Someone to Cherish

by Cheryl Holt

“I’m glad one of us is so confident.”

  “Will you do me a favor tomorrow?” he asked.

  “That depends on what it is.”

  “I would like to sit down with you and my brother and have you share every single detail you remember about our father. Would you be interested in that?”

  She sighed with what sounded like gladness. “I would be delighted to tell you what I remember, but will you tell me what you remember?”

  “I’ll tell you what I can.”

  He slid away and stood, and he brushed his fingers through his hair and over his clothes so he wasn’t too disheveled. She remained stretched out on the bed, like a seductive harem girl who’d just serviced her master.

  “Will you end your engagement?” he asked her. “Promise you will.”

  “I’ll try to end it, but I can’t imagine the chaos I’ll stir.”

  “If you need my assistance, I’d be happy to provide it. I can deliver a scathing recitation of Gregory’s malignant habits to your uncle.”

  “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  He doubted she would be, but he wouldn’t admit it. He gestured to the door. “Will you glance out for me to make sure the hall is empty?”

  She climbed to the floor, and as she walked by him, he pulled her close for a final, desperate kiss.

  She huffed with aggravation. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “What am I going to do with you?” he replied.

  “We’re mad,” she said. “We’re both mad. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, I realize it.”

  She peeked out, then whispered, “The coast is clear.”

  “I’ll find you tomorrow. We’ll talk about my father.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  He stepped by her and hurried away. He had an appointment with her fiancé, and he was suddenly more eager than ever to help Gregory dig a very deep hole.

  “How much did you lose?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Lucretia glared at Gregory, but he was such a vain ass, he couldn’t be shamed. He’d gambled all night, but she hadn’t stayed to watch. It was too nerve-wracking.

  He and his friends loved to hover over the table, eager to see which card would appear or which dice would land. That level of frantic energy didn’t appeal to her in the slightest.

  Gregory was an awful gambler too, and he was perfectly capable of disgracing himself without her as a witness. And was it really any of her business how much money he frittered away? So long as they were able to maintain their affluent style of living, why should she be concerned?

  It was just that he constantly complained about being short of funds, and then, he’d have to beg his father for a quarterly disbursement from the trust fund. The request would precipitate a huge quarrel and threats by his father to cut off Gregory’s allowance. Lucretia wound up having to expend enormous effort calming Gregory and pushing him back to an acceptable condition.

  It was exhausting, and on occasion, she thought—if she could meet someone richer—she’d leave him in a quick minute. Then again, every man in her social circle was addicted to wagering. Who would be any better?

  “How does Caleb Ralston always beat you?” she asked, climbing out onto a ledge she shouldn’t have pursued. Gregory never liked to have his chums denigrated, although why he viewed Ralston as a chum was a mystery.

  “He’s simply lucky, and I’m not.”

  “You don’t suppose he cheats, do you?”

  Gregory blanched and glanced around, anxious to ensure the perilous comment hadn’t been overheard. A man accused of cheating would take it very personally. The insult would be settled with pistols at dawn.

  There were no eavesdroppers though. They were out on the verandah by themselves, the noon hour fast approaching, so few guests had risen to face the day. Their London friends had gambled all night too.

  Gregory hadn’t had the luxury of dawdling in bed with the rest of them. The vicar was visiting to chat about the wedding service, and Gregory was expected to sit through it—and to look like a devoted fiancé. To him, the wedding was a necessary evil, and if he could have managed it, he’d have arrived as the ceremony was starting, spoken the vows, then headed back to town.

  He was that disinterested in what was occurring.

  The entire debacle was a tedious bore, and he’d been so grouchy that Lucretia had dragged him outside to adjust his attitude.

  “Ralston doesn’t cheat!” he insisted, exhibiting great umbrage at the notion. “He’s a navy veteran. He wouldn’t stoop that low.”

  “Why did he resign his commission in the navy? There was that rumor about how he got caught in a swindle, and he had to quit or be court marshalled. A fellow who would jeopardize his position like that might do anything to you. A little cheating at cards is probably the least of his crimes.”

  “I’m not about to salivate over old gossip with you.”

  “Why is he so wealthy anyway? He went from being a simple sailor to being a rich cretin in a matter of years. It seems terribly fishy to me.”

  “He owns a gambling club, Lucretia. It’s a lucrative business.”

  “Why must you play with him? Can’t he find another victim to fleece?”

  “I ask him to continue playing. You’re aware of that fact. I owe him a bloody fortune, and I have to win some of it back before my father discovers the depth of my situation.”

  She thought he should tell his father to sod off. The man was a blowhard and busybody who treated Gregory like a child, but that was an argument for a different morning.

  He groaned and rubbed his temples. “Ooh, my head is pounding. Would you stop nagging at me?”

  If they’d been at home, she might have voiced a vicious reply to his whiny remark. As it was, she could only cluck and coo and pretend to be worried about him.

  “You poor dear,” she murmured. “I keep forgetting you’re hungover. Has your stomach calmed down? Let’s go have some breakfast. We’ll see if the housekeeper has a remedy that can ease your suffering.”

  Without thinking, she rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. They were a firmly established couple after all, and they were alone on the patio. For her, it was the most normal conduct in the world. Except as she drew away, she peered toward the manor, and to her consternation, Caroline was watching them out a window.

  Gregory didn’t notice her. He was facing the garden, but Lucretia’s mind was awhirl as she tried to figure out the best path. Should she notify Gregory? Should she remain silent? Should she do something? Should she do nothing?

  On the spur of the moment, she couldn’t decide, but she hated Caroline Grey, and she grinned a smug, contemptuous grin. Then she laid a possessive palm on Gregory’s chest and stroked it in a slow circle.

  Caroline yanked away and fled like a frightened rabbit, with Gregory none the wiser as to what had happened.

  Caroline had no idea what made her look outside. She was at loose ends and conflicted about numerous issues.

  She had a meeting with the vicar and his wife to talk about the church service, but how would she endure it? Through the whole charade, she’d be on the edge of her seat, ready to jump up and say, This marriage is a grotesque mistake. I’m calling it off.

  She couldn’t imagine doing it though. Nor could she imagine the ramifications once she spoke up. Her uncle would likely think she’d gone mad, and she couldn’t predict how he’d react.

  Another problem involved Caleb Ralston. She was gravely sinning with him, and if she could misbehave in such an egregious way, what did it indicate about her moral character? She viewed herself as an honorable person. Evidently, she wasn’t. Evidently, when push came to shove, she was no better than she had to be.

  She was fascinated by the news that his father was her Captain Ralston. His son had waltzed
into Grey’s Corner, which was shocking and disturbing. She felt as if Fate had brought him or perhaps that his father had led Caleb to her.

  If that was her assessment, then it was obvious there was destiny at work. With that being the case, how could she proceed with the wedding to Gregory?

  The house was quiet, no guests up even though it was almost noon, so she’d been curious when she noted a couple out on the verandah. She looked closer and realized it was Gregory and Mrs. Starling.

  They were always together, and Caroline had observed them as they’d socialized. She’d been left with the impression that they had a connection that wasn’t exactly illicit, but that wasn’t exactly acceptable either. Mrs. Starling was polite to Caroline, but there was always an undercurrent of tension, as if Mrs. Starling was secretly enjoying a joke at Caroline’s expense.

  She and Gregory were having an animated conversation, when suddenly, Mrs. Starling kissed Gregory right on the mouth. It was such an unexpected sight that Caroline was amazed she didn’t fall to the floor in a stunned heap.

  As Mrs. Starling pulled away, she saw Caroline spying on them. The horrid shrew smiled an arrogant, condescending smile, appearing gleeful that Caroline had witnessed the intimate exchange.

  She laid a hand on Gregory’s chest, and she rubbed in a slow circle that sent a stern message to Caroline: Gregory belonged to Mrs. Starling, and even if Caroline wound up with a ring on her finger, Mrs. Starling wasn’t about to let Caroline have him.

  Caroline had never been more astonished. She stumbled away and ran, simply yearning to find a secluded spot and hide while she pondered the disaster.

  She was desperate to discuss the situation with someone, but who? Gregory would deny any indiscretion. Her uncle would scoff at her concerns. Janet would say, My brother is a dog. Why are you surprised by this?

  Mr. Ralston would probably have all sorts of gossip to share about the disgusting pair, but Caroline couldn’t bear to hear it.

  As usual, as it had been since she was returned to England at age five, she was on her own with no one to guide her, no one to care.

  Caleb had been searching everywhere for Caroline, being eager to sit down with her and reminisce about his father.

  It was mid-afternoon, and guests had begun to stagger down for a very late breakfast, but Caroline had been conspicuously absent.

  He’d been up until dawn, helping Gregory grow even more indebted. Everyone was hungover, but he was fit as a fiddle, his mental faculties alert and functioning. When he was gambling, he didn’t imbibe, and with him being regularly plagued by insomnia, he was accustomed to staying up all night. He wasn’t tired.

  He was walking down a deserted hall, wondering if Caroline might be ill, if he shouldn’t sneak to her bedchamber and check on her, when a parlor door opened, and she emerged from the empty room.

  “Caro! There you are! I was starting to worry about you.”

  “Hello.”

  Her greeting was morose and subdued, and he studied her, thinking she was sad and despondent, as if she’d received a terrible blow.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re an awful liar, and you’re devastated. What’s happened?”

  She didn’t reply, but gazed up at him with those poignant blue eyes of hers. They killed him, those eyes. He peeked both ways down the hall, then urged her back into the room. He shut the door behind them.

  He would have pulled her into his arms, but she scooted around a small sofa, using it as a barrier to keep him away.

  He wanted to complain and call her a nervous ninny, but he understood her qualms about their burgeoning relationship. She was engaged, and she hadn’t reneged on her commitment to her cousin, so her flirtation with Caleb—if that’s what it was—was foolish and reckless.

  “I just saw. . . something I shouldn’t have,” she said, “and it upset me. I’m glad I saw it though. It showed me an important problem I failed to notice on my own.”

  “From how forlorn you are, it must have been crushing.”

  “I haven’t decided if it is or not. I’ve been trying to figure out what it indicates.”

  “I hate to have you so distraught,” he said. “Describe what you witnessed. Let me give you my opinion about it.”

  “How much do you know about Gregory’s life in town?”

  He could have guessed Gregory would be the topic, and he sighed. “I know a lot.”

  “Then tell me about Mrs. Starling. What do you know about her?”

  He paused, choosing his words carefully. “She’s an interesting character.”

  “How is she interesting? Why would you pick that term? In my view, she’s smug, unlikable, and a tad patronizing.”

  “She definitely comes across that way.”

  “Is she a doxy?”

  “She has that reputation in various circles.”

  “She’s a guest in my home. She was invited to my wedding.”

  “What are you really asking me, Caro? Just spit it out.”

  “Are she and Gregory romantically involved?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “How long have they been together?”

  “It’s been four or five years.”

  “Years!” She looked as if she might faint.

  “Men lead decadent lives in town. It’s common for them to have affairs and mistresses.”

  “But he’s about to be married!”

  “I realize that.”

  “How closely attached are they? Have you any idea?”

  “They share lodging, which seems very close to me.”

  “They cohabitate?”

  “Yes. She’s his hostess, and she manages his household as if she’s his wife.”

  She was so stunned that she lurched over to a chair and plopped down. “If I’d married him, what was I supposed to be? Where would I have fit in that seedy scenario?”

  “I can’t clarify his thinking. He’s as much a mystery to me as he is to you.”

  “Might it have occurred to you that I’d like to be apprised about this? If I hadn’t stumbled on it myself, would you ever have mentioned it to me?”

  He debated lying, but didn’t. “Probably not. I have plenty of issues of my own with regard to your cousin, mostly concerning the fact that I’m not his nanny. It’s not up to me to force him to behave, and it’s certainly not up to me to blab his secrets.”

  It was exactly the wrong comment. Her eyes flashed with a spark of temper. “How could you keep this from me?”

  “That’s not fair. You’re angry about Mrs. Starling, so you’re blaming me for Gregory’s conduct with her.”

  “I don’t blame you for his conduct. I blame you because you would have let me march blindly to the altar without giving me a hint as to the morass that was about to envelop me.”

  “That’s not fair either. I warned you about Gregory from the very first minute.”

  “Well, you didn’t bother to point out the very worst part of it. What on earth am I to do?”

  “I’ve provided my opinion over and over: You shouldn’t marry him.”

  “It’s easy for you to say, but quite a bit harder for me to accomplish.”

  “As I’ve previously stated, I’m happy to talk to your uncle for you, although I can’t guess if he’d listen to me.” She rounded the sofa and started for the door, and he asked, “Where are you going?”

  She stopped beside him, so he was able to clasp her hand and link their fingers.

  “I have to speak to my uncle. I can’t keep putting it off, but he’s been out of the house since this morning. I have to find out if he’s home so I can get this over with.”

  “Shall I come with you?”

  “No. This is a conversation I have to have on my own.”

 
He dipped down and kissed her. “Be a warrior, Caro. He’ll try to humor you. Or he’ll treat you like a child. Don’t let him.”

  “He’ll try to humor and distract me, but for once, he won’t succeed.”

  She swept out and vanished.

  He couldn’t predict what was about to happen, but the party would probably be ending shortly. If the wedding was called off, the party would be too. He’d head to London and wouldn’t have a reason to see her again. The dismal prospect was much more disheartening than it should have been, and as he reflected on it, he scoffed.

  As if her Uncle Samson would allow her to back out. As if Gregory would agree. Of course he’d see her again.

  He was positive, when he next bumped into her, naught would have changed.

  Howard Periwinkle pulled a slip of paper from his coat and checked the directions the clerk in the village had jotted down for him. He thought he was in the correct spot. It wasn’t as if there were any other cottages in the vicinity, but then, he was a Londoner and every tree in the forest looked exactly alike to him.

  He opened the rickety gate and strolled up the walk. It was a cozy cottage, set deep in the woods, with a brook babbling in the distance. There were rose bushes blooming along the front, green shutters framing the windows. The thatched roof appeared thick and dry, as if the dwelling was well-tended.

  It was the sort of place a bewitched princess might have resided. Or maybe it was an abode for fairies. Or, more likely, a witch lived in it and the charming façade was simply a ploy to lure in unsuspecting travelers.

  He tamped down a shiver and knocked several times, but there was no answer. He stepped over and peeked in a window, but no one was home.

  The afternoon sun was barely visible through the dense foliage, so he returned to the lane. A more potent shiver bubbled up, and it made its way to the surface. He’d heard too many stories as a boy about wolves and goblins, so he wasn’t a fellow to lurk in the countryside.

  He hurried off, anxious to get to the village before evening was any nearer. He’d try again the following day. Or better yet, he’d leave a letter at the inn and request that it be delivered. The locals wouldn’t have any qualms about venturing into such an isolated location, but he didn’t care for it overly much.