A Sisterly Regard

by Judith B. Glad

  Pain? Or anger?

  "My dear Miss Phaedra, I want to marry you now, as soon as the banns can be called. I do not wish to wait for months while you dither about."

  "Why?"

  "Why? Why do I not want to wait? You silly chit, because I am not a patient man." He pulled a lacy handkerchief from his sleeve and wafted it at her. "We fops do not like delayed pleasures, don't you know."

  Where was the sleepiness, the ennui? Phaedra frowned. "Why do you want to marry me?" She peered at him, wishing she could see beyond the abrupt opacity of his grey eyes.

  "Why? You ask why? Great God, what a foolish question." Again the lacy handkerchief waved between them. "Because it is time I took a wife. Because you are suitable. Because I want to set up my nursery. Why does any man wish to marry?" His voice had increased in volume as he spoke, until his last words were close to a shout.

  Still wondering who this strange, new person was, this impatient, forceful man who wore the façade of Reginald Farwell, she shook her head. "None of your reasons is sufficient," she told him. "Perhaps I should not ask you to wait on my decision."

  He sat back, but left his hand over hers. "What do you consider to be a sufficient reason, then?"

  "Love. I will not marry where there is not love. I have seen what my parents have and I want it too."

  "Well, then, I love you. NOW will you marry me?"

  "I think you said you love me because I wanted you to, not because you do. We have known each other barely a month and we have fought continually. I wonder if we should suit at all. I had hoped you would offer for Chloe. She and you seem so like."

  When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. "No, let me finish. We have never agreed upon a single topic, not once. To me this says we are entirely unsuited, but you obviously have a different understanding of our relationship. Until I am convinced one way or the other, I cannot give you the answer you desire, or any answer at all." She turned her hand under his, so that their palms touched. "Please, give me time."

  "I would not have had your sister as a gift. Had I wanted a social butterfly for a wife, I could have had one long since." His hand tightened on hers, squeezing until she winced. "Blast you, Phaedra, must you be so stubborn?"

  "I have no choice. Will you wait one month?"

  "If I must, but I will not like it." He released her hand and relaxed against the back of the sofa. "Since you are determined to know me better, you may begin the inquisition."

  "The inquisition? What do you mean?"

  "The questions. To get to know me. I am waiting. Go ahead."

  Phaedra found herself without speech. Questions? I am supposed to ask him questions so I can learn more about him? Has he no understanding of how a man and woman become acquainted?

  After a moment in which thoughts spun madly inside her head, she said, "I will not ask you impertinent questions as a way of getting to know you better. We must spend time in each other's company, learn each other's habits and likes and dislikes. We will that way learn much more than mere words could impart." She lifted her gaze to his face, seeking his understanding.

  His eyes were closed.

  "Reginald Farwell! How dare you go to sleep when I am speaking to you?" Filled with hot anger, Phaedra picked up a pillow from a nearby chair and began to beat him with it. "Wake up, you idiot! Listen to me! Wake up!"

  More swiftly than she had ever seen him move, he wrested the pillow from her and grabbed her wrists in one hand. Before she could think of struggling, he had them behind her, manacled together with long, strong fingers.

  His other arm went around her, and he pulled her hard against him. "If you will prose on with nonsense, I will fall asleep. Now, what was it you would like to know? My teeth are good. I am told that I snore, but I have never heard myself do so, and it is therefore probably a lie. I do not keep a mistress and I gamble only in moderation. I am twenty-nine years of age. I was schooled at Eton, but did not go on to university. I have a small estate and a modest income, enough to house you and clothe you comfortably. Is there anything else you wish to know?"

  She could not answer, for immediately upon uttering his last question, he had captured her lips with his. He held her so tightly she could only struggle weakly.

  In the next instant, she lost interest in breaking free. A warm glow kindled in her toes and swept through her. She struggled no longer, but was content to be held. This close, she was aware of his subtle scent, a faint spicy odor suggestive of cloves and cinnamon.

  When he pulled away, she felt a strong urge to catch hold of his ears and pull his mouth back to hers. Instead she leaned her head against his chest and waited for him to speak.

  A minute passed. Then two. She could stand it no more. Phaedra looked up into his face, seeing not the bland expression he usually wore, but something hot and insistent. Her breath caught.

  "Will you marry me, Phaedra?" he said, his voice soft but somehow not entirely gentle. "Now? As soon as possible?"

  "Not yet," she replied in a whisper, hating her words, but knowing she was making the right decision.

  His arms dropped releasing her. He stepped back and bowed. "Very well, ma'am. I will endeavor to play the ardent swain for one month. But at the end of that month, I expect an answer. And it had better be yes." He walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  Phaedra stared after him, mouth agape. Somehow the fop had been transformed into an assertive, very masculine gentleman, despite the frivolous clothing. After a few minutes' stunned immobility, she backed up and sat on the sofa. When her mother entered an hour later, her chin was still in her hands, her elbows still on her knees, a thoughtful expression still on her face.

  * * * *

  Reggie, striding toward Grosvenor Square after leaving the Hazelbourne house, silently castigated himself for his poor handling of Phaedra. He had expected her to be surprised at his offer, had assumed that her first impulse would be to refuse it. But he had been determined to convince her to change her mind. Reggie knew he could be very persuasive. Never had any woman stood against his will for long.

  Not that there had been all that many, for he had been a figure of fun since he first outgrew his school fellows when he was scarcely twelve. The façade he had constructed for himself had served him well, but it had kept the world at a distance. Especially the feminine portion of the world.

  Instead of amusing Phaedra, his apparent sleepiness had angered her. Unlike most women he dealt with, she had been neither amused nor intrigued. At least she had not twigged that his principle reason for offering for her at this time was to protect her from Society's gossip. His original plan had been to defer his offer until he could woo her properly, but Chloe's foolishness had put an end to his plan.

  He prayed she would never suspect. Nothing would influence her refusal so much as to think herself the object of his pity. He began to devise a new strategy as he strode along. By the time he had reached the Duchess' imposing mansion, he was whistling.

  Lady Mary greeted him as he entered the drawing room. "Well?" she asked.

  He shook his head.

  "Pay me," she demanded. He pulled a roll of bills from his purse and peeled off one hundred pounds.

  "I knew she would not have you." She smiled widely as she tucked the bills into her reticule. "Have you any hope?"

  "She wants a month to get to know me. Worse yet, she says she will not marry without love."

  "I told you that."

  "You did, indeed. And I refused to believe you." He followed her into the small parlor at the top of the stairs. Throwing himself into an armchair, he contemplated the pointed toes of his high-heeled shoes. "She seemed to show a preference for me, as much as she did for any man."

  "You great looby. Of course she prefers you. She's half in love with you already, but does not know it yet," the Duchess said from the doorway. "I've seen how her eyes follow you."

  "What are you going to do now, Reggie?" Lady Mary asked.

  "Oh, I'll do the usua
l thing. Take her driving in the park. Send her flowers at every opportunity. Squire her around. What else can I do?"

  "You treat her like any ordinary gel and you'll lose her for sure," the Duchess warned. "Phaedra's got an odd kick to her gallop. You'll need different tactics with her."

  Lady Mary reached up to pat his cheek. "Why will you not show her the real Reggie Farwell? She still thinks of you as a fop, as does everyone."

  "Mary, I have worn the fop persona for so long that I do not think I can doff it. Not in Town, at least."

  "Can you try? No one will laugh at you any more. You are no longer the Storky Farwell of your schooldays, you know. You are really very handsome, at least when you wear something other than those awful waistcoats." Lady Mary looked him up and down, wincing when her gaze passed over the primrose and royal blue brocade of his waistcoat. "Reggie, come out of hiding. Let Phaedra see the man behind the peacock. Please."

  He clenched a fist, pounded on his bent knee. When he opened his mouth to reply, the words caught in his throat. A deep breath, a cough, and he was able to whisper, "I am afraid to. I want her so terribly." He buried his face in his hands and muttered through them, "She might not have me if she saw the man behind this ridiculous façade. At least this way I have a chance, for she knows the fop."

  "Do you expect to carry out this inane masquerade all your life, Reggie? She will learn what you really are soon enough. How can you hide your writing and your agricultural experiments from your wife?"

  The Duchess laid a hand on his shoulder. "Mary's right, Reggie. Show her what you really are. If you feel you cannot do it in Town, we'll go the country for a while." Her hand tightened and she gave him a small shake.

  "You and the Hazelbournes will come to us for a fortnight. We'll leave next week." Having decided everyone's schedule, the Duchess called for her butler so she could issue instructions.

  "What about your Season, Mary? Do you wish to leave Town in the middle of it?"

  "Pooh. There will be others. I am in no more hurry to marry than you were at my age, Reggie." She looked away from him, then said, with a casual air, "Do you suppose Mr. Martin might like to join us? His presence would make the group more balanced."

  "Great God! Have you developed a tendre for that romantic puppy?"

  "No, not at all. I do like him, for he is a kindly person. He and Phaedra are friends, but we could never go beyond friendship. I am being selfish, for I would feel left out, with you and Phaedra playing your romantic games, if I had no one with whom to flirt. And I feel sorry for him, for no one ever seems to take him seriously. He will be absolutely devastated when he discovers that Chloe has married someone else, you know."

  "Then suggest it to Her Grace. But be sure you do not toy with his affections, Mary."

  "I would not do anything so unkind. If it will reassure you, I will be very frank with him as to why he is being invited."

  "You do that. I'd like to see the good fellow's face when he is told he is being invited on a house party so that the Duchess' granddaughter can have someone to flirt with."

  Reggie felt shame that he was amused, for at least no one had ever invited him to a house party to provide the hostess with a cicisbeo.

  Had they?

  Chapter Seventeen

  True to his word, Reginald Farwell played the part of ardent suitor for the next few days. He came to take Phaedra driving in Hyde Park the very afternoon of their discussion. His equipage, a dashing phaeton with yellow spokes and red hubs, red trim on a forest green body, and yellow harness, was a surprise. She had never seen him in the park except as a pedestrian or a passenger.

  His groom was also a surprise. Instead of livery, he wore a turban of spotless white. His dark brown trousers and jacket resembled a military uniform, with brass buttons and leather belting, and his bare feet were shod with sandals. She looked curiously at the groom as Mr. Farwell handed her to her seat. The swarthy groom man returned the look with an interested directness not usual in servants.

  Once the horses were in motion, Phaedra said, "What an unusual fellow your groom is. A native of India, is he not?"

  "Yes. Haresh came with me when I returned from there." He guided his team into a side path. "May I say, Miss Phaedra, that you are looking uncommonly lovely. That rich brown pelisse and russet gown suit you very well. And your bonnet is charming."

  She thanked him courteously. "I did not know you had been in India. When were you there?"

  "Years ago, when I was just up from school. Do you attend Lady Dillingsworth's musicale tomorrow evening? I would count myself privileged to escort you there."

  "Oh, I suppose so, if you wish." She had not planned to attend the musicale, but if he would be there... "Why did you go to India?"

  "I wanted to see more of the world, I suppose." He shrugged, his shoulder moving against hers.

  She wanted to scoot away from the contact, for it had a somewhat disturbing effect upon her thought processes.

  "Miss Phaedra, the Duchess will be sending your family an invitation for a house party at Verbain. I hope you will come, for the company will be sadly flat without you."

  "If my parents accept, I will be there, I imagine. Tell me about India. How long were you there?"

  "Just over five years. It is hot, disease ridden, and the women are not nearly so lovely as you. Has anyone ever told you, my dear, that your eyes are the most beautiful in the world?"

  "Will you stop this! I did not come with you to endure the sort of nonsensical flattery with which you shower every female. If you cannot converse seriously, you may take me home."

  "You know I never converse seriously. It sends me to sleep."

  "Twaddle. You could not possibly sleep when driving. Please, tell me about India. I have never met anyone before who has been there. All I know of the country is what I have read in books. Are the flowers beautiful? Do tigers really prowl the streets?"

  Giving up his intention of wooing her with flattery, Reggie described the parts of India e had seen, making it sound as if he had been touring the country. She could not possibly be interested in his real adventures, for they had not been pleasant. On the spot, he invented an anecdote about a man-eating tiger who only caught boy children below the age of seven, and those only on Sundays. He concluded with, "So they finally caught him, by gathering all the little boys of the village in front of the local mission church and luring the tiger thence, to be caught in a gigantic net. The natives were told that God had helped in his capture, and so the good parson had several new converts that week."

  Phaedra giggled. "I do not know how much of that tale is true and how much of it you invented, but I enjoyed it. Did you make your fortune in India?"

  "No, I inherited it from an aunt. Fortunately she was somewhat miserly, else I should have inherited a good bit less."

  "Did she leave you property also?"

  "A small estate north of Oxford. My agent manages it for me." Feeling backed into a corner by the trend of the conversation, he extracted his handkerchief from his sleeve and waved it. "Can you imagine me with my feet in the furrows and hay in my hair?"

  "No, but I would like to. How much better a life it would be for you than this useless gallivanting about Town, wasting your youth at parties and balls."

  "But such a bore, my dear, such a bore." He forced a yawn. "Society is ever so much more diverting."

  They returned to the main road, which was crowded with other carriages and many riders. Further conversation was made difficult by the constant necessity of responding to greetings from acquaintances.

  Phaedra was enjoying herself, despite her frustration with Mr. Farwell's insistence on keeping their conversation superficial. The oily Mr. Dervigne appeared and rode alongside the phaeton for several minutes. He was clearly curious about Chloe's sudden marriage. When Phaedra made it apparent she was going to tell him nothing, he smiled at her and said, "May one assume you will continue to grace Society, my dear. I would delight in becoming better acquainted wit
h you." His smile widened and became, in Phaedra's opinion, positively lascivious as his gaze swept over her body. "Much better acquainted."

  "Move aside, Dervigne. My horses are restive." Mr. Farwell made no obvious move, but his team surged forward. Dervigne had to jerk his horse aside to keep it from being struck by the back corner of the phaeton.

  The team settled back into their slow walk within a few yards. Again Mr. Farwell seemed to do nothing to control them.

  "Thank you for getting rid of him. I cannot like the man. He makes me uncomfortable," Phaedra said, with heartfelt gratitude.

  "He is a rake of the worst sort. Preys on young girls in their first Season who are flattered by attention paid them by an older man. He has ruined at least three, that I know of. Stay as far away from him as you can, Miss Phaedra."

  "Trust me, I shall." She turned to stare at him, suddenly curious. "Do you mean he has really ruined them, or just caused unpleasant gossip"

  "What a shocking question for an innocent young woman to ask. What must I think of you?"

  She scowled until he replied.

  "One died in childbirth and disgrace; two others were married very suddenly to suitors previously thought unacceptable." His mouth suddenly closed into a hard line. "There is Lady Everingham," he said, his words audible only to her. "Put your chin up, and smile your prettiest at me."

  She gave him a dazzling smile and laid her hand affectionately on his arm as they passed the Everingham carriage. Conscious of the poisonous stare of its occupant, she chattered brightly until they were well past the Everingham carriage.

  Her words did not match her carefree expression. "Can nothing be done about people like Mr. Dervigne? How can he continue to be acceptable to Society? Oh, dear, she hates me, I can see it in her face. What an evil woman." Her smile faded as they drew away from the Everingham carriage and she sighed in relief. "I hate to act someone I am not. How happy I will be to l return to the country where I may be myself."

  "You may always be yourself with me. In fact, you may always be yourself in London, once the gossip over Chloe has died away. Your behavior is beyond reproach."