Someone to Wed

by Cheryl Holt

  “It’s kind of you to fret about Margaret, but Margaret will pick her own companions, without any concern over what you and I might think of them.”

  She nodded. “Your message is received loud and clear, and I shouldn’t have butted in. I was only trying to help.”

  “I realize that fact.” He studied her, then frowned. “You shouldn’t fume about this or attempt to retaliate against Miss James in some fashion.”

  “I never would!” Roxanne huffed.

  “I wouldn’t want any discord to erupt.”

  “Honestly. I’m not a school girl, bent on vengeance. You’ve embarrassed me to the marrow of my bones.”

  “Then it’s my turn to apologize.”

  Her shoulders slumped, and he clasped her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze.

  “This conversation was very awkward,” he said, “so can we go in and forget we talked about it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “When we enter the parlor, we must be smiling or our guests will imagine we’ve quarreled. We’ll be the focus of gossip, which I hate.”

  “I hate it too.”

  He offered his arm, and she grabbed hold and allowed him to guide her in, but all the while, she was contemplating Miss James and how Jacob had been flirting with her in the garden.

  Apparently, the little tart had tattled to him, and her audacity had stirred enormous problems—for Roxanne.

  She’d already been stewing about Miss James’s niece, and she’d been struggling to devise a method to learn more about the child. But with Jacob warning her away from Miss James, she didn’t dare call on them in the future. She didn’t dare inquire about several thorny topics that had to be addressed.

  Evidently, Miss James had a relationship brewing with Jacob, but it couldn’t be pursued or permitted. Not right under Roxanne’s nose, so what was Roxanne prepared to do about it? Could she do anything? And when and how should she do it?

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was bored.”

  Sandy pulled the door wide so Margaret could step into his front room. His son, Tim, was nowhere in sight, but Tom had fallen asleep by the hearth. Sandy had been seated on a chair next to him, reading a book, and drinking a glass of wine.

  It was such a homey scene that it brought a sting of tears to her eyes.

  He laid a finger to his lips, urging her to silence, then he lifted Tom off the floor.

  “Is it morning?” Tom drowsily asked.

  “No, my young wolf. It’s time for bed. Let me tuck you in.” He glanced at Margaret and whispered, “Tim already went up. I’ll put him down too.”

  He walked off, Tom dozing against his chest. As he exited, he nodded to the chair he’d just vacated, indicating she should sit down. She nodded that she would, and he continued on.

  She helped herself to Sandy’s wine, listening as he walked around overhead. It was so quiet she could hear the soft murmur of their male voices, then he tiptoed down.

  He marched over and delivered a stirring kiss, then he said, “You have a mansion full of guests. Why would you sneak over to my paltry house? Aren’t you supposed to be the hostess? You’ll be missed.”

  “I thought you’d attend. I had to find out why you stayed away.”

  He frowned as if it was the strangest comment ever. “Why would I have attended? I wasn’t invited.”

  “Roxanne didn’t ask you?”

  “No. Nor would I have expected her to.”

  “Kit is there, bold as brass.”

  “Well, Kit is . . . Kit. Why wouldn’t he be there?”

  “And you, being a lowly employee, didn’t warrant an invitation?”

  “I’m sure this will come as a huge surprise to your grand self, but I’ve never been to a party inside the manor. Not in thirty years.”

  There was no rancor in his tone. He was simply stating a fact of his life.

  “We sound like such snobs.”

  He grinned. “You are snobs. All of you, but you seem to have climbed down off your high-horse a bit.”

  “I’m trying anyway.”

  His gaze roamed down her torso. Although she was a poverty-stricken widow, her outfit provided no signs of her penury. She was wearing a sapphire gown that enhanced the blond of her hair and the blue of her eyes. Her jewelry wasn’t real, but it was expensive enough to appear as if it was. She even had a tiara in her hair, the fake diamonds glittering in the firelight.

  He made a circling motion with his hand, so she’d spin for him and he could see the whole ensemble. She felt like a silly, flirty adolescent again, and the sensation was thrilling and welcome.

  “Very nice, Mrs. Howell. You could be an heiress.”

  “Wouldn’t that be lovely? Were you aware that Mr. Howell died bankrupt? I was left so destitute that I had to borrow money from acquaintances in order to purchase my ticket to England. In case you were thinking I returned rich, I didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking you staggered home poor, miserable, and looking as if you’d lost your last friend. And when we manage to steal a few minutes together, could we please not talk about your deceased husband? He was a fiend, and I don’t believe it’s healthy for you to dwell on your marriage. It merely dredges up the bad memories.”

  “It’s what Miss James keeps advising, but I’ve never mentioned my lean history to anyone. It’s cathartic to tell you my secrets.”

  He reached out and linked their fingers. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m upset that you weren’t at the party.”

  “We’re from different worlds, Margaret. It was our problem when we were children, and nothing’s changed.”

  “Could I have supper with you some night? You suggested it, remember? The three of you are so happy. Some of it might rub off on me.”

  “I’ve decided supper isn’t a good idea. How would I explain your presence? You’re Mrs. Howell. You’re the Captain’s sister. You live in the manor, and we live here. I tend the horses.”

  “So . . . ?” she retorted like the worst spoiled brat.

  “Don’t pretend to be confused about it,” he told her. “There’s the issue too of me bringing a female into the house. My boys were very attached to their mother, and they took her death very hard. If you wedged yourself into our small family, they’d like you too much, and I can’t have them growing fond when you won’t stay around.”

  “I don’t want our situation to be like this.”

  “Unfortunately, my dear, we don’t get to choose the restrictions that rule us.”

  When she’d observed the cozy tableau—Sandy drinking wine and watching over his sleepy son—she’d felt such a terrible yearning to step into the montage and become part of it. A vision had flared, of herself as Sandy’s wife and mother to his boys. In a bout of temporary insanity, she’d pictured herself fitting in with no trouble at all.

  She was barren, so she’d never have any children of her own. Why couldn’t his sons be her sons? The image had been so clear, so perfect, but he had the most annoying way of yanking her back to reality.

  “You could describe us as friends,” she said. “They’d understand that.”

  “A man like me can never be friends with a woman like you, and I won’t have them assuming it’s possible to smash the barriers that separate us. They shouldn’t ever pine away over a female they can’t have—as I’ve pined away over you. It’s futile.”

  “Did you really pine away?”

  “For an entire decade, and that’s the one and only time I intend to ever admit it.”

  She wished she could be angry with him. Or maybe she’d like to insist there were no barriers, but he was correct in every word he’d uttered.

  She sighed. “What will happen to us?”

  “I haven’t the vaguest notion.”

  �
��I can’t act as if you’re not nearby.”

  “Yes, you can. You used to be adept at it, and you’re much older now. You’ve had more practice at how to behave.”

  She snorted. “If I begged prettily enough, would you change your clothes and come over to the party?”

  “No. I can’t leave my boys alone, and I would never show up where I wasn’t welcome.”

  “Miss James is there.”

  “Then she’s braver than I am. Boswell would hate to have me stroll in. Miss Ralston would too. I have no doubt she would deem me to be putting on airs, and I’d just as soon never have her notice me.”

  “What do you think of her?” Margaret asked.

  “I don’t plan to ever offer an opinion about her—not even to you.”

  “I went out on a limb and urged Jacob to cry off from the betrothal. When he loathed Mother’s attitudes on every subject under the sun, I pointed out that perhaps he should question the match she arranged for him.”

  “What was his response?”

  “He said he was content to proceed, that it was better than searching on his own for a vacuous debutante.”

  Sandy smiled. “Thank the Lord he didn’t drag home one of those.”

  “I heartily concur.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her for an eternity, and it was the most romantic interlude she’d ever endured. He made her feel special and adored, which was lovely.

  Eventually, he drew away, and he seemed perched on the edge of a profound remark. She braced, excited for what it might be, but he simply said, “You need to return to your party.”

  “It’s Roxanne’s party. Not mine.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t be loafing over here. Your mother may have passed away, but it doesn’t mean we’re free to dally. If you were discovered in my parlor, I can’t predict what sort of upheaval would ensue. I could probably weather it, but you’re in no condition to be pushed into a scandal, and I won’t be the cause of any negative gossip about you.”

  “I suppose I’ll depart—but quite grudgingly. You’re a beast for kicking me out.”

  “It’s for your own good, and you know it too.”

  “That was always your admonition to me in the past.”

  “My prior chastisements are as apt now as they were back then.”

  A spurt of recklessness flooded through her, and she said, “What if I snuck in later?”

  “To do what?”

  “To . . . to . . . join you in your bed.”

  It was a shocking proposition, and she’d never previously been so risqué. Luckily, he didn’t laugh or scold her.

  “First of all,” he said, “I’m up at the crack of dawn to get to work, so I can’t engage in the type of nocturnal antics I enjoyed when I was younger. And second of all, if you tiptoed into my bedchamber, I’d likely die of an apoplexy.”

  She grinned. “I shouldn’t risk it then.”

  Their conversation dwindled, and he gazed down at her, his expression tender and even a tad lustful. He’d claimed he wasn’t interested in a carnal tryst, but her lewd suggestion had altered something between them.

  She wasn’t partial to marital conduct. She’d suffered enough of it during her marriage, but she yearned to lie next to him in the quiet hours of the night. He would cradle her in his arms and whisper in her ear until dawn.

  Those were the kinds of passionate moments she’d dreamed of experiencing as a girl, but that could never have been achieved with cold, brutal Mr. Howell. With her tossing the prospect of a physical relationship out into the open with Sandy, new possibilities might be blossoming.

  He led her to the door, then he dipped down and stole a final kiss.

  “Go,” he said.

  “I don’t want to.”

  He chuckled. “Go anyway. You have to.”

  He peeked out, saw no one, and gestured for her to creep off. She paused for an instant, filling her eyes with the sight of him, then she hurried away.

  He didn’t linger in the threshold to watch her, and she thought she heard him set the latch to bar intruders, as if he suspected she might actually sneak in and climb into his bed.

  Would she ever dare?

  Now that she’d planted that seed in her head, it sounded like a terrific idea. Why not try it? Why not indeed?

  Joanna was seated on a bench in the garden behind the manor. She was staring at the house, liking how the windows shone against the black sky.

  Inside, dozens of revelers were milling, dressed in their finery. They were chatting, drinking, playing cards. In one parlor, they were dancing. She, herself, had participated until she became so overheated that she’d had to cool down.

  She was acquainted with many of the guests, and everyone had been polite. If they were disturbed to have her sharing in the merriment, they’d kept that opinion to themselves.

  The attendees were mostly neighbors, as well as the more important merchants from the village, so it wasn’t odd for her to have been invited too. She had suitable gowns for a fancy party, so she hadn’t looked out of place. She hadn’t felt out of place either.

  She never did. She was perfectly content in any social situation. Her father was an earl’s dastardly son, so she had a high, if dissolute lineage, and she thrived in any circumstance. But she never forgot the stratifications that ruled their lives. People weren’t aware of her ancestry, and she never informed them. They simply viewed her as a healer who birthed babies and dispensed tonics.

  She was delightfully happy the Captain had demanded she come. It was so rare when she was included in a jubilant event, and it had been a splendid experience. It was just after eleven, and soon, she’d leave for home. When she arrived, she would jot down every detail in her journal so she could show them to Clara later on.

  The Captain appeared on the verandah. He leaned on the balustrade and peered out at the sky. He was drinking liquor, and he sipped it slowly, giving her a lengthy chance to study him.

  She hadn’t been able to predict how they’d interact during the festivities, but he’d been a gracious host, being no more cordial with her than he was with anyone else. With him keeping his distance, she’d observed him in his element. He was funny, charming, and obviously well-liked.

  It made her sad though because it had starkly underscored their differences. His friendship with her was so wrong, and so inappropriate, that he couldn’t display his fondness out in the open where others might witness it. She wasn’t a member of his world, but hovered on the fringe of it, flitting around like a moth that he occasionally noticed.

  Through much of the evening, he’d stood with Miss Ralston, greeting guests and introducing her to those she didn’t know. They were a handsome couple, and their binding connection was recognized by all.

  So Joanna was what to him precisely? Where did she fit in that scenario?

  Nowhere, was the only answer to that question. Why was she encouraging him? Why was she allowing herself to be ensnared in his web? And how would she extract herself without too much drama or damage?

  She wished her Aunt Pru was available to provide some wise counsel. There wasn’t another female with whom she could discuss the dilemma, but one thing was very clear: She had to buck up and figure out where she was going.

  He finished his liquor, then headed over to the stairs and walked down into the garden. The bench where she was sitting was under an arbor, so she was hidden in the shadows, and he didn’t see her.

  She was debating whether to announce her presence when he glanced over and said, “Joanna! There you are. I was worried you might have left without a goodbye.”

  “I was so hot from dancing. I needed some fresh air.”

  “It’s so stuffy in the house. I’m used to being on my ship. I can’t abide being stuck indoors.”

  He plopped down next to her, and of course, he wedged
himself much too close, their bodies pressed together all the way down. She didn’t move over, and she sighed with exasperation. Hadn’t she just scolded herself about her behavior with him? Hadn’t she just tabulated how little they had in common? Hadn’t she just recollected how she had to erect some barriers and keep them in place?

  “Why are you sighing?” he asked.

  “Before you came outside, I was thinking how I have to try harder to avoid you.”

  “What a ludicrous notion. Why would you avoid me?”

  “This party has reminded me of our disparate stations, but I conveniently ignore them.”

  “Normally, I’d nod like a dunce and say, Yes, Joanna, I’m so far above you. Why am I even speaking to you?” His tone was teasing, but there was an incredible amount of truth in the comment. “But I will only be in residence until the end of September, then I’ll traipse off across the globe again, so I’m determined to enjoy myself while I’m here.”

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “You’d better.”

  “Do you wish you were out on your ship right now?”

  “I always wish that. Have you ever been out on the ocean?”

  “Once—when I was a girl. I didn’t care for it overly much.”

  Considering that the vessel she was traveling on had sunk in a violent storm and everyone had perished except her and her two friends, Libby and Caro, it was the understatement of the century.

  “Well, then,” he said, “if you don’t care for ships and sailing, why have I bothered with you a single second?” He flashed a grin that was wicked and seductive. “Are you having fun?”

  “Yes. I’m glad I attended.”

  “You didn’t dance with me.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “I didn’t dare. I was afraid I’d gaze at you so fondly that I’d light us on fire.”

  She chuckled, and he surprised her by dipping in and stealing a kiss. As he drew away, he looked mischievous, as if he was a miscreant who’d pulled a prank.