“I frown for good reason. If you will not say who she is, it is worse than I thought.”
Much worse. That is what unrelenting virtue did to a man.
* * *
“It is said that the lady left within minutes of the gentleman,” Mrs. Wigglesworth confided. “That is one too many coincidences if you ask me.” Her emphasis on coincidences dripped with innuendo.
Mama glanced askance at Marianne, to see if her daughter had grasped the implications of the gossip. Marianne pretended to be perplexed. Mrs. Wigglesworth should not be speaking about such things in front of an unmarried girl, but Marianne accompanied Mama on her calls just so she might hear such interesting news.
Mrs. Wigglesworth’s plump face drew long with shock at her own revelations. A short, round woman, she favored large caps that covered most of her gray hair. Her green dress, while attractive, left too much of her abundant décolletage exposed, and its color made her white skin appear sallow, in Marianne’s opinion. If this was how the local dressmakers influenced fashion in the county, she would have to insist that Uncle Horace send Nora to London for her new wardrobe.
“Did the servants at the inn tell people about this?” Mama asked. “That was indiscreet of them.”
“It is not every day that such notables stop at this village’s inn, my dear. There is a far better one just outside Cheltenham. The servants can be excused for revealing too much in their excitement, even if they should not have done so.”
Marianne was delighted to learn the servants were indiscreet. “I fail to see how these coincidences signify,” she lied. “It is a lot of excitement about nothing, it appears.”
Mrs. Wigglesworth gave Mama a meaningful look. Mama returned one. They both smiled indulgently at Marianne.
“Perhaps you would like to visit the garden,” Mama suggested. “Mrs. Wigglesworth and I can then talk about other insignificant things without boring you.”
Marianne tried to determine if Mrs. Wigglesworth looked to have additional interesting news in her. She decided not. “I think I will stroll in the village instead, and look in the shops.”
“I will come with the carriage and find you,” Mama said.
Taking her leave, Marianne slipped out the door and hurried down the road to the village. Once there she darted into Howard’s bookshop.
From the first time she had seen him, Marianne thought Mr. Howard did not look much like a bookseller. She always pictured such men as thin and spectacled, and serious like tutors. Mr. Howard instead stood tall and fat, had a florid face and manner, and possessed wild red hair whose curls stood on end. He might be a tavern owner or a sheep farmer, from the looks of him.
He greeted her warmly, and immediately opened a drawer behind his counter. He handed over two letters and gave her a big smile.
Marianne noted one of the letters was from Nora’s brother Vincent. As for the other, she had no choice but to depend upon Mr. Howard’s discretion, but surely there were limits to that.
“Do you not find it odd that I will be receiving these letters, under this name, from this gentleman, Mr. Howard?”
“I would be lying if I said I did not find it odd, but I find many of the letters I handle odd, Miss Radley. You would be amazed at how odd some of them are.” He grinned. “You might say that handling odd letters is one of my stocks-in-trade.”
A fairly lucrative one. She paid a shilling a month for this mail drop. If even ten others did so, too, Mr. Howard made a goodly sum for the service. She suspected most of his income derived from his handling of odd letters. He would not want to jeopardize that with indiscretions.
“You are not to worry about it now,” he said. “No one sees them but me, like I explained. No one will know.”
“It is a rare person who can be privy to so many secrets and feel no need to divulge them, but I know you are such a person.”
“I am at that, miss. Do you have anything to mail today?”
She opened her reticule and handed him a letter. An odd one. She fished out the coin needed to send it to London. Then she tucked her mail into the reticule, and left so Mama would find her strolling along the shops.
CHAPTER 6
The Times of London
. . . In financial developments, Mr. Vickers of Gloucester will be selling in his shop the miniature conservatories made at the behest of the Brazilian Botanical Company, which has discovered that their plan to have sailors take said conservatories to gather rare plants, and care for them during transport back to England, has met with no success. It appears the sailors, who were happy for the payment, balked at the notion of sharing their ration of fresh water with their botanical pets. Mr. Vickers will sell the little glass boxes for a shilling each.
Regarding county notables, the Duke of Aylesbury, who for months has sported enough facial hair to pass as either an ancient philosopher or a shipwrecked sailor, has shaved. The resulting appearance caused him to be misidentified by at least three county residents when he recently visited Cheltenham. Your correspondent wonders if His Grace conceded he would be unable to persuade enough men to follow his hirsute designs in order to start a new fashion, or if the beard had interfered with his normal activities, in particular the enthusiastic hunting of pretty fowl for which he is famous.
Elijah Tewkberry, Gloucestershire
Lance pretended to examine the books in Sir Horace’s library. Sir Horace attempted to fill the void of time by chattering about county matters.
Eventually neither one of them could ignore that more time had passed than expected.
“I have come at an inconvenient hour. I will return another day.”
“No, no, your call was not at all inconvenient. I am sure that my niece will be here soon. Very soon. Imminently now, I think. I beg you to wait a few minutes more.” He pointed his nose toward the servant standing near the door. “Refreshments for His Grace. See to it.”
“I do not require any, as I said.”
“Some brandy, then.” Horace made a dancing amble toward a table with decanters.
Lance was about to demur when the door opened. A servant’s head bent to the ear of his colleague keeping watch. That footman then advanced on Sir Horace, and bent to that ear in turn.
“They have returned,” Horace announced with delight. His finger twirled at the servant. “Tell Mrs. Radley and Miss Radley to join us immediately.”
Lance glanced out the window and judged the passage of the day. If he invited Miss Radley on that carriage ride as he had intended, they would have no more than a couple of hours before dusk fell.
Said lady soon burst into the library with a worried expression. She halted, looked around, and exhaled with relief. “When the servant said immediately, I thought perhaps . . . Nora . . .”
She collected herself just as another woman joined her. Older but no more than forty years or so, and still very handsome, this one had dark hair, but eyes of similar color.
Sir Horace introduced her as the widow of his late brother. Mrs. Radley executed a deep curtsy. Her daughter followed suit. Lance bowed. Sir Horace beamed.
“How good of you to call, Your Grace. We are honored,” Mrs. Radley said.
“I was on the road and thought your daughter might agree to a short ride with me. With your permission, of course. You are welcome to come, too, or send her maid if you prefer.” Send the maid. He could always lose a servant. One direct glare and the maid would disappear.
Not that he had any intentions that would require such a tactic. However, one never knew.
“My daughter can accompany her,” Sir Horace said. “Surely that will keep everything proper enough.”
Lance liked that enough. Sir Horace was not above bending a few rules if it suited him. “I would be happy to have her join us, if she is agreeable.”
“Uncle—” Miss Radley darted a scolding glare at her uncle. Sir Horac
e pretended not to see.
“Go up and get her,” he instructed her. “Tell her I think it would be very good for her health to go out in the fresh air. She has remained inside too long.”
Vexed, but without recourse, Miss Radley departed. Her mother took a chair and made attempts at small talk. Lance heard little of what he and she said.
Too much time passed. Sir Horace excused himself, promising to return. Instead, ten minutes later Miss Radley reappeared with another young woman, this one little more than a girl. Very pale, with hair almost colorless it was so blond, she appeared childlike in her yellow dress and wore a large-eyed, fearful expression. It appeared she had been crying.
“Let us go,” Miss Radley said. “Now, if you do not mind.” With that she turned her cousin and steered the girl out of the library.
“But His Grace has not been introduced to her,” her mother called after her.
“I will do it,” came the curt reply that echoed in the entry hall.
Lance followed them out. By the time he caught up, Miss Radley and her cousin stood beside his carriage.
Miss Radley no longer hid her pique. She left her cousin and pulled Lance aside. “Nora did not want to come, as you might imagine. My uncle would not abide by her decision, and we had a scene while he browbeat her into it. I beg you to make this a quick ride, and if she does not choose to speak, please be kind enough to allow her that.”
“Of course.”
Reassured, Miss Radley brought him over to the girl and introduced them. Nora never looked at him through it all, nor as she entered the carriage. When he sat across from the two of them, he concluded that Nora would be an even better chaperone than a servant. Her gaze settled on the window and he doubted she heard anything he said.
He handed Miss Radley a carriage blanket. “Perhaps you would both be more comfortable with this.”
She took it and draped it over her cousin’s lap, and high on her chest. She took her cousin’s hand in hers.
“You care for her,” he said.
“In every way.” A flinty spark entered her eyes. “She has not changed much in appearance in the last three years. Don’t you agree?”
“As I said before, I would not know. I am sorry.” He was glad that his admission that he had no memory of this neighbor did not evoke a hurt reaction in the girl. She merely continued her perusal of the passing countryside.
Miss Radley’s chin and jaw tensed. She looked like a person swallowing words that choked her. “Perhaps when you met her, you were in your cups.”
“That could be.” It was time to talk of other things. “Were you out making calls?”
“Yes. My mother has many old friends to see. She lived here for a long time before we moved away.”
“When Sir Horace inherited?”
She nodded. “My brother, Thomas—”
“I did know your brother. I was sorry to hear of his passing.”
“Entailments being what they are, once he was gone it all went to my uncle. He decided we would be happier elsewhere. He gave us a family property in Wiltshire to use, so he did not wash his hands totally of our support.”
“Now he has called you back.” He glanced at Nora, who remained removed from their conversation and from the world itself.
“We were better off in that cottage.” She squeezed Nora’s hand. “She was, at least. I think I was too. Yet here we are, and I will make the best of it.” She looked out the window. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we would go to the lake. It is not far.”
“That would be pleasant. I have not been there in years. It was kind of you to invite us.”
“I hope that you will in turn be kind, and call on me. Along with your mother, of course.”
“I am sure you are far too busy to receive us.”
“I promise I will. If you come in the next day or so, you can meet my brother Ives. He has come down from London for a short visit.”
That interested her. “Did his family come too?”
“He left his new wife in London. She has embarked on an intensive course of study with the intention of going to Padua to enter the university there. It is ambitious, and she has thrown herself into this endeavor with my brother’s full approval.”
“How very, very interesting. She sounds to be a remarkable woman. If he approves, he must be an equally remarkable man. What is she studying?”
He spent the next fifteen minutes telling Miss Radley all about Ives and his new bride. By the time he finished, they were at the lake.
His property line ran down the middle of it. For decades both owners had allowed anyone to row or swim here, and in summer one could always find people about. On this wintery day it was deserted.
“Let us take a turn along the water’s edge,” he said.
Miss Radley glanced at her cousin. “I should stay here.”
“The carriage is warm, and she has the blanket. The coachman will remain with the equipage. She will be safe.”
Miss Radley turned to her cousin. “Nora, I am going to take a short walk. Do you want to come along?”
Nora shook her head. “I will be fine here, just as the gentleman said.”
Overcoming her hesitance, Miss Radley allowed him to hand her down. They walked through the grass to the lake’s edge.
“It looked bigger when I was a girl.”
“Isn’t that always the way it is. When I was fifteen I realized it was small enough I could easily swim across, although it looked like an ocean when I was a child.”
They strolled along the bank. “When you said you would call on me and demand a carriage ride, I did not think you meant it,” she said. “As you can see, Nora is not grateful for the opportunity.”
“I am sorry she was obligated to join us. I would have been glad for your company alone.”
Such subtle flirtation did not come naturally to him. Since she did not so much as blush, he must have been very subtle indeed.
She frowned. “Are you very sure you do not recognize her?”
“Most sure. You seem to believe I should, however.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Miss Radley, if your cousin says we met, no doubt we did. I will be honest and say that even if she says I flirted with her, perhaps that is true. I confess that I do not remember all the girls I meet or flatter.”
“No doubt you will forget me soon too.”
“I did not say that, nor should you think it. A passing smile or flattery is not quite the same as calling on a woman.”
She glanced back. Their stroll had taken them along a curve that removed them from view of the carriage.
“We should return.”
“Let us row out a bit, unless you are too chilled.” He coaxed her toward one of the rowboats resting along the bank.
If ever a woman were of two minds, this one was. She followed, however, and climbed into the boat. He pushed it off, and jumped in, then sat and took the oars. With a few strokes they were away from the bank.
Free of the overhanging tree branches, the late afternoon sun bathed them in its warmth. She untied her bonnet’s ribbons, and removed and set it on the bench beside her. “It is very lovely here. So peaceful and quiet. I wish Nora had come with us.”
He set the oars up, and let the boat drift. “I am glad she did not.”
She looked lovely, awash in the gold of the sun’s rays, surrounded by the deep blue of the lake. Her copper hair appeared on fire in places, as the sun set strands ablaze. Her wide mouth did not smile, however, and her deep blue eyes watched him cautiously.
“Why did you call on me? What is it you expect?” she asked.
If he were good, which he never had been, he would say something reassuring. He might even pretend to be wounded by her apparent suspicions. Since he was bad, wicked even, he did not bother.
“Surely you know. You may be innocent, but you are not ignorant.”
* * *
Well, that was blunt.
She had asked, however. She should not be vexed that he answered honestly. Yet she was. This man was so conceited that he assumed she would not mind such a bald allusion. Perhaps he saved more subtle words for better women than she.
“I am very ignorant as to your intentions in this boat right now.”
He regarded her at length. She wished that did not affect her. He was not a man whose attention a woman could ignore, however, or remain immune to. At least not this woman. She suspected her susceptibility had much to do with never having had such attention before, from any man. Respectability plus no fortune equaled no male interest. It was an equation she had learned quickly, and made her peace with.
“My intention is to claim the kiss that you owe me.”
“I owe you no kiss.”
“You promised one if I shaved.”
“I did not. I have reviewed that meeting at length, and I only said that perhaps, if we were introduced, I might dance with you if you shave. I said nothing about a kiss, nor did you even ask for one.”
“I remember it differently.”
“Your memory is faulty on many counts, Your Grace, so I am not surprised it is on this one.”
“Please do not address me like that. Call me Aylesbury.” He smiled. “I will call you Marianne.”
“No, sir, you will not. I will not accept such familiarity.”
“And I will not accept the formality of addressing you as Miss Radley, especially since another Miss Radley sits in the carriage.” He leaned forward. “I will call you pretty flower, until you think more familiarity is acceptable.”
It might be wiser to allow him to use her given name, rather than suffer this endearment. She tried to form a terse rejection of both, to no avail. The words kept scrambling. Lack of experience made her utterly incapable of handling this advance with anything resembling sophistication.
His position, with his arms on his knees, brought him very close to her. To her astonishment, he reached out and took her hand. The warmth of his touch flowed right through her glove, and up her arm. Then it kept going, as if he heated her blood.
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