Sharon Sobel (4 page)

Raeborn’s liver-spotted hand, holding his teacup, trembled slightly as he poised it over a platter of chocolates while scooping up several rich selections at once with the other hand. His open mouth, accepting the sweets even as he rambled on about one matter or another, revealed a row of very yellow teeth and gums too far receded beneath his chapped lips. His scanty hair, knowing none of the benefits of soap and warm water, abandoned all hope and fell away from his head to take refuge on his slouched shoulders.

Ben looked down at his plate and pulled a strand of hair from his omelet. Dark and curly, it could not belong to his cousin, but neither did it speak well for the cook in the dark, damp kitchen on the lower level of Raeborn’s town-house. Hungry, but no longer possessed of an appetite, Ben pushed his plate away.

“And so the matter must be resolved soon, I understand, for her father is most desperate to see her settled,” Raeborn mused, stuffing another chocolate into his mouth. A line of dark spittle stained his chin.

“Pardon me, sir, but were we not talking of the king?” Ben asked, confused.

Raeborn made a gesture of impatience, entirely justified, and spilled his tea. As no servants stood ready and prepared for such a mishap, the warm liquid began to spread across the table, threatening the silver.

“You will never get far in London society, my boy, unless you can follow a multitude of topics with exactitude. Believe me! I understand it all too well!” Raeborn settled back
into his chair and patted his stomach. “The king already left our table, so to speak, replaced by a gentleman of greater interest to me. Lord Leicester.”

“Yes, of course. I called at his home yesterday, where Lady Leicester greeted me most graciously in her studio. She is an artist of some talent, you know.”

“Yes, yes, we all know it,” Raeborn said, still impatient. “More to the point—how is the girl?”

For reasons he did not pause to understand, Ben refused to say the name of the only girl left in the Leicester household, the one who had seemed the most popular subject of gossip in the week since Southard’s ball.

Perversely, he answered, “The twins appear in good health, and Lady Southard makes a most gracious hostess when her mother is occupied with her painting.”

“That is all well and good, but they none of them hold a candle to the redhead. Do you not think she is extraordinary?”

Ben felt his heart beating so insistently, he wondered if Raeborn could hear it.

“She is very pleasant, certainly. But she is in seclusion. Her loss must be deeply felt.”

“Her loss is nothing. Hindley Moore groveled at Miss Davenport’s feet since her first season and only turned to Leicester’s girl in his disappointment. No one knew what she saw in him, nor why she would desire another lady’s leavings. If there is a loss, it is Moore’s.” Raeborn looked thoughtful as he ran a finger through the spilled tea. “And another man’s gain.”

“I am not sure I understand you, sir,” Ben said calmly.

“Leicester is desperate! She is the last of his daughters still at home, though far from the youngest. She does not have the look of her sisters, nor the disposition, for she is reputed to read all sorts of books and plainly speak her mind. Gentlemen are nervous in her presence, for she will not stick to subjects like the weather and the state of her rosebushes.” Raeborn paused to catch his breath, and Ben felt concern to see a bright red flush on his face. “And now she is jilted! It will be a rare gentleman who will want her now!”

“Perhaps she is not wanting a gentleman, either.”

“Impossible! And, in any case, it does not signify. The word
is out her father wants her married—and quickly—to cover up this mess. He will settle a great deal of money on her.”

“It sounds as if Lord Leicester intends to be more generous to her future husband than to her.”

Raeborn looked mystified by this declaration. “And why not? She is only a girl.”

Ben sat back in his chair, feeling infinitely more worldly and superior than his cousin.

“My good man, have you not just tried to convince me the lady is anything but just a girl?”

“Yes, I suppose you are quite right. But then, you surely see it my way, as well.”

“I am not sure what way it is, sir. In what direction do you intend to lead me?”

“Down a path of joy, my boy. The lady Larkspur must be married soon, and she will bring a multitude of advantages into a match. Knowing the condescension of her partner, she will be grateful, and therefore tolerant, helpful and obedient. She will grace his table and warm his bed. And, as she will have much to do to catch her more successful sisters, she will be anxious to produce an heir. Could ever a man desire more in a wife?” Raeborn looked speculatively at Ben. “But I sense he will have to spring quickly to secure her.”

Ben felt again the insistent beating of his heart and wondered when he had regained the disposition of a schoolboy. He, who always considered himself cool and rational, now seemed to lose himself whenever he thought about a lady who had shown him not the slightest bit of preference. She had not even bothered to be polite to him.

“I … I hope you do not mean me, sir?”

Raeborn’s eyes opened wide, and he flushed to the thinning roots of his hair. His mouth opened and closed like that of a fish gasping for breath, and his whole body went rigid. Suddenly he let out a bellow, so hysterical a sound that it was several minutes before Ben realized his cousin had laughed.

“You? Good God, boy! I am sure you are the last one Lord Leicester would consider for his daughter. You’d best look in Brighton for some sturdy miss.” His finger wagged until it seemed to turn on himself and thump against his chest.

“I am speaking of myself, of course. Lord Leicester’s chit needs a husband, and I believe I am just the one to make her father happy!”

“I will speak to her, and speak to her alone!” Lord Leicester blustered as he banged on the door of Lark’s bedchamber.

Janet Tavish cried out as she pressed her fist against her lips, and Columbine looked nervously at Del. Del, just as distressed, could do no more than shrug and turn to Lark, who seemed to sink deeper into the nest of her pillows.

“What would you have us do?” Lily whispered from her corner.

“He will break down the door,” Rose added timidly.

“Then let him,” Lark said with more courage than she felt. Her father paused in his assault, and she wondered if he had gone for reinforcements. “He will have a broken door, and I have a broken heart. I am ever the poorer, for his injury can be fixed.”

“He is very worried about you,” Del said. “As are we all. It is a week since he-who-shall-remain-nameless disappointed you, and you have hardly eaten or taken a step out of this room. You shall waste away like this, and lose whatever chance remains of redeeming yourself.”

Lark pulled her covers off and sat upright. “Redeem myself? As if I am the one who offended, insulted and ruined the life of another? As if I am responsible for disappointed hopes and shattered dreams? I, for one, have nothing to redeem.”

“That is not quite so, Lark,” Columbine said, though she did not meet her sister’s eyes. “There are those who think you rejected Mr. Moore by not showing him proper degrees of affection and loyalty. Mrs. Winthrop says you drove him into Miss Davenport’s arms.”

Lark made a sound appropriately dismissive of such nonsense. “A fine statement coming from that old battleship! She who could stand on the cliffs of Dover and rebuff a fleet of French warriors! What does she know of it?”

“Nothing,” said Del. “She knows nothing. But, for some reason, she, and others like her, seem to have Father’s ear.”

“And Mother?”

The sisters looked at each other.

“Your mother seems engaged on a very large canvas of water lilies. She gave Mr. Queensman an audience but almost no one else merited one,” Janet said. “Mr. Queensman is the man—”

“I know who Mr. Queensman is,” Lark said quickly. She had thought of his deep voice and blue eyes more often this past week than anyone might have imagined. In her dreams he inexplicably took the place once held by Hindley Moore, and she once woke up believing he held her in his arms. “But I do not understand why he presumed to come to our house and speak to Mother.”

“Oh, he spoke to all of us,” Rose said, with a spirit unbecoming a married woman. “But Mother also welcomed him, whereas she would no other. Perhaps it was to offer her gratitude.”

“For what?” Lark’s eyes narrowed as a suspicion dawned.

Once again her sisters would not meet her eyes.

“Well, dear,” Del began, “we did not wish to embarrass you by reminding you of this, but when you fainted, Mr. Queensman caught you in his arms. And then, acting most discreetly, he carried you upstairs to one of the guest chambers and made sure you were not in any danger.”

Lark said nothing for several minutes, now knowing she had not imagined the feel of warm hands on her skin, pressing against her heart and neck. No wonder she did not think herself still with Hindley, for his fingers had never strayed farther than her wrist.

“He is a physician, Lark,” Del said, almost apologetically. “And Dr. Wainwright would have taken too long to summon.”

Dr. Wainwright was probably thrice Mr. Queensman’s age and about as compelling as a block of wood.

“And so you allowed—”

“We allowed nothing, Lark. Mr. Queensman did all that was well and proper and pronounced that you had received a dreadful shock. He instructed us to keep you warm and thought you might be more comfortable in your own bed. He was very … doctorly.”

He does not look it, Lark thought.

“He is a gentleman, Lark!” Lily added. “If Lord Raeborn does not—”

“I know all about Mr. Queensman’s expectations. I do not wish to hear another word about him. I would rather hear about Father, and understand the nature of his anger.”

Before the sisters could reply, a different sort of banging was heard at the door, something like the sound of metal on metal.

“I believe he is knocking the hinges from the door,” Lark reflected as she sank down again. “How like Father to keep everything neatly in its place. I daresay he wishes the same for me.”

The heavy door yawned open, hanging precariously on its splintered frame. Four of Lord Leicester’s daughters rushed forward, followed by a nervous Janet Tavish. Lark remained where she was, and stuck out her lower lip.

Leicester stomped into the room like some warrior king. The laces and floral sprays filling the chamber, not to mention the presence of six delicate ladies, belied any sort of challenge. But Leicester looked ready to do battle.

“Girls!” he barked, making the single word both a command and a curse. His daughters, recognizing his rare mood, made haste to gather up their needlework and books and escape. Lily stopped short at the door and returned to pull Janet away before Lark’s friend could do anything more than glance helplessly at the bed.

“Yes, Father?” Lark said when she could no longer hear their footsteps in the hall. “You have gone to great lengths to speak to me.”

“And you have gone to great lengths to avoid me, girl,” he said sternly.

Lark shifted uneasily in her nest of pillows, unwilling to admit the truth of it. “But I have hardly moved from my bed, sir. I have been sadly indisposed.”

Leicester grunted and sat down on the chair vacated by Del a few minutes before. His look softened, and Lark felt a little tickle of delight at realizing herself still capable of bringing her father to her own terms. She sighed and leaned back against the pillows, waiting to hear her father’s apology for his rude invasion of her sanctuary.

“It is a sad business,” he acknowledged. “And a great disappointment for you. You were fond of Moore, I know, though I confess I never thought him completely worthy of you.”

“It is sweet of you to say so, Father, but I did love him so.” Lark sighed, knowing she was already weary of the refrain she had so often spoken in the past few days. Whomever, whatever, she thought she loved must not have existed anywhere but in her battered heart, for now she realized she did not know Hindley Moore at all. Indeed, repetition of her protestation of love for him did nothing so much as diminish the truth of it in her mind, whereupon it almost as easily left her heart. Perhaps she did not so much love the man as she loved the gallant part he performed in courting her, during which he made her believe she too was someone other than herself. In the quiet of her invalid’s room, Lark ruefully came to understand that what she loved was hope, briefly disguised in the person of Hindley Moore.

The closed door, intended to foster her deception, did admit certain truths. But she would never reveal them, not even to her family and closest friends.

Her father nodded thoughtfully. But for recognizing his mannerisms all too well, Lark might have feared he knew her fickle heart. He was not agreeing with her, but was instead rehearsing a speech intended for her benefit. As he had seen fit to destroy the ancient woodwork in an effort to deliver it, she suspected she had more to fear than she had hitherto imagined.

“That is precisely the cause of my concern,” Leicester said, still nodding.

“You need not worry so, Father,” Lark said comfortingly. “I am sick of heart now, but I will surely mend. I have thought myself in love before, but survived to outgrow such sentiments.”

“Precisely,” Leicester repeated. “But I do not believe your endurance is due to an affinity for martyrdom on your part, girl. I am convinced you are unable to choose your lovers with any degree of discernment.”

“Father!”

“Do not dispute me, girl! I recall, with perfect clarity, Lord Dunlap, who thrilled you for one season and married Lady Mandeville at the end of it. And then Mr. Barrows, who seemed to have greater expectations in Germany than in London. Lord Vanyard? I believe you loved him passionately. And
why have I not seen the Duke of Kelsford for these two years past? And now—”

Lark extricated her hand from the blanket and held it up.

“Enough, Father. You are making me quite ill. I admit I have chosen neither wisely nor well, but I am resolved to be more circumspect in the future. I shall endeavor to learn more about the gentlemen I meet and take greater care in deciding to whom I shall deliver my heart for safekeeping.”