Probably.
Her fearful escape from Uncle Sires apparently caused quite a stir. Even Iona had muttered that recalling the scene had occupied the gossips in the Pump Room that morning. She held her breath, praying that Radford, a man who’d once begged for her to consider him a friend, wouldn’t join with society and condemn her out-of-hand.
“That violet color brightens your eyes,” he said with utter sincerity.
“What?” Certainly Radford hadn’t brought her back inside the house to comment on the color of her—her—
What in the devil was he commenting on?
“Your walking dress.” He made a vague, almost embarrassed, gesture in her direction. “The material is faded. But the color, it suits you.”
“Thank you,” May said, stiffening. There was more. His blurted compliment came from nerves. She knew him well enough to recognize that he needed to build up to whatever he planned to say.
“How are you feeling?” he asked after a brief silence. “You are free from suffering severe pains?”
“Yes, yes.” May held her hands in front of her like a shield. “Please, do not fret over me. You have much more important matters—”
“More important?” His brows creased. “Nothing could possibly be more important than your well-being, May. Nothing at all.”
Oh, if only that could be true . . .
Radford started pacing then. His cane thudded on the Axminster carpet with a regular tattoo. “You don’t understand.”
May was afraid she understood too well. “Oh, Radford,” she said with a sigh. “You must think of your family first. I’m like a new toy. This fascination you have in me is fleeting. The shine will wear off far too quickly.”
“You don’t understand.” He kept a steady pace as he continued methodically cross the room. “I knew of your uncle’s plans. I knew he might cause you trouble. And yet . . . yet, I failed to protect you. In fact, my own damned horse nearly killed you.”
“I wasn’t nearly killed,” she whispered. Watching him take all the blame for her troubles pricked her deeply. No man had ever acted so gallantly or made himself her champion.
Mary Wollstonecraft would not approve. A woman should always serve as her own champion. As much as she wished for him to take charge and fix her horrid messes, she could not allow him to do so.
If you love him just a little, you must let him go, Lady Evers’ words echoed in her head.
“I never asked for your assistance,” she said.
“That is true.” He stopped and turned toward her. “You didn’t ask, you demanded. That first day you stormed into my study like a delightful harridan, you demanded I help you.”
Oh dear . . . she had done exactly that.
“I-I never intended . . . ”
“May, my lovely overlooked May,” he said. He began to slowly return to her. “I’ve considered this for quite a while and can only find one solution. You and I must marry.”
The words hung in the air like a dream teetering between sleep and forgetfulness. If she were to wake up and acknowledge his proposal, the magic would all but disappear. Reality would sadly return.
“No.” May rose from the chair slowly, afraid her legs would be too watery to support her. “Please, I cannot.” She backed toward the door.
Radford advanced with a determined glint sparkling in his eyes. “We must.”
With a steady gait he moved closer, moving as assuredly as a hungry falcon stalking his prey. “It’s the only way I can honorably protect you from your uncle and his scheming.”
The breath caught in May’s throat as his burning gaze kept her pinned to where she stood.
“Besides, May, we will suit, you and I. You will—”
“No.” May said forcefully. No matter how much she wished for it, no dream could replace reality. She shook her head from side-to-side to deny his words. “No. You would only grow to hate me. You deserve better than what I have to offer. Much better.”
His jaw dropped slightly as he tilted his head. “You do not hold yourself in high esteem?” Radford asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.
His question cut deep in her soul. “I have eyes . . . and ears. I know very well what I am. I have no pretensions about it.”
“Pretensions?” He tilted his head. If only he didn’t make her long to be the beautiful, graceful woman he wanted for a wife. Perhaps then, the truth wouldn’t be so hard to voice.
“I am a small, stocky woman more suited to the role of washerwoman than gently bred lady, my lord.” Tears burned in her eyes. She would not let them fall. Not for this, not ever for this. “In fact, I am not a gently born woman. My father, you see, is naught but a bastard—his father was a careless gentleman, his mother a wild gypsy.” She turned her head away and regained control over a quivering breath. “I refuse to be ashamed,” she whispered.
“Nor would I ask you to be.” He was suddenly standing in front of her, cupping her face with his gloved hands. “I don’t care about your past. It is your future that concerns me. And you are presently out of options. You are powerless against your uncle’s machinations. I am not.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as she rubbed her cheek against his warm touch.
“Let me do this for you, May. Consent to become my wife.”
If only . . . if only . . .
His touch ignited a host of feelings. Her head spun in the spiraling confusion. The man she loved with her whole heart was proposing to her. Her!
How easy it would be to say yes. She opened her mouth to agree to the madness when she realized what was holding her back.
Though Lady Evers’ words had made an impact, it wasn’t May’s disgraceful birth that was acting as a roadblock. May hadn’t lied when she’d said she wouldn’t be ashamed. Though her parents weren’t much more than a faint memory, she loved them dearly . . . and cherished how they loved each other.
Her parents had defied convention to marry, not out of honor or a desire to champion the other. They had made that difficult decision because of passion.
Though this moment would always live as a miracle in May’s memories, she would also remember the reason she pushed away his hands and kept him at arm’s length before his lips could touch hers. Nowhere in his sincere proposal had Radford mentioned love. He’d vowed to protect her, to do the honorable thing and rescue the maiden in distress. Perhaps he’d even convinced himself that he loved her.
No doubt the constant frustrations over his injuries left him feeling helpless, compelling him to act like St. George and do battle with her dragons. He’d said it himself—in this he felt powerful.
“Please, Radford,” she increased her distance from him. “Please, don’t press me for an answer.”
To deny him would be too painful.
To accept him would be a mistake May couldn’t afford to make.
Chapter 19
Radford watched with utter confusion as May fled his home. Her body trembled as she let a footman convey her up into the Newbury’s ducal carriage.
Lady Iona cast a nervous glance in his direction before following May into the carriage. Within a matter of a few shocked heartbeats the horses were spurred into motion and the wheels were rolling, carrying May out of his life.
“What did I do wrong?”
“What did you say to her?” Wynter aggressively pushed Radford back up the front steps and into the house. “Miss Sheffers looked crushed, absolutely crushed. Not to mention Lady Iona. She’s out of her head with worry for her friend. What in blazes did you do to make things worse?”
Radford led the way to his study where he tore off his frock, peeled away the gloves, and tossed his hat onto a chair. The late summer heat was getting to him, making him crazy.
He poured two glasses of claret and took a deep sip from hi
s glass before offering its twin to Wynter. After muttering something about getting himself in too deep with Lady Iona, Wynter drained the glass with one try.
“Now tell me, Evers, what did you say to upset Miss Sheffers . . . and Lady Iona?”
Radford pulled at his hair as he remembered how May had paled when he’d detailed the reasons they should wed. “I was rational, calm. I cannot understand her reaction.”
“What exactly did you say to her in this rational, calm manner?”
“Why, I told May that we should marry. To hell with the requirements of the perfect wife, Miss Sheffers needs me. I can help her stand up to her uncle.”
“Bloody hell,” Wynter muttered. He helped himself to another glass of claret. “You actually told her you wanted to marry her to protect her?”
“In a manner, yes.” Just like May, his friend was getting emotional over what should be clear-cut, rational reasoning. Wynter stomped around the study like a wild beast while grumbling curses under his breath.
“Miss Sheffers is a proud woman,” Wynter said after he’d apparently worn himself down. “You saw that the first time she barged into this very room and demanded you listen to her. She does not wish to be coddled or told what is best for her.”
“And when did you become the expert on proposing marriage?” Radford shouted. “I thought you’d vowed to become celibate before agreeing to make such a unbearable commitment.”
“I remember I’d spoken those words less than a minute after you had made a very similar oath. We were both deep in our cups . . . and young, and foolish.”
Radford dropped into his leather desk chair and pursed his lips. “Perhaps we weren’t so foolish. I don’t think I was fated for marriage.” At least not the kind of open, honest partnership he now desired. Meeting May had changed him. Before her, marriage with a woman like Lady Lillian would have fulfilled his family obligations. Now . . . the thought of such a future left him feeling empty.
“Giving up on marriage doesn’t solve our problem,” Wynter pointed out.
“No. It doesn’t,” Radford agreed.
“So, what do you plan to do? You’ve created a heap of trouble by upsetting Miss Sheffers.”
Radford considered his options carefully before answering. He had no wish to inadvertently make matters worse for May. “We should include my man-of-affairs in this discussion. He’s been gathering information for me about the earl and his family. Information that isn’t commonly known. I believe we’ll be able to use the closet filled with skeletons Bannor has been digging through to keep the Earl of Redfield from causing Miss Sheffers any more stress.”
* * * * *
Not one to back down or let others defend her, May felt uneasy the next day as she strolled with Lady Iona and Iona’s father, the very powerful and more than a little intimidating Duke of Newbury. This outing had been the duke’s idea. He planned to confront the Earl of Redfield on May’s behalf.
May’s pace slowed. She lagged several steps behind while fidgeting with the ribbons on her bonnet. Oh, how she longed to visit with her aunt and see for herself that Winnie was getting well again. But what would her uncle say seeing her arrive unannounced?
Tongues were wagging through the streets of Bath. According to the Duchess of Newbury, word of May’s disastrous encounter with her uncle and of Radford’s somewhat puzzling rescue was well known by all the Bath residents. Such a public airing of a family matter would have mortified her uncle. He put family pride and appearance above all things.
May would be lucky to be permitted to step foot within Uncle Sires’ townhouse.
“You have nothing to worry about,” the duke said. He’d stopped on the pavement and waited for May to catch up to him. “You will not be denied. The earl has a duty to you, his niece. I’ll see to it that he treats you with the utmost respect.”
Much to May’s chagrin, Iona had recounted to her father every horrid detail of how Uncle Sires had completely lost his head and attacked. Why should Iona keep her lips sealed, though? To hear the duchess speak, all of Bath knew how her uncle had tried to take a horsewhip to her. It was as if an audience had watched the frightening drama.
Well, an audience had . . . only, May expected her uncle’s servants to behave more discreetly than that.
Her temples began to pound as the group stood on the stoop and waited for the butler to answer the bell. If it weren’t for her aunt Winnie, she would have never agreed to see her uncle ever again. Since he was Winnie’s caretaker now, she had no choice but to humble herself and beg for her uncle’s audience. She’d beg all day if that was what it took to see her aunt.
Iona squeezed her hand as the ornately carved wooden door swung open.
“Fetch the earl,” the duke said, handing his card to the frowning butler.
“I am sorry, your grace,” the butler said gravely. “The earl is presently away from home.”
“He may feign his absence to anyone else in this town, I don’t care. He will see me.” The duke crossed his arms and glared at the butler’s stern expression.
For a moment May thought the duke had finally met a man brave enough to resist his severe façade. Gradually the man’s shoulders slumped, and the corners of his lips dropped.
“Very well,” the butler said as he backed out of the doorway. “I will inform the earl of your arrival.”
Before leaving them, he led the trio into the very study where May had brazenly bitten her uncle in order to escape his madness. The drapes were drawn and the candles unlit. The room was dark and silent.
The duke laid a hand on the butler’s arm and delayed him before he could scurry away. “You will tell him not to keep me waiting.”
The butler gave a quick nod and disappeared.
Not five minutes later the Earl of Redfield appeared at the doorway dressed in the very finest buff pantaloons, colorful waistcoat, and black frock. His gaze flicked from May to Iona to the duke.
“Newbury,” he said.
“Redfield,” the duke replied.
May stepped forward to intervene. This was her battle to keep Aunt Winnie in her life and she intended to fight it.
“Ah, what a surprise,” a booming voice echoed through the hall. Mr. Tumblestone sauntered into the room, wearing a broad smile and a rather baggy country outfit. He maneuvered around the earl and, with his thick hand outstretched, approached the duke.
“Your grace,” he said jovially. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” He turned and gave a nod toward Iona. “And you, my lady.” His watery gaze then landed on May. “And especially you, Miss Sheffers.” He swept May’s hand into his and placed a kiss on her gloved knuckle.
“How do you do?” May said as she tugged to regain possession of her hand. She turned away from Mr. Tumblestone and returned her attentions to her primary target. “Uncle, I wish to make amends.”
“Hush, May,” the duke said lifting his hand. “Let me handle this.”
“But, your grace—” May started to say.
“Let the men talk.” Mr. Tumblestone’s thick fingers wound around her arm. He pulled her until she was nestled close to his side. “While your spirit enthralls me, I doubt a man of either the duke’s or the earl’s stature are amused by such antics.”
May tilted her head up at the portly man and frowned. “Did you just say you were enthralled?”
She noticed then that both Uncle Sires and the duke had fully turned around and were gaping at them. The duke’s manner took on a fatherly tone as he stepped forward to intervene. Iona gave May a wink and settled into a comfortable armchair, looking as if she were getting ready to enjoy a play.
“Perhaps you should take care and remove your hands from Miss Sheffers,” someone growled.
May’s head snapped toward the study’s doorway. Her heart stopped. What was he doing here? Lord
knew she certainly didn’t need any more complications standing in the way of her seeing to Aunt Winnie’s welfare. For his sake and Winnie’s, May had left him and her heart at Longbranch House. He shouldn’t be here, interfering with her life. He didn’t have a place in her life . . . nor she in his.
Yet there Radford stood at the threshold, as handsome as ever, dressed all in black with a cane in one hand and the earl’s lanky butler dangling by the collar in the other. Wynter served as an imposing second at his side. Both men’s gazes were fixed on Mr. Tumblestone, especially on how his hands were tightly curled around May’s arms.
May’s heart lurched. She’d lived in London long enough to know that wild rakes had the troubling tendency of challenging each other to duels over such trivial matters. By no means did she want a duel fought over her.
“What in blazes is going on?” Uncle Sires roared. “I will not abide my home being treated like a public house!” His face darkened to a deep puce color that couldn’t be healthy.
May attempted to pull herself from Tumblestone’s grasp, but he only closed his farm-hardened hands more fiercely around her shoulders.
“I said unhand her.” Radford’s voice carried the force of his military background with it. “You have no right to touch her.”
“Please, this is too much,” May said, still squirming to free herself.
“There is no need for these theatrics,” Mr. Tumblestone said with a nod to Radford and a second, deeper nod in the duke’s direction. “If you would but let me explain, all would be well.”
“I doubt that,” Radford murmured. He released the hapless butler, crossed his arms, and glared as if the devil had taken him.
“Please explain yourself then, Tumblestone,” the duke said soberly.
Uncle Sires grunted and gave a nod. His skin tone began to return to its normal pale pallor.
A large grin spread across Tumblestone’s wide lips. He traced the rim of his slick bottom lip a couple of times before proceeding. “Miss Sheffers and I have an agreement.”
The Marriage List Page 18