A Gentleman for Judith (The Wednesday Club Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

  Ragnor blinked. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Judith stepped away. She was too close to him for her own good. “Sir Ragnor, I have patiently been sitting and listening to you spout more impartial absurdities than I ever imagined a man could cram into one sentence. You’ve taken any number of things for granted…” She held up her hand and began to tick them off, one by one.

  “You assumed my decisions were based on stupidity. You did not pay attention to the matter of my meeting Lord Rolfe earlier, and obviously you dismissed my judgement that he was a man who meant me no harm. You took it upon yourself to order me to follow your suggestions, rather than giving mine at least a courteous hearing, and on top of everything, you are now assuming I’m going to accept your ill-timed and poorly presented offer of marriage.”

  “Er…”

  “Sit down, sir. I’m not done.”

  To her surprise, Ragnor sat, looking as stunned as if he’d just been hit with a large dead fish. He gaped. There was no other word for it.

  Encouraged, Judith continued.

  “Leaving aside the matter of Lord Rolfe, and my attendance there tomorrow night…” she narrowed her eyes, “and make no mistake about it, I shall be going, let us turn to your suggestion as to our future. I cannot, in all fairness, refer to it as a proposal, since you yourself have acknowledged that it is your wish to offer me your hand in marriage.” She took a breath. “I am, of course, extremely honoured by your interest and consideration. Are those the correct words? You’ll have to excuse my lack of propriety in this area. I’ve never been called a fiancée before being proposed to, so I’m unclear as to the appropriate sentiments.”

  “That was sarcasm, wasn’t it?”

  She wanted to smirk, then slap him. She did neither. “I will make my own confession here, Sir Ragnor. I too had begun to believe that we, that is you and I, might deal well on a closer basis than that of mere friendship.”

  He moved, but she stopped him with a look. “I had also accepted the fact that I enjoyed your…attentions.” She couldn’t keep the colour out of her face, but refused to stop now. Best to clear the air. “Very much.”

  “Good,” he answered, his gaze warming as it rested on her.

  “But setting all that aside, I am discovering that I have been sorely mistaken in your character. And for that, I thank you. If I had mistakenly accepted your proposal, I would have been devastated to learn that you expected me to bow to your every whim. That you would order me about like a lackey and pay exactly no attention to any opinions I might have about matters of import.” She whirled away, her anger re-energised, her voice growing stronger by the second. “In fact sir, you have shown your true colours. You are nothing but an arrogant nincompoop.”

  “And you’re a childish nitwit,” he yelled back.

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  The words battered harshly around the room, and for a moment Judith could have sworn the crystal sherry glasses rang in agreement.

  “Dinner is served,” said Hobson, surveying the battle from the doorway with a look of distaste. “I believe I will set two places at the children’s table, since I find you, Sir Ragnor, and you Miss Judith, have seemingly reverted to the age of five.”

  “I…” Judith bit her lip.

  “We weren’t…” Ragnor gulped awkwardly.

  “Yes you were. Stop screaming at each other like fishwives, try for some decorum, and join Sir Laurence and her Ladyship for dinner. Or—even better—don’t, if you cannot comport yourselves in an appropriate fashion better suited to the Sydenham residence.” He sniffed and turned on his heel.

  “That’s put us in our place, hasn’t it?” Ragnor shook his head.

  Judith held back a growl and flounced from the room ahead of him. She held to her opinion. He was an arrogant nincompoop.

  And he’d never said a word about love.

  *~~*~~*

  Dinner was a somewhat challenging meal, observed Ragnor.

  Despite the fact that it was most informal, and there was plenty of conversation ranging over a variety of topics, he couldn’t help but feel that he and Judith were forefront on everyone’s mind.

  His comment when the two of them arrived in the dining room, the last to appear of course, had pretty much laid that topic to rest.

  “You’re wondering, I’m sure, as to the standing of matters between Miss Fairhurst and myself.” He remained on his feet. “All I can say that it is still under discussion and we shall be continuing our discourse shortly.”

  “Ah.” Lady Maud surveyed a dish of roasted scallops, then glanced up at Ragnor as he took his seat. “In a more subdued manner, one would hope.”

  “Indeed, my Lady.” Ragnor dipped his head in acknowledgment of the rebuke.

  “I felt quite at home,” said the irrepressible Matthew. “Lydia screams at me like that all the time.” He raised his eyebrows. “And with much worse language too. Can’t imagine where she picks up those words.”

  “I believe I learned them when Papa was directing them at you, dear brother,” returned Lydia.

  “I almost wish I had a brother,” said Rose, looking at the plate in front of her with interest. “Forgive me, Lady Maud. But what are these?” She pointed at the small flat patties of something, wrapped in bacon slices.

  “I believe…” Lady Maud referred to a list next to her plate, “Yes, those are a mélange of oysters and cockles, breaded and baked à la Sydenham.” She glanced at Sir Laurence. “I believe Louis is getting whimsical again, dear.”

  Her husband swallowed a mouthful of his food. “Maybe. But it’s all very tasty. I can’t say I’m bothered by what he calls it as long as I like it.”

  “Very practical, sir,” grinned Miles. “I’ll add that it must be nice to have a preparation method named after one.”

  “You could always ask your cook to do it for you,” suggested Rose.

  “He’d probably make a fish pie, which I can’t say I’m fond of, and call it Linfield’s Delight, or some such nonsense.” Miles shook his head. “No, I’m quite content with the food from my kitchen, no matter what it’s called. But I have to add that everything I’ve tried this evening, thus far, has been beyond excellent. My compliments, Lady Maud. À la Sydenham or not, it’s all delicious.”

  “Thank you dear,” she smiled back at him. “Although I’m not sure how many of these dishes would work for supper at a Wednesday club event.”

  The conversation turned general, giving Ragnor the chance to ease into what he considered his ‘normal’ self. Judith had pulled him away from his restraints and he’d ended up bawling at her like…well, Hobson was right. Like a damned five-year-old having a temper tantrum.

  Fortunately, as the plates emptied, and the wine glasses drained, Lady Maud finally rose. “Ladies? Time for us to leave the gentlemen to their port.”

  Everyone stood, and the attendant bustle, followed by the almost silent clearing of the table, took another fifteen minutes or so before Sir Laurence was able to pour himself a glass of brandy from the decanter Hobson had presented, and pass the bottle down the table.

  The first round was accompanied by general, harmless conversation of the sort expected when gentlemen gathered around a very fine aged brandy.

  Ragnor relaxed, letting the liquor do its work.

  But then Sir Laurence looked him in the eye, and he knew he was in for it.

  “So, Ragnor, my lad,” he began. “Am I to congratulate you? Or expect a visit from you about Judith? Since you were so public earlier, I don’t think my question is out of order, do you? And I’ll wager my new cravat that Maud will be asking the same thing.”

  With everyone’s eyes upon him Ragnor surrendered. He couldn’t, simply couldn’t, dredge up the fortitude to deal with all this anymore. So he decided that simplicity would be best.

  “No, you’re not out of order, Sir Laurence. And yes please, with your approval I’d like to marry Judith. In spite of everything.” He sighed, took a
giant swig of brandy and coughed. “There. It’s said.”

  Sir Laurence was grinning from ear to ear. “Indeed it is. Well done, lad. Well done.” He leaned over and shook hands with Ragnor. “Of course, I can’t say yes.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not her guardian, I’m afraid. But I can put you in touch with him.”

  Ragnor closed his eyes, folded his arms on the table and laid his head on them. “I’m rolled up, foot and guns.”

  “Nonsense,” said Miles, who was chuckling along with the others. “You’ll be a very happy man, Rag. Trust me. Miss Fairhurst is the perfect match for you.”

  “Right,” answered Ragnor from the depths of his sleeves. “She will shout at me every day, flaunt my every command and drive me completely insane within a year.”

  “And yet you still want to marry her?” asked Matthew.

  “Yes, but I have no idea why.” Ragnor raised his head and sighed. “Insanity must be infectious. I caught it from her.”

  “And a good thing too. You were in danger of becoming an old and quite boring fogey.”

  “Miles. I was not.” Ragnor sat up straight, offended.

  “All the signs were there, my friend…all there.”

  Ragnor finished his brandy and accepted the decanter, pouring himself yet another healthy measure. He needed it to get through this night.

  “I don’t believe I was getting to be a fogey. I have matured, of course. None of us are the young irrepressibles we were at nineteen.” He looked around. “Are we?”

  “I can be irrepressible if I want to,” sulked Matthew.

  “Yes, until your sister hits you,” responded Ragnor. “I’ve seen her do it. She has a punishing right.”

  Matthew didn’t respond, but rubbed his arm as if the pain of her fist still lurked there.

  “Well I’m happy to report that I have absolutely no fogey-ish tendencies whatsoever. I am a reckless, entertaining gentleman of fashion.” Miles reached for his brandy, missed, and tried again, blinking at the glass. “Darn thing’s moving.”

  Sir Laurence was also having a bit of a struggle with the top of the decanter. “Damned stupid…”

  Ragnor shocked himself by giggling.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing, or trying to do, and stared at him.

  “You giggled,” said Matthew.

  “I didn’t.”

  “You did,” added Miles. Also giggling.

  Sir Laurence didn’t giggle. “Uh oh.” Three heads turned his way and three bleary sets of eyes focussed on him.

  “Uh oh?” Ragnor asked.

  “I do believe Hobson brought my special brandy instead of the regular one.” He laughed softly. “This one contains a few drops of my private tincture.”

  All eyes turned to him. He cleared his throat. “It is made from some herbs I got from a friend who got them from somewhere in Egypt. I think he called it hashish?”

  “I’ll be damned,” grinned Miles. “Yes. That would do it.” He picked up his glass and drained it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  T he parlour was warm and cosy, the tea tray loaded with the appropriate after-dinner delicacies, and the ladies—having ignored the teapot and helped themselves to brandy, were happily chatting away, gently teasing Judith and relaxing in both the inner and outer warmth of their environment.

  “All right, Judith,” Lydia sipped her liquor. “You’d better tell us all about that scene with Ragnor.”

  Judith sighed. “It really wasn’t much of anything. He apologised for referring to me as his…” she cleared her throat, “future wife. Because that absolutely caught me off guard.”

  Rose chuckled. “You? Imagine what it did to the rest of us.”

  “I was completely flummoxed,” added Ivy. “It slipped out so naturally.”

  Judith nodded. “I felt all those things too. So he, of course, apologised profusely, and then told me he had every intention of asking Sir Laurence for permission to pay his addresses.”

  Four faces frowned.

  “He said that?” Maud asked.

  “Yes. Maybe not in those exact words, but there was no proper declaration or offer. Just his course of action, which was couched in the most formal and appropriate terms.”

  “How romantic,” said Lydia dryly. “You must have been swept off your feet.”

  “Actually, I wanted to kick him off his. Dratted pompous nincompoop.”

  “I rather admired that turn of phrase, to be honest,” confessed Rose. “It rang through the house with just the right amount of reverberation.”

  “What?”

  “The sound. Those sharp-spitted consonants and rolling vowels.”

  “Rose, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Lydia poked her. “So let’s get back to this proposal. Or non-proposal, I should say.” She turned to Judith. “What happened next?”

  Judith moistened her throat with another sip of brandy. “Hmm, let me see. After informing me of his roundabout intentions to propose, he then proceeded to list all the reasons he believes we would be well-suited.”

  “Do tell,” said Maud eagerly.

  “He never actually got to them because instead he listed all the things I do wrong. The first was ignoring his dictates, which he assured me were logical, sensible and specifically designed for my own good.”

  “The worm,” cried Ivy. “He really said that?”

  “Oh yes,” said Judith, nodding emphatically. “All that and more. I was headstrong, he implied. Foolish. Also implied. And any number of things he found annoying, since he was offering the best advice possible under the circumstances and all because of his deep concern for me.”

  “Oh dear,” Maud shook her head. “Hopeless. Quite hopeless.”

  “If I am so foolish, headstrong and oblivious to his commands, why the devil does he want to marry me in the first place?”

  “Good question,” frowned Rose.

  “Did he…” Lydia caught her lower lip between her teeth, “did he mention anything about more personal affections?”

  “You mean…”

  “Did he kiss you?” Rose blurted.

  Judith rolled her eyes. “Not then, no.”

  “Oh?”

  Four faces leaned forward, eyes wide.

  Judith blushed. “Well, if you must know, he kissed me when we went to see the Elgin Marbles.”

  There was silence for a moment or two as the four ladies devouring these confessions absorbed the implications.

  “He kissed you. In the British Museum?” Maud’s eyebrows rose.

  “In a cupboard in the British Museum, if you want to be precise about it.”

  “A…cupboard?”

  “Yes. It was quite large. I think the maids or whoever cleans the statues kept their supplies in it.”

  Ivy was choking back a laugh. “You shared your first kiss in a cleaning cupboard in the British Museum?”

  Judith lifted her chin. “Yes we did.”

  “Was it any good?” asked Lydia practically.

  Once again there was a moment or two of silence as Judith tried to think of a way to describe what had happened to her in that cupboard. “It was…quite astounding.” She swallowed. “Sir Ragnor is very skilled at such things.” A slight shiver ran up her spine.

  Maud eyed her with interest. “So, setting aside the nincompoop issue, you wouldn’t be averse to marrying Ragnor on a physical level?”

  Judith couldn’t meet any of the eyes she knew were glued to her face. She simply shook her head and whispered, “No. No, not at all.”

  “Well then. All we have to do is to make sure Ragnor stops acting like a nincompoop and realises what a magnificent chance at happiness he has before him.”

  Judith looked up at Lydia’s words. “He never said he loved me, Liddy. Not a word. How can I possibly marry a man who has never told me how he feels about me, other than that I’m a childish nitwit?”

  “But kisses you passionately in a cupboard,” pointed out Ivy. “I woul
d say that reveals a little something about his emotional connection to you…”

  Judith shrugged. “Perhaps he takes lots of women to that cupboard.” Her heart fell at that thought.

  “Ragnor?” Lydia raised her eyebrows. “A continual cupboard kisser? I seriously doubt it.”

  “I second that,” said Rose, stifling a laugh. “If he did, he’d not be blurting out that he plans on asking you for your hand in marriage. It must have been uppermost in his mind or he’d never have said it.”

  “Agreed,” said Maud. “My instincts lead me to conclude that Ragnor is more enamoured of you than you believe, Judith.”

  “Really?” A little flame of hope brightened the darkness that had threatened to swamp her thoughts.

  “Yes, really,” Maud confirmed. “Sir Ragnor is not a man who is prey to emotional outbursts.” She glanced at Lydia. “Your brother knows him well so you must have a better idea than most of us. Would you say that my assumption is valid?”

  Lydia thought for a moment. “In many ways, yes. Ragnor always seems pleasant, possessed of good humour and ready to enjoy himself. But underneath that, he does have a very well-formed sense of propriety too.”

  “So there.” Maud looked back at Judith. “For him to engage in a shouting match is out of character. I would also believe that kissing a woman in a cupboard is out of character as well.”

  “He probably planned it,” said Judith sulkily.

  “Oh yes. I’m sure he visited the Museum several times the week before, digging around every closet he could find to locate one suitable for a kiss.”

  “And the other things,” sighed Judith.

  “Pardon?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t catch that…”

  “Uh…”

  Fortunately for Judith, who could have bitten her tongue off at her unwise comment, the door opened at that moment and the gentlemen entered the room.

  Their faces were flushed, all were smiling, and the bonhomie they displayed was quite extraordinary. Sir Laurence looked genial, Miles had a huge smile on his face that matched Matthew’s, and Ragnor was grinning.

  Actually grinning. Judith stared at him, wondering at this man who seemed to find the entire world quite amiable.