the bone to repair it.”

Matthew caught up with him as he walked to the door.

“What have you prescribed for the lady?” he asked.

Ben stopped suddenly, not knowing at first what his friend meant. Then, seeing the glint in Matthew’s eyes, he realized his attempt to divert the conversation from the subject
of Lady Larkspur had not been altogether successful. He could do nothing but continue to feign indifference, as if her person could be of only the slightest interest to him.

“I have recommended a regimen of bathing in the sea, eating only the freshest foods and declining any activity that might prove too tiring. I believe it will repair the lady. But as soon as Knighton returns, I daresay he will revise such suggestions to accommodate his own form of quackery.”

“I do not doubt it.” Matthew nodded sagely. “But have you ever considered shock as a form of therapy?”

Ben looked with amazement at his colleague, thinking him quite above any such suggestion, though guiltily remembering his own attempt at it in London.

“You cannot think I would inflict such torture on a delicate young lady, one who has been gently bred for nothing more painful than aching feet after a dance? To abuse—”

Matthew interrupted the tirade by holding up his hand in protest.

“Stop, please. I am not referring to medieval torture,” he said impatiently. “If the lady is soon to be a part of your estimable family, I do not doubt she is as fine as one could wish. But she does suffer from a mysterious malady of very indefinite characteristics. I merely thought if she were to witness cases of genuine pain and suffering, and understand something of neglect, she might be shocked into realizing her own complaints to be of little consequence. Such might be the strongest prescription for her recovery.”

Ben immediately opened his mouth to protest, but within a few moments grasped the wisdom of his friend’s plan. The thought of shocking Lady Larkspur’s exquisite sensibilities pleased him beyond measure. It might manage to squash her macabre interest in dead men washing up on the beach. Indeed, it might manage to convince her of something else, though it surely was of no consequence. No consequence whatsoever …

Lady Larkspur might be made to understand what motivated gentlemen to do something other than gamble in private clubs and spend their afternoons calling on young ladies. She might even come to respect such endeavors.

But he dared not articulate such a thing to Matthew.

“I knew I would not regret bringing you to Brighton,” Ben said instead, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I think it is an excellent plan, one likely to instill some sense into an impressionable imagination. In fact, I would bank on it, but for the fact the lady is a bit of a shrew and very likely to resist with all her strength.”

“I see. And you will have me believe a great strapping fellow cannot manage to seduce a frail thing to join him for a few hours?”

“I will not kidnap her,” Ben declared with a growing sense of frustration. Damn the chit—he might have to resort to such tactics.

“Nor should you.” Matthew shrugged, seemingly unaware of his companion’s discomfort. “But do you not think she will be happy for some diversion and will accept the offer of a carriage ride? You can, in all seeming innocence, manage to convey her to our very door.”

“Removing splinters from a tongue might prove the easier task.” Ben frowned. “But I have nothing to lose but my pride. And the lady threatens that with our every meeting.”

“He wants to take the afternoon air with us,” Lark said in a deep, mimicking voice. She threw the fine linen paper onto the table. “I daresay he is desperate to trick me into confession, and imagines his generosity sufficient to distract me!”

Janet Tavish reached for the invitation, scarcely able to contain her excitement.

“It is very well written, Lark, with no hint of divisiveness. I am flattered he wishes me to join you as well.”

“He undoubtedly desires a witness to my forced admission.”

“More likely he is aware of the proprieties and the need of a chaperone. But no matter! I should love to be free of Knighton’s, if only for a few hours. I am amazed you do not feel the same.”

“Do you not think it is like climbing out of the boiling kettle to fall into the fire? Who knows where he might take us?”

“You cannot accuse him of mischief when his behavior must
be accountable to Raeborn. He says he looks only to take us for a cabriolet ride along the beach road. It sounds like heaven.”

“Heaven, my friend, is not a place, but a state of being among those you love and care about. With Mr. Queensman nearby, I should be in hell.”

“Then forget his company, and leave him to me. I am not so hopeless I cannot manage to flatter and amuse him myself. We shall leave you to the scenery, the sun and the fresh sea air.”

Lark looked at the glowing pleasure on her loyal friend’s face and wondered how well Janet admired the handsome doctor. Perhaps she might manage to suffer a few hours in the detestable man’s company after all. She would have to be very careful not to forget herself again, and she would have to manage a good show of her frailties for his benefit. It would be very difficult.

But to feel some sense of freedom! To come alive within, even while affecting disdain without, and allow oneself to be entertained by a gentleman of some intelligence and wit!

She was not certain it would be a pleasure to witness a flirtation between Janet and Mr. Queensman, however, and observe every look that passed between them.

“Well, Lark?” Janet asked breathlessly. “Will you answer Mr. Queensman?”

“I will allow for you to do the honor, for you must tell him I am too weak to pick up a pen. And while you do, I shall be engaged in other matters.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“Indeed there is, Janet. I shall need your advice on everything. For I must decide what I shall wear and what will suit me best.”

“If you hope to look ill, you had best select what will suit you worst,” Janet reminded her.

Lark said nothing as she made her way to her large wardrobe closet.

L
ark nervously fingered the ribbons on her bonnet while Janet stood sentry at the window of the main hall. It would not do to appear too eager, and so, though the day proved gloriously warm and calm, they did not await their ride on the veranda.

“You need not fret so, girl,” Miss Hathawae said suddenly, looking up from her small volume of poetry. “Mr. Queensman is a well-respected gentleman in Brighton and will not allow any harm to come to you. I do not doubt he is a very courteous driver.”

Lark felt curious to know how this reclusive lady knew about a man who would not have been a familiar figure at Knighton’s before her own arrival.

“And did you ever ride with him yourself, Miss Hathawae? On whose authority do you vouch for the gentleman?”

“I have it on very high authority, my dear. I am well acquainted with someone who has brought Benedict Queensman into his confidence,” Miss Hathawae answered a trifle haughtily, and returned her attention to her book.

Lark looked away, wondering if she was the only person on earth who found Mr. Queensman’s company so officious, so difficult to endure with any degree of equanimity. His eyes, far too bright and knowing, were capable of stripping away one’s most precious delusions, leaving one completely bereft of any fond secrets. That he had almost immediately uncovered hers was to his credit, she supposed. That he did not yet choose to expose her to her family was not. She did not know why he was willing to sanction her deceit; she only knew she ought not trust him. Indeed, she ought not trust anyone who put her in danger of forgetting herself.

Perhaps he had this effect on other ladies. A gentleman with his rather obvious recommendations would hardly have been able to slip through the hands of anxious matrons if he
did not have some compelling flaws. And Lark, who continued to receive letters full of news and gossip from her four sisters, would surely have heard if Ben Queensman had ever been married or promised to another. Indeed, his defects must be apparent to all.

Lark looked up to where Janet danced expectantly at the window, waiting for his arrival, and wondered when her good, honest friend would become aware of them.

“He comes,” Janet said breathlessly. “At least, I suppose it is he, for I cannot imagine another such vehicle arriving at Knighton’s.”

“Does he drive a hay wagon or something of that sort?” Lark asked languidly.

Janet laughed out loud. “Indeed not. It is a painted cabriolet, of the sort we know well from our summer in Margate. But this one is infinitely more splendid. Its hood is bright yellow, and all four wheels are painted red and blue.”

“Goodness. The man is certainly a peacock. I believe he must endeavor to mask the dullness within.”

“Or to cheer our day? Come, Lark, you must not be so censorious. Mr. Queensman may drive a frivolous carriage, but I see nothing but modesty in his demeanor.”

“Do you indeed?” Lark asked sharply. She saw Miss Hathawae look up from her book and felt a little reckless. “Do you consider it modest for a man to demand the attention of a lady who is already engaged to another?”

Janet turned from the window, and for the first time in all the years of their friendship Lark thought perhaps she had gone too far. The cool demeanor with which Janet customarily masked her deeper emotions melted away, and in its place a spark of anger flickered in her eyes.

“Are we still resentful of ancient history, then? Can you possibly continue to resent a gentleman who sought to do you homage and behaved with nothing but respect? And, if truth be told, Mr. Queensman’s insight on that unfortunate evening proved more discerning than yours, my lady!”

Lark recoiled as if smacked in the face. When her oldest friend called her “my lady,” the title was invariably hurled like some sharp-pronged weapon. She caught her breath and glanced towards their curious audience. Miss Hathawae quickly looked back to her book.

“He intruded wherein he was not invited. He persisted when
told to leave. And he remained when it was not his place to do so,” Lark said slowly and clearly. “If such things are not sufficient for me to develop a dislike for him, I know not what else might be. Unless, of course, it is his continued persistence in interfering with our lives here at Knighton’s.”

“He comes with the approbation of his cousin, and your father, my lady,” Janet said sternly, though her tone seemed less harsh.

Miss Hathawae cleared her throat. Her book slipped to the floor, prompting Janet to recover it immediately.

“It is none of my business, my dears, though your conversation well within my hearing demands my participation. If I may say so, Lady Larkspur, while you are a very lovely lady from an excellent family, your continued ill health cannot make you a desirable candidate for a young gentleman’s attention. In addition, as you are intended for Lord Raeborn, a generous man apparently willing to overlook your faults, Mr. Queensman surely does not desire to come between you except in a professional manner.” Miss Hathawae paused and looked from one girl to the other. “Is it not possible to believe his continued attendance is due not to any particular interest in yourself, but rather to a developing affection for Miss Tavish?”

Janet blushed like a fool, and Lark frowned in dismay. She truly, genuinely, absolutely did not mind if the fellow sought to connive his way into Janet’s affections, she told herself. She felt disagreeable only because she preferred not to consider the possibility.