Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero

by Cari Hislop

  John’s flushed burgundy as fury marinated his tongue, “I’m not old!”

  “You’re thirty-three…that’s old to me.”

  “I’m a man in my prime.”

  “Will I be in my prime at thirty-three?”

  “You’re a woman; you’ll be old.”

  “Not as old as you…you’ll be almost fifty…”

  “John! You old dog, you’re looking well for a d-d-dead man.” John turned to find his eldest brother smiling down at him from his six foot five inches with open arms. “We were upset when we heard reports that you’d fallen on a sword and met your maker. It’s g-good to see you so alive and well.” John stepped into his brothers’ cheerful embrace, his anger momentarily forgotten.

  “Don’t mention swords you snivelling Lord, it makes my chest ache.”

  “I taught you better than to g-get skewered by some knave. I hope it wasn’t an angry father d-defending his family’s honour?” John felt his ward’s curious stare like a hot slap.

  “The worm insulted Mamma. I nearly had him left-handed, but I tripped over a hedgehog. I was on my backside when he stabbed me.”

  “That’s low! Who was he?” John resisted the burning desire to spit out Mulgrave’s name and shook his head. He wasn’t going to give his brother a reason to end up in hell. “Well if you choose to shield the knave, I’m sure you have your reasons.” Lord Adderbury released his brother and turned towards Miss Lark. “James mentioned you’d rescued a beautiful maiden. Introduce me before I start st-st-stuttering badly.”

  John scowled as he watched Joan smile and hold out her hand apparently oblivious to her guardian. “Miss Joan Lark, my brother the Viscount of Adderbury.”

  “It’s an honour to meet you my Lord. Mr Smirke has been singing your praises.”

  “Has he by Jove? My baby b-brother grows k-k-kinder by the day. I can’t pretend I’d be half so generous. If you were my ward I’d be tempted to do something most unguardian like.” John’s scowl deepened as his ward blushed with pleasure as if she was hoping to be the next Lady Adderbury; her legal protector apparently forgotten. John stared at his beautiful older brother with growing jealousy. Peter Smirke was a beautiful man with eyes carved from the same lump of obsidian as his blonde brothers, but his face was framed by short black loose curls. John barely repressed the impulse to tell his brother to go to the devil. The only passable looking woman who’d fall in love with him would fall in love with his more eligible brother. John would never be loved; life would be hell…and then he’d do something stupid and end up back in the real hell. John forgot about hell as the sensation of Joan’s small hand suddenly tucked around his elbow as she leaned towards him.

  “I think the novelty of being a guardian is wearing Mr Smirke’s patience paper thin. I’m afraid he plans to get rid of me as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t fret Miss Lark; our John has never had any patience to lose.” Peter cheerfully pinched John’s unhappy pink cheek. “When John was fourteen he went about telling young ladies he was eighteen…”

  “Enough of my embarrassing youth; have you come on your own?”

  “The boys are freshening up…” John unconsciously pressed Joan’s hand into his ribs as he contemplated the awful thought of one of his nephews winning her heart. “…young men are singular c-c-creatures Miss Lark; on hearing there was an unattached young lady in r-residence they rushed upstairs for a wash. Oh here’s Cecil…” John clenched his teeth as Joan’s eyes widened in appreciation as a blonde young man of nineteen kissed Agnes on the cheek and then sauntered over to the group by the window with the unstudied grace of one who could confidently compete with any of nature’s perfections.

  “Hallo Uncle John, I see you’ve survived another duel to snare a wife. You make a handsome couple. You must be Miss Lark. You’re lovely, though I believe that cornflower is a bit bold for…”

  “Spare Miss Lark your et-t-ternal spring of truth Son and k-kiss her hand before she slaps you.”

  “Papa please…don’t embarrass me.”

  Peter winked at Joan deepening John’s melancholy. “Our Cecil is inc-c-capable of k-keeping an opinion to himself. Your uncle is not engaged to Miss Lark.”

  Cecil looked back and forth between the joined couple in disbelief. “Really? They look engaged to me.”

  John felt like he’d woken up from a nightmare to find he really was standing naked in the street. “Perhaps your eyes need examining child; I’m not engaged to my ward.” His ward’s hopeful smile was suddenly turned up at him causing his heart to tap in rhythmic pleasure.

  “You look like you were made for each other, like you just stepped out of some romantic painting. Look, now their both blushing. I’ll wager you a pound Uncle John has a special license in his pocket and he’s just waiting for the right moment to give her his blackened heart. As Miss Lark’s young enough to give you twenty babes, I suppose this means you won’t be leaving George your estate.”

  John glared at his winking nephew, “I do not have any such paper in my pocket and I wouldn’t marry Miss Lark if she was the last English speaking woman alive. I’ll thank you for keeping all future opinions on my ward unspoken. I have a great desire to see old age with my sanity intact.”

  “As you wish old man, but I still think you make a handsome pair.”

  “I’m not old!”

  “You’re old to me.”

  John was rolling his eyes as the feminine hand was brutally tugged from his sleeve causing the unpleasant sensation of rejection. His chest was suddenly a dull ache as he watched Joan walked away without looking back with Cecil towards Agnes newly enthroned behind a trolley crammed with food.

  “She’s stunning…why d-don’t you want her? Are you m-mad?” Peter’s questions were hissed into John’s ear.

  “My sanity was unquestionably sound before she came into my life. She’s a penniless nobody who’ll talk you mad in half an hour.”

  “Is she kind?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m in need of a wife; do you think she’d consider me too old?”

  “Wait till you’re a victim of her innocent tongue. You won’t be thinking anything other than escape.”

  “A victim of her t-tongue, that sounds rather pleasant. I’m so hungry for female lips I could almost kiss Agnes…” John’s expression of disgust merely made his larger brother laugh and ruffle his hair before dragging him to join the assembled family.

  Twenty minutes later John was balancing a teacup and saucer on his leg and glaring at his nephews flocking around Miss Lark. He ground his teeth as he listened to his ward laugh at something he couldn’t hear. He felt old and unloved. It wasn’t until Peter started asking him about the duel that the younger males turned their full attention to the injured survivor to hear the gory details. Even the twin hellions perched on their Uncle Peter’s knees wanted to know how deep the sword sank into his chest. When he replied it went all the way through his back they demanded to see the scars. Their disappointment at his refusal to undress was his only pleasurable moment of the afternoon. John Smirke always enjoyed spending time with his brothers, but Miss Lark’s sudden pronounced indifference to his existence was ruining what should have been a pleasant occasion.

  The day wore on wearing him out. When the rest of the family ventured out to the theatre he stayed behind sucking lemon drops silently fuming that not one person had offered to remain home and keep him company, especially the one bound by duty. He’d had to ask her directly if she needed any money for her ticket to even win a glance in his direction. The fact she had more of his money than he did only fed his ire. The late supper was equally irritating. Home from the theatre, the family discussed a performance he couldn’t even pretend to have an opinion on because he’d never seen the play. His temper wasn’t improved by having to sit two seats down the same side of the table as Joan. He was close enough to hear her chatter with his nephew George, but too far to join the conversation or give her reproachful glances. By the end of
supper, John was ready to explode. He’d had a gutful of cheerful relations and neglectful wards and couldn’t wait to crawl into bed and sulk in private.

  He was sitting on the edge of his bed in his nightshirt rubbing arnica cream into his itching wounds daydreaming of a certain pair of feminine hands performing the task when a light knock on the door interrupted his pleasurable thoughts. “I don’t want to be disturbed!” The door opened and his brother Peter popped his head into the room.

  “Oh g-g-good, you’re decent.” Peter’s head disappeared briefly before re-entering the room carrying two large satchels. Kicking a trunk into the middle of the room he closed the door with his boot.

  “What’s wrong with your room?”

  “My chamber is occupied. I’d happily share the young lady’s b-bed, but I fear her guardian would shoot me.”

  “Go sleep with your brats.”

  “They’ll be up late playing cards; which side do you prefer?”

  “Why can’t you sleep on a day bed?”

  “I’m seven inches taller than you remember. I don’t fit on a day bed.” Peter leaned in close to inspect his brother’s chest. “Heavens, that nearly pierced your heart!”

  “Yes, it’s a miracle I’m alive, now do you mind? I’m not well…”

  “You won’t even notice me.”

  John seethed as his brother started humming a song. “You couldn’t sing a song in the right key if your ears sprouted tuning forks.” The humming stopped and John congratulated himself for being kind and not telling his brother to go hang himself and crawled into bed. He couldn’t imagine many other people putting up with the situation.

  Ten minutes later his brother in his shirtsleeves blew out all the candles and slid under the covers. “What a day. I wish they’d macadam all the roads. I thought the rest of my teeth would fall out.”

  “You’re getting old.”

  “I’ll be sure to return the c-c-compliment in eight years time.” A loud yawn filled the room. John lay on his back resenting the fact his brother could freely roll about to find a comfortable sleeping position. Finally the older man was still and John began to relax. “I like Miss Lark. She’s lovely; so artless, amusing and c-c-comfortable. The boys like her as well…John?”

  “I’m trying to sleep. What?”

  “It’s hard to find a beautiful woman who doesn’t tie my t-tongue in knots. Five years without a woman’s touch…” John grimaced into the darkness. The thought of having to endure five endless years devoid of physical pleasure made his eyes water. He’d explode if he didn’t soon acquire a wife.

  “What does your wretched empty bed have to do with me?” John tensed as he waited to hear something awful.”

  “You want to g-get rid of your w-ward and I’m in need of a wife.” John nearly bit his tongue at the thought of Miss Lark marrying his brother. “It would solve b-b-both our p-problems. I’d give anything to have a daughter.”

  “There are plenty of old maids who’ll give you a daughter.” Peter smiled into the dark at the angry words. His baby brother had swallowed the bait and with luck would soon feel the hook in his lip. James’s cunning plan to give their youngest sibling competition for Miss Lark’s heart was already paying off. All Peter had to do was keep up the pressure until John admitted he was in love with the chit. Two sheepish blushing faces following Cecil’s blunt observation had been all the proof needed to justify the deception.

  “How much do you want for her?”

  “The wench isn’t for sale and she’s not marrying you or any other relation and that’s final.”

  “But what if she falls in love with me?”

  “I’m tired. Go to sleep.”

  “I’ll give you a few weeks to think about it. I’m sure you’ll c-come to your senses. I’m still c-considered an attractive c-c-catch you know.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. You’re practically dead. We’re all practically dead.”

  Peter rolled over and smothered his successful laughter into his pillow before quickly falling asleep. John lay awake fuming. He kindly resisted the urge to push his snoring brother off the bed and pondered his reluctance to throw the unwanted Joan into the arms of a decent desperate man. He studied the gut wrenching thought from every direction, but couldn’t define why it was painful. He knew he was attracted to her; the need to feel his left arm around her waist was threatening his sanity. He could easily imagine the sensation… He shoved the thought away. It was a trap. If he kept dissecting the thought he’d soon do something stupid, but he couldn’t bear the thought of someone else enjoying the forbidden sensation either. It didn’t sound very kind. He groaned in disgust. How did people survive being good without going insane? He longed for excitement, to feel his blood pounding through his veins. How could one indulge in excitement and possibly be good? The question left his mind haunted by old habits. He wanted to race his horse through London at breakneck speed and feel the wind in his face, but one couldn’t race through London without trampling some idiot trying to cross the street. He wanted to go to the theatre and throw oranges at people in the pit, but he hated it when people threw oranges at him. He wanted to insult his enemies and provoke them to challenge a duel just so he could prove he was the superior marksman, but he hated being insulted. He wanted a woman in his arms. He needed pleasure. How was he going to survive sixty-odd years of planned survival without ending up back in hell? He covered his eyes with his good arm and used his sleeve to sop up his frustration and distress. What was he going to do with his ward?

  Chapter 8

  Weak morning sunlight slipped over polished oak floorboards and kissed John’s slack smile ending pleasurable dreams. After a gentle stretch and yawn he sat up and looked at the clock. It was only nine-thirty, but thoughts of Miss Lark falling in love with the idea of being a Viscountess pulled him from the warm cocoon and inspired him to ring for help. James’s valet reluctantly assisted John’s ablutions and made sure the grumpy invalid was presentable in a bottle green jacket and cream trousers. Adventuring down to the breakfast room; finding Agnes half way through her meal didn’t improve John’s mood. He directed the footman to fill his plate and ignored the beautiful woman giving him the evil eye. When she was silent she reminded him of an ice maiden, but when she spoke…“Your Miss Lark has made quite an impact on the family.” She was a silver tongued harpy. “Peter seems rather taken with her. Personally, I hope she falls in love with you. She’ll drive you mad.”

  “No doubt you’d enjoy seeing me chained in Bedlam.”

  “Yes, I’d come tickle you with a feather and entertain my friends with stories of your past.”

  “I could be unkind and tell you what an ice-harpy you are, but I shall ask you if James and Peter are at home instead.”

  “They’re out riding with the boys. If you’re in need of company your ward is having a lark down in the kitchen.”

  “What the blazes is she doing in the kitchen?”

  “Making biscuits, she said you’d pay for any used ingredients.”

  “Oh did she?”

  John stepped into the kitchen and inhaled sweet warm air. Through the haze of scattering servants, his heart purred with pleasure as a smiling temptation liberally powdered with flour and sugar turned to greet him. “Just the Smirke I wanted…come tell me what you think.” She waved him over with one hand as she tasted her latest batch of sweet biscuits. “Did you have pleasant dreams?”

  John hoped it was the kitchen heat making his cheeks hot. “Yes.” He took a cautious bite and slowly rolled the biscuit over his tongue. “You made these?” John held his breath as flour outlined cornflowers leaned closer.