Someone to Cherish

by Cheryl Holt

  There were guests loafing in all the parlors, but they were Gregory’s London friends, and she couldn’t abide any of them. They were as smug and arrogant as he was, and they talked to her as if she was deaf or dimwitted. The entire group was obnoxious.

  She reached the landing and was about to walk down the hall when a man bounded down the stairs from the floor above. She halted and, to her disgust, caught herself gaping up at him like a smitten ninny.

  With his blond hair and blue eyes, he was annoyingly handsome, and it was obvious he was in the navy. He was wearing his blue coat and white trousers, and his chest was adorned with medals as if he’d bravely fought in numerous battles.

  Though she’d never admit it, she loved seeing a man in uniform. It called to her feminine sensibilities, the ones she constantly struggled to ignore.

  He was a few years older than she was, twenty-four or twenty-five, and she couldn’t help but notice he had no wedding ring. So. . . he was a bachelor! Gregory occasionally dragged home unattached chums, but none of them ever looked like this divine god. She was embarrassingly aflutter, but working hard to pretend she wasn’t paying attention.

  “Hello there,” he said.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “I just arrived, and I’m starving. Can you point me to a dining room? Might I still be able to be fed? Or will I have to wither away until a formal meal is served?”

  “I’m sure the kitchen can stir up a plate for you.”

  “Marvelous.”

  He was tall and willowy, and he moved with the grace of a dancer, being light on his feet and at ease in his body as she never was. His shoulders were wide, his waist narrow, his legs long, and she simply couldn’t fathom how dull, insufferable Gregory would be friends with him.

  “I’m Miss Grey,” she said.

  “Which Miss Grey?” he asked. “Are you Gregory’s sister, Janet, or have I met Miss Caroline, the bride-to-be?”

  “I’m Janet.”

  “You poor dear. I shall pity you forever.” He bowed with a dramatic flourish that had her laughing. “I am Ensign Blake Ralston, the most dashing sailor the Royal Navy ever produced.”

  “You have quite a resumé.”

  “When you’re as splendid as I am, there’s no reason to practice humility.”

  “No, there’s not.”

  “My brother is here,” he said, switching topics like a whirlwind. “Mr. Caleb Ralston?”

  “Now that you mention it, the resemblance is clear.”

  “He’s an imposing rogue, isn’t he?” He leaned in, so close that his boots slipped under the hem of her skirt. “Tell me the truth. What do you think of him?”

  “We were only just introduced. I’ve spoken to him exactly twice, so I’ve barely had opportunity to make his acquaintance.”

  He smiled a smile that nearly knocked her off her feet. “You’ll like me more than you like him. I promise you that.”

  “That’s a bold statement.”

  “I’m a bold fellow.” He gestured to the stairs. “Will you escort me to the dining room? This mansion is so large that I’m lost. I have no sense of direction.”

  “How could you have no sense of direction? You’re a sailor—the best the navy ever produced, remember?”

  “Yes, but we have sextants and other tools to inform us of where we are. It’s when I’m staggering down these narrow hallways that I have so much trouble.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to announce that she would be delighted to escort him. A fleeting vision flitted through her head: the two of them ensconced at the table where they’d chat intimately, and she would ogle him like a blushing debutante.

  The speed with which she was willing to succumb to that sort of blatant entanglement was dumbfounding. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t interested in romance, and she deemed all men to be fools.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but at the moment, I’m too busy.”

  “You can’t force me to wander about on my own.”

  “You are a flirt.”

  “You accuse me as if it’s a bad thing.”

  “In my book, it is.” She pulled herself up to her full height and, next to him, it wasn’t very tall at all. “If you follow these stairs to the bottom, you’ll find a footman in the front foyer who will assist you.”

  “You wound me, Miss Grey.” He placed a teasing hand over his heart. “How could you decline to dawdle in my charming company?”

  “I’ll try to bear up.”

  “I shall absolutely die a little until I see you again.”

  “Liar.”

  “Maybe I’m lying,” he said, “but maybe I’m not.”

  He winked at her—he winked!—then he sauntered off, and she almost ran after him and told him she wasn’t that busy, that she would love to sit with him while he ate. But that’s what a silly girl would do, and she was a modern and independent young lady who was much too mature to be tantalized by a scoundrel.

  He stopped and called up to her. “Janet?”

  At wondering what his comment would be, she was practically breathless with anticipation, so she forgot to be annoyed that he’d used her Christian name.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Where would I be most likely to locate my brother? I haven’t stumbled on him yet.”

  Her disappointment at the mundane question was exasperating. “Just stroll through the parlors. There are guests seated on every sofa. You’ll cross paths with him.”

  “Will you be there eventually too?”

  “I’ll let it be a surprise.”

  He grinned a grin that indicated he was aware of the effect he had on her, that she’d come down as soon as she could. Then he whipped away and continued on. She shook her head and proceeded to her room, but somehow, the thought of spending the afternoon reading and writing in her journal had lost its appeal.

  She was actually pondering what gown she should wear to supper, and she decided to see if her maid could style her hair in a more flattering fashion.

  Lucretia Starling studied herself in the mirror in her bedchamber, eager to be certain she looked perfect. Gullible Gregory was thirty, and he believed she was twenty-four, but she was really thirty-two. It was a fact she would fight to the death to conceal, so she worked hard to appear gorgeous and glamorous—and young!

  Although Caroline Grey was the bride-to-be, Lucretia was the important woman in Gregory’s life.

  With her lush blond hair and big blue eyes, her curvaceous figure and statuesque height, she was stunning. Men drooled over her and women loathed her, always fretting when their men noticed her, and their worries were valid. She’d stolen a few beaux and spouses in her day. It was humorous to take what belonged to someone else. She was greedy and had no conscience. Moral qualms never vexed her.

  She’d initially met Gregory when she’d been twenty, and he’d been eighteen and reveling in town for the first time. Even back then, he’d been a drunken sot, and he’d been poor, so he hadn’t intrigued her in the slightest. But eight years later, when she’d bumped into him again, he’d been wildly wealthy.

  She was no fool, so she’d grabbed hold and hadn’t let go. They were so thoroughly attached that they might have been an old married couple.

  In her new red gown, the bodice cut low to reveal plenty of bosom, there was no doubt she looked fabulous, and she spun away and exited the room. She went to the floor below and knocked on Gregory’s door. She was furious that they hadn’t been able to share quarters, that she was being treated as simply an ordinary guest, but then, he was about to wed, and his fiancée was right down the hall.

  Lucretia probably couldn’t expect any favors.

  She didn’t tarry until he bid her enter, but brazenly marched into his suite. She found him in the dressing room where he was fussing with his cravat. He’d never been a
particularly handsome man, and he wasn’t the type who would improve with age.

  He was blond and blue-eyed too, but his face showed clear evidence of dissipation. Previously, he’d been thin and dapper, and he’d had all his hair. Now though, he was balding, and he’d developed a paunch around his belly. At five-foot-nine, he was an inch shorter than she was, so he didn’t carry the extra weight very well, but as her deceased mother had counseled, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Where is my valet?” he asked, his mood dour. “Didn’t we bring him along?”

  “No, darling,” she said. “You gave him the week off—with all the other servants.”

  “You should have stopped me.”

  She walked over and kissed him on the mouth. “Yes, I should have, and I’m sorry to have been so negligent. Aren’t there any footmen in the manor who could handle the job for you?”

  “None that I’d trust.”

  She turned him toward her, then she clasped the lace and began tying an intricate knot. She was nothing if not functional. She’d dressed—and undressed—many men in her life. She could certainly tie a bloody cravat.

  “What is on the schedule for today?” he asked her.

  “I heard it’s lawn games out in the garden. I peeked out my window, and I could see tents and tables arranged in the grass.”

  “Lawn games!” He was incredulous. “Why would I play lawn games? I had planned to get Ralston into the card room again. I can feel a lucky streak coming on.”

  “I’m sure you can, but you have to oblige Caroline, don’t you? She’s gone to so much trouble to entertain your company. You can’t hide yourself in a parlor with Caleb Ralston.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I can.” He sighed as if he had heavy burdens that were a great trial. “I’ll have to wait until tonight. That’s likely better anyway. Caroline was nagging about it this morning at breakfast.”

  “Nagging about what?”

  “About my gambling.”

  “She’s a sheltered country mouse, darling. She could never comprehend the sorts of amusements we enjoy in town.”

  “I know.” She finished with his cravat, and he whirled away and assessed himself in the mirror. “I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I? Have I made the correct decision?”

  “About what? About marrying your cousin?”

  “Yes. I like her very much, and she’s possessed of all the traits a fellow seeks in a bride. She’s beautiful, educated, kind, loyal—”

  Lucretia couldn’t bear to have him extolling his cousin’s attributes, and she cut him off. “Yes, she’s quite a catch. You were a genius to snatch her up when you had the chance.”

  “I’m forging ahead merely to please my father, and I hate how he’s been pressuring me.”

  She could barely contain her exasperation. “Gregory! You had her twiddling her thumbs for seven years! A girl shouldn’t have to delay until she’s an old maid.”

  “Yes, yes, and I’m securing the money. I have to keep reminding myself of that.”

  She bit down on all the aggrieved words that were begging to spill out.

  They’d officially been a couple for four years, and in the beginning, she’d foolishly persuaded herself that he would wed her, but he’d conveniently neglected to mention that he was already engaged.

  When he’d deigned to confide the situation, they’d had such a spat that she hadn’t thought their relationship would survive it. She’d actually packed her bags and had nearly left him, but she’d calmed down quickly enough.

  He was filthy rich, and he spoiled her rotten—without nitpicking over her expenditures. He provided her with a generous allowance too, and as any wise mistress would do, she was quietly squirreling away various amounts. Should the day ever arrive when he tired of her, she’d have a hefty nest egg to tide her over.

  He never noticed what she stole from him. Most of the time, he was too intoxicated to focus on any detail. She should have felt guilty over how she was protecting herself, but she would never forgive him for choosing his cousin over her. Each farthing she pilfered was a salve to her wounded feelings.

  She understood about Caroline’s fortune, about the trust fund that would vest when she turned twenty-five. She understood that her ostentatious style of living was wholly dependent on his shackling himself to Caroline.

  She understood it, but she didn’t have to like it.

  She was a selfish female who didn’t like to share, and—if Gregory had been a real man—he’d have confessed about Lucretia to Caroline. He’d have explained that Caroline would be his wife, but Lucretia was his partner.

  He was too much of a coward to confess it though, and he expected Lucretia to cower in the background and pretend to have no heightened claim on him. Well, she’d never been good at cowering or pretending, and if the truth leaked out to Caroline, Lucretia would be delighted to clarify a few facts.

  Once Gregory was wed, Caroline would have to swallow her pride and permit him to gambol in the city with his favorite person in the world. And that person was Lucretia. Caroline Grey couldn’t interfere in Lucretia’s happiness. It simply wasn’t in the realm of possibilities.

  “Let’s go down to the party, shall we?” she said. “Your guests are waiting.”

  “I imagine I have to.”

  “Buck up and cease your complaints. It will be an interesting afternoon. I promise.”

  “What if it’s not? What if the games Caroline has devised are stupid and tedious?”

  “Then we shall hover in the corner of a tent and snicker about her failings. It would be lovely to admit that she has some.”

  For just an instant, her smile slipped, but she shoved it back into place. She clasped his arm and led him away, being determined that everyone see them stroll outside together.

  Caroline hovered on the verandah, staring down at the garden party and studying the guests who were reveling in the grass. There were dozens of people present, the majority of them Gregory’s friends from town. The rest were younger neighbors from the area who’d visited to join in the fun.

  She’d had the cook prepare buffet tables of food, and the beverage offered was supposed to be a fruity punch. But from the animation of the London crowd, she suspected a stronger ingredient had been added, and she tamped down a sigh of frustration.

  She tried to never be a prude, but was it necessary to imbibe of hard spirits in the middle of the afternoon? It seemed illicit, as if they were on a bad track.

  Since the worst offenders appeared to be Gregory’s chums, what was she to make of their conduct? He had an exciting life in town that didn’t include her. Had she the right to complain about his choices and habits? Or should she keep her criticisms to herself?

  Ooh, how she wished there was a wise matron with whom to discuss various issues before she walked down the aisle. It would have been nice to receive some useful guidance on numerous weighty topics.

  It was three o’clock, the hour when Gregory had told her they could have a private chat. He was standing in the center of a boisterous group and had obviously forgotten about it. Lucretia Starling was hovered by his side, and she was clutching his arm as if they were more closely attached than they should be.

  A hint of unease slithered down her spine. What was the actual situation between the pair? What did she really know about Mrs. Starling? Should she nag at Gregory until he supplied some firm answers?

  An archery target had been set up, and male guests were shooting at it, but none of them were very good. Most of the arrows had flown off into the shrubbery. After significant ribbing, Mr. Ralston had agreed to participate, and she observed from her higher vantage point.

  He was next to Gregory, so it provided an exhausting chance to assess them in a manner that was wrong and unfair. In any comparison, Mr. Ralston would win hands down. He was tall and handsome, slender and fit, sophisti
cated and elegant. His expensive coat showed off his healthy physique in an arresting way.

  Gregory, in contrast, was shorter, plumper, his hair balding, his face lined from dissipation. He and Mr. Ralston were both thirty, but Gregory might have been twenty years older. His suit looked cheap and poorly sewn, and he’d gained so much weight that his shirt and trousers were stretched to the limit.

  She realized how avidly she was tabulating Mr. Ralston’s stellar attributes, and Gregory’s lack of them, and she scoffed with disgust. She had no business drooling over Mr. Ralston, but she couldn’t stop. She pushed away from the balustrade and headed down into the grass.

  As she approached the group, Gregory was crowing, “A hundred pounds says you can’t.”

  Someone in the crowd hollered, “Gregory, have you a hundred pounds to throw away?”

  People snickered as if it was common knowledge that Gregory had no money.

  Mr. Ralston replied with, “A hundred pounds would be fine. How many arrows shall I shoot?”

  “Everyone else shot three,” Gregory said.

  “Must I hit the bullseye with all of them?” Mr. Ralston asked.

  Gregory inquired of Mrs. Starling, “What is your opinion, Lucretia?”

  “The other contestants had to hit the target once, but it’s such a large bet. He should be required to hit it three times.”

  “You heard her, Ralston,” Gregory said. “It must be all three.”

  They were gambling! Right in the yard! The guests surrounding them were whispering animatedly, as if side wagers were being placed on Mr. Ralston’s prowess. She gaped in horror. To all of them, the huge bet was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Yet it was an obscene amount of money.

  Her temper soared, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself. She would never create a scene, and she had no idea how to bluster up and scold them. She would never behave like a shrew and embarrass Gregory.

  Mr. Ralston went over to a table where there were bows arranged for the contestants to utilize. He picked up one and fussed with it, testing the tension of the string. Then, with his barely glancing at the target, he fired off the trio of arrows in quick succession. They landed directly in the center.