The Rise and Fall of Reginald Everheart

by Victoria Alexander

  “But then you have never called on us for assistance before. Although you may if you so desire. We are overflowing with sage advice. And it never hurts to have another point of view, don’t you agree?”

  He smiled. “You’re very wise, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore.”

  “You have no idea, Mr. Shepard.” She waved at his books. “Now, back to work. I would hate for you to miss something that might prove useful.” She nodded and started after the other ladies.

  “Actually, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore...” he began without thinking.

  She turned. “Yes, Mr. Shepard?”

  “I might...” He searched for the right words, the words that wouldn’t make him look like a complete idiot. “I might seek out your advice later today. On a, well, a personal matter.”

  “I see.” She studied him curiously. “We are exceptionally good with personal matters, Mr. Shepard. And we are always willing to help. Do keep that in mind.”

  “I will do so.”

  She smiled and headed after the others. Michael sat back down and stared at his notes.

  Confiding in Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore might not be a bad idea. But confiding what? That he had feelings of affection for Dulcie Middleworth even though anything of significance between them was foolish? That he had quite inexplicably violated every rule of propriety and privacy and stuck his nose in where it had no right to be? That he was totally and completely lost as to what—if anything—he should do now? And worse—what he wanted to do now.

  A heavy book slammed onto the table in front of him, the sharp, shocking noise echoing through the room and probably the entire building. He jumped to his feet. “Bloody hell, what on earth—”

  “Mr. Shepard.” Dulcie stood in front of the table, arms crossed over her chest. He hadn’t even heard her come in. Judging by the look on her face, a grave mistake on his part.

  “Was that necessary?” He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Good God, I thought the building had collapsed.”

  “I wanted to get your attention.”

  “You could have simply said, ‘Good day. How are you?’”

  “Lovely weather we’re having?” She shook her head. “I think this morning we progressed beyond weather, don’t you agree?”

  “About this morning,” he said slowly.

  “You had no right, Mr. Shepard. No right at all!”

  “Perhaps, if you will allow me to explain—”

  “Explain?” Her brow rose. “There are no words that could possibly explain your behavior.”

  “I simply thought—”

  “No, Mr. Shepard,” she snapped. “You had your say this morning. It is now my turn.”

  He stared. He had not seen this Dulcie before. Her blue eyes blazed and her cheeks flushed. She looked like an ancient goddess come to life. A goddess of death and destruction but a goddess nonetheless. “Very well.”

  “For the past three months we have seen each other nearly every day right here in this room. And you’ve said nothing to me beyond your observation of the weather.”

  “Might I point out, you’ve never before mentioned anything other than the weather either.”

  “No, you may not!” She huffed. “A man who has never shown even the vaguest interest in my life cannot out of the blue tell me who I may or may not marry!”

  “I don’t think I told you. I believe it was more in the way of a suggestion on my part.”

  “A suggestion? Hah! You told me I could not marry Mr. Drummond. You said it would be a dreadful mistake and destroy the rest of my life.”

  “I’m not sure that’s how I phrased it—”

  “Believe me, Mr. Shepard, your words are burned into my memory.”

  “As well they should be,” he said without thinking. “If they make you consider, just for a moment, the dire consequences of marrying Mr. Drummond.”

  “Who I marry is none of your concern!”

  “I believe I stated that this morning.”

  “And we are not friends! Friends, Mr. Shepard, talk about more than the blasted weather!”

  “I realize that, however—”

  “Furthermore, I am not an idiot.”

  “I did not say you were.” Indignation rang in his voice.

  “You implied it!”

  “On the contrary, Miss Middleworth, I think you’re one of the most intelligent women I have ever met.”

  “And yet you think I would be so stupid as to marry Preston Drummond?”

  She did have a point. “Well, he says—”

  “I don’t care what he says.” She dismissed his comment with a sharp wave of her hand. “I have no intention of marrying him. I never have. I told him so last night.”

  “You did?”

  “Indeed I did.”

  He stared. “Why?”

  “Aside from all the reasons you listed?”

  He ignored her. “Even so, in many ways he is perfect for you.”

  “You said he was an ass.”

  “Oh, I never said that. Not to you.”

  “Again, it was implied.”

  “But his father is an earl and—”

  “I am not so shallow as to marry a man for his position in society. If that was my prerequisite for a husband, I could have married long ago.” Outrage burned in her blue eyes in a most magnificent manner. “However, you would not know that as you do not know anything about me as you have made no effort to find out!” She gestured at the table. “You sit here day after day and never once think to cross the room and share an observation with me. Why, I wouldn’t know anything about you at all if not for the frequent discussions you have here with colleagues.”

  “Why did you turn him down?”

  “Because, Mr. Shepard.” Her gaze met his directly. “I fear my affections lie elsewhere.”

  “Oh.” His stomach plummeted. “I see.” Of course. He should have expected as much. A woman like Dulcie Middleworth no doubt had any number of suitors beyond Drummond. Why, there was probably no need to try to save her from Drummond at all. What a fool he was.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” He quickly gathered up his things. “I have an important appointment and I shall be late if I do not leave at once.” He nodded and fairly sprinted toward the door.

  “You’re leaving? Now?”

  “My apologies. I don’t wish to be late.”

  “You’re the worst sort of coward, Mr. Shepard!” she called after him.

  He pretended not to hear. It was better this way. But she was right and he knew it.

  Somewhere between noticing how the sun this morning in the park had turned her hair to stands of burnished gold and the look in her eyes this moment when she told him she had feelings for someone else, the truth had struck him with the force of a bolt from above. It didn’t matter if she cared for another man, nor did it matter that he was soon going to leave for grand adventures and for an undetermined amount of time.

  He was in love with Dulcie Middleworth and there was nothing he could do about it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DULCIE STOOD STARING after Mr. Shepard as if rooted to the floor. As if she couldn’t believe he had just walked out. Poor dear girl. Poppy, Gwen and Effie stood in the opening between the shelves leading to the book stacks. Dulcie’s encounter with Mr. Shepard had happened so quickly they’d had no time to retreat from view. Not that they probably would have anyway.

  At last Dulcie shook her head, heaved a great sigh and turned toward her usual table. Her gaze met Poppy’s. Poppy fluttered her fingers in a weak wave.

  “I do so hate to be caught eavesdropping,” Gwen said quietly then paused. “Do you think we heard everything?”

  “I’ve always been quite impressed with how sound carries here. But just to be certain...” Ef
fie raised her chin and sailed to Dulcie’s side. “My dear girl.” She took the younger woman’s hands in hers. “What was that all about?”

  “We do apologize,” Poppy said quickly. “We didn’t mean to overhear.”

  “But now that we have,” Gwen added, “perhaps it would be beneficial if you told us everything.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Dulcie began.

  “Do sit down, dear.” Poppy pulled out a chair and Effie gently shoved Dulcie into it.

  They all three took seats, Effie settling in a chair beside Dulcie. “One always feels much better after unburdening oneself.”

  “There’s really not very much to say. I suspect you heard a great deal of it.”

  “But we were trying very hard not to listen.” Poppy smiled apologetically and sent a silent request heavenward for forgiveness for the lie.

  “This morning, when I was riding in the park, I ran into Mr. Shepard who took it upon himself to tell me I cannot marry Mr. Drummond.”

  Effie gasped. “The nerve of the man.”

  Dulcie nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

  “But it was my understanding that you have no intention of marrying Mr. Drummond,” Poppy said.

  “No, and I told Mr. Drummond so last night.”

  “And today Mr. Shepard tells you that you can’t marry him?” Gwen asked. “Which apparently you did not take well.”

  Dulcie’s gaze snapped to Gwen. “Would you?”

  “Not for a moment.” Gwen patted her hand.

  “I daresay I wouldn’t be nearly as angry if he... I thought perhaps... One would think a man who didn’t want you to marry someone else had, well, feelings for you, but apparently I was wrong. And I as much as told him...” Dulcie straightened her shoulders. “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter now I suppose. Thank you for being so very kind.” She stood. “But I think I would prefer to work at home today.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes and Dulcie took her leave.

  “I told you,” Poppy said the moment the door closed behind the young woman.

  “Might I point out there was not a declaration of affection,” Effie said. “On either side.”

  “No, but there was certainly something of significance.” Gwen shook her head. “It’s obvious to me that Dulcie cares for him. And no man takes it upon himself to tell a woman who she may not marry unless he is related by blood or has feelings of affection for her himself. Besides, did you see the stricken look on his face when he left?”

  Effie scoffed. “When he fled like a frightened bunny you mean.”

  “Because he’s in love.” Poppy smirked. “That tends to make even the strongest man flee like a frightened bunny.”

  “I have to agree with Poppy,” Gwen said. “There is definitely something between them.”

  “Well then.” Poppy beamed. “What are we going to do about it?”

  Effie grimaced. “And we are going to have to do something, aren’t we?”

  “You did give me your word.”

  Gwen looked at Effie. “We did promise.”

  “Very well.” Effie threw up her hands in surrender. “The question is how to get two people together who don’t wish to admit they belong together.”

  “Oh, I think Dulcie is willing to admit it.” Poppy nodded. “She did tell him her affections were not with Mr. Drummond.”

  “But she didn’t say those affections were for Mr. Shepard. So being a man, he obviously assumed the worst,” Gwen said. “That there is someone aside from Mr. Drummond that she cares for.”

  “Oh dear.” Poppy sighed. “This is awkward.”

  “Nonsense.” Effie scoffed. “That’s the easiest part of this to straighten out. A casual word to him from one of us will clear up that misunderstanding.”

  Poppy tried not to grin. Once Effie was engaged in any sort of scheme Poppy or Gwen had proposed, she was not halfhearted about it.

  “Still, for whatever reason, Mr. Shepard is reluctant to make his feelings known.” Gwen frowned. “And I suspect Dulcie is too proud to pursue a man who she thinks is not interested in her.”

  “So all we have to do is encourage him to show interest in her?” Effie shook her head. “No difficulty there.”

  “We’ll find a way.” Gwen drew her brows together. “We all have husbands. We’ve never found it all that challenging to encourage them to do what we want them to do. Usually by convincing them it’s something they want, as well.”

  Effie’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Men do always seem to want what they can’t have.”

  Poppy straightened. “That’s it, Effie. I should have thought of it myself. That’s exactly what we should do.”

  Effie and Gwen exchanged cautious looks.

  “What exactly should we do?” Effie asked.

  “It’s quite clear to me.” Poppy thought for a moment. “Mr. Shepard acted when he thought Dulcie was going to marry Mr. Drummond. It was an excellent beginning on his part but, as Mr. Shepard has absolutely no respect for Mr. Drummond, it didn’t, oh, push him far enough to declare his own feelings. I can’t imagine he truly thought Dulcie would be foolish enough to marry the annoying man, so really Mr. Drummond was no actual threat.”

  “Then why did he say anything to her at all?”

  “That’s the point,” Poppy said. “There was no real need, was there? But he went out of his way to do so. It seems to me if Dulcie was to be pursued by someone Mr. Shepard admired, an extraordinary explorer and a true hero, it might be just the thing to make him acknowledge his feelings and declare himself.” Poppy beamed. “It’s brilliant.”

  “And where do you suggest we find such a hero?” Effie asked wryly.

  “Oh, I already have.”

  Gwen stared. “Dare we ask who?”

  “Why, the very man who made my Malcolm come up to snuff when he was dragging his feet and made him realize I was the true love of his life and the best thing to ever happen to him. The elusive, extremely humble, extraordinary explorer, adventurer and lecturer.” Poppy grinned. “The legendary, unparalleled, incomparable Reginald Everheart.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT HAD BEEN a very long two days and an even longer two nights.

  Not only was Dulcie’s head filled with questions and any number of possible reasons behind Michael’s outrageous admonition, but Mother was not letting Dulcie’s refusal of Preston’s proposal go without further reproach. She had gone on and on about it until Dulcie had seriously considered taking up permanent residence in the Explorers Club library. Impossible of course although she had stayed as late as possible every day. Partially in an effort to avoid her mother and partly because Michael had not returned to the library since they had last spoken. Perhaps he really was a coward, at least when it came to matters of—of what? The heart? Or simple male arrogance?

  Dulcie had returned home yesterday in time for tea only because she’d received a note at the library from Cora saying her sisters intended to speak to Mother and Dulcie really should be present. It had been a shocking—and most gratifying—display of sisterly support as they tried to convince Mother Dulcie’s rejection of Preston was for the best. While Mother’s tirade barely lessoned, it did warm Dulcie’s heart that, for what might be the first time in her life, her sisters were on her side.

  While Cora and Rose tried to reassure Mother that Dulcie had not thrown away her life, Livy pulled her younger sister aside for a private word, wanting to know what had transpired with Michael. Dulcie related their conversation, omitting her final comment, but mentioning his abrupt departure. Livy thought that most significant and wondered aloud why a man would presume to tell a woman who she shouldn’t marry unless he harbored certain feelings for her himself. Dulcie had had the same intriguing idea herself. Still, one would think a man who had certain fe
elings for a woman would do something about them. Although one could also argue that by pointing out all the reasons why she shouldn’t marry Preston, he had done just that. And beyond anything else that had happened, the possibility of certain feelings is what lingered in Dulcie’s head.

  She’d made it a point to arrive at the library far earlier than usual in the past two days in hopes of already being well into her work should Michael deign to make an appearance. It would be much easier to ignore him that way. Not that she was sure she wished to ignore him, at least not altogether, but she’d had her say. It did seem it was his turn. An apology—his apology—might well be a beginning for the two of them. But it would have to be contrite in tone, utterly sincere—she had waited two days for it after all—and accompanied by an explanation. Something along the lines of “I care for you deeply, Dulcie, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to another man,” followed immediately by the kind of passionate embrace and unreserved kiss one read about in novels disapproved of by Mother. And who knew where that might lead? Dulcie shivered at the deliciously wicked thought of what kind of delightfully immoral pleasures might be found in the arms of the handsome and brilliant Michael Shepard. Dulcie had certainly been kissed before but she had never, of course, experienced delightfully immoral pleasures. Her sisters, however, whispered of such things on occasion and Dulcie did read quite a lot.

  The door creaked and she glanced up from her work for no more than the time it took to ascertain the new arrival was indeed Michael—she had no intention of allowing her gaze to meet his—then firmly turned her attention back to the barely progressing pottery drawing. If he wished to say good day and comment on the weather, he would have to make an effort to do so. She heard his footsteps—rather cautious, she thought—pause at his table, then somewhat more determinedly start toward her. Her fingers tightened around her pencil but she would not give him the satisfaction of looking up. His footsteps stopped and his shadow fell across her paper.