If Henry had to, he’d flee Britain, preferably with Rachel Everett.
But it all depended on Pete Everett’s condition. Henry knew he hadn’t a chance of wooing Rachel when she was so worried about her father. Henry didn’t want true harm to befall his father, but he wouldn’t mind at all if the man returned to Town and began to mind his own and the queen’s business.
“Who is she?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“This girl you want to marry. Don’t tell me it’s Miss Everett.” The marquess blasted the little cottage beyond with a disdainful pale blue glare.
“All right. I won’t tell you then.”
His father sat back down on the bench. “God damn it, Henry. To fall for the lures of a plain country bumpkin—after the recent dazzling company you’ve kept, I would have thought you’d have different taste.”
Was the pater blind? If Henry had his druthers, he’d darken his father’s daylights for all the good his eyes did him now. Rachel was beautiful, her hair an ebony fall, her skin delicious as double cream. Granted, her wardrobe was deficient, but that could be easily mended.
“Rachel is not plain. She’s from, as you said earlier, a well-respected Puddling family. Her father was a war hero. And she’ll inherit a small fortune when the time comes.”
His father’s lip curled. “Don’t gammon me, boy! Look where they live. A tumbledown weaver’s cottage in the middle of nowhere. She’s a spinster schoolteacher, and not a very good one according to Sir Bertram.”
“Because she’s soft-hearted and doesn’t beat her students! Sir Bertram’s a snobbish idiot. You should know that after staying with him a few days. I love her, Father, and that’s all I care about.”
Well, so much for remaining discreet. But once Henry had started, he hadn’t been able to dam up his words. Rachel would lecture him, if she was still speaking to him after all this was done.
“Love! Pah! People like us don’t marry for love.”
“You did.”
“I was lucky. And your mother was a duke’s daughter. It’s not the same at all.”
“I should like you to give Miss Everett a chance, Father. And anyway, you may be surprised—she doesn’t want to marry me.”
The marquess laughed, an entirely unpleasant sound. “And you believe her? What better way to get her hooks into you, Henry? All the more reason for you to pursue her! The thrill of the chase—it’s what you’ve always lived for. She’s a clever puss, I grant you that.”
This was going just about as badly as Henry had expected. “She has no hooks, Father. She’s worried about Puddling and its reputation. And I imagine she has second thoughts about becoming a viscount’s wife. I don’t have much to recommend me for the kind of sacrifice she’d be making.”
“What the devil are you talking about? You are a Challoner! We came over with the Conqueror! She is a little nobody who—”
Whatever else Henry’s father was about to say was interrupted by the little nobody herself. Henry swallowed hard, wondering how much she’d heard.
“I would thank you both to take your argument somewhere else, my lords. My father is resting.” Rachel’s eyes resembled the kind of clouds one saw right before a violent thunderstorm.
Her ears worked perfectly well, then.
“And furthermore, Lord Harland, you needn’t worry. I wouldn’t marry your son if he was the last man on earth. Not because there is a single thing lacking in him. He is—he is an extraordinary man, worthy of any woman’s regard. But I cannot imagine having you for a father-in-law.”
Chapter 40
Well, that pretty much burned all her bridges. Those flames would never be doused. Poor Henry looked shell-shocked and the marquess gave her a look that would have withered her right into the ground if she cared at all about his good opinion of her.
Rachel didn’t wait around to see if they left, but returned to her father’s side. His color was a little better, his snores gentle.
Dr. Oakley was returning his instruments to his leather case. “Is everything all right out there?” he asked quietly.
Rachel shook her head. “I may have done something irretrievably stupid.”
She loved Henry, but what was the point? It was best to put whatever was between them to rest.
Dr. Oakley put a warm hand on her shoulder. “I heard. You’re under a great deal of stress and worry. I’ll speak to them. I’m sure they’ll understand you were provoked.”
Rachel sat down next to her sleeping father. “I doubt it. I’m just a nobody who’s aimed too high.”
“Have you? Is it true? Has young Lord Challoner proposed marriage?”
Rachel’s mouth trembled to a near-smile. “Almost from the first minute he saw me. I didn’t take him seriously—he was funning then. But now—” She squeezed her idle hands in her lap. “Things have become serious, if that’s the right word.”
She had, after all, lost her virginity, which was serious indeed. “But I cannot see anything coming of it. We’re from different worlds, and Henry’s father would never approve. Especially now.”
But even if she could call back her words, she wouldn’t. Henry’s father was awful in his own untouchable-marquess way. No wonder his son had rebelled.
“He seems a nice lad. When he’s not dragging prostitutes to his ancestral home.”
Rachel’s face grew hot. “He—he was a little wild, I grant you. But he is changed. He wants to do something for injured soldiers, not just ones missing limbs, but men who—who cannot sleep. Who think too much. Drink too much.” Peace treaties may have been signed, but many soldiers’ demons were winning their war.
“Very admirable. Was that to be his Service? What do Vincent and the other governors think? I haven’t heard of it yet.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s gotten that far, and probably can’t be done in the two weeks he has left here. But Henry feels strongly about it. He’s discussed it with my father.” She brushed a tuft of sparse white hair off her father’s damp forehead.
“Hm. Well, I approve of the scheme at any rate. But I have an easier Service in mind for him before we let him leave if the governors agree to it. And I think they will. We take care of our own first. Needs must and all that.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. You’ll be required here, Rachel. I know even if we have a nurse or neighbors come spell you, you’ll want to be with your father while he recovers. I’m going to ask Lord Challoner if he’ll teach for you.”
“What?” Rachel could think of nothing less likely. Gorgeous Henry Challoner in her dusty classroom? Ridiculous!
“The spring term is over at the end of the week, is it not? I believe the man can hold his own against eight or ten children for a few days. He was an army officer, after all. Accustomed to commanding rough men. A handful of children should be…child’s play.” Dr. Oakley chuckled.
Little did he know. The man had no children of his own. “But—”
“No buts. I know Vincent usually takes your place, but it’s not his favorite task. He has enough on his plate watching out for our immortal souls, don’t you think? I cannot imagine anyone else in the village with the patience you have, but you’ll be needed here. Your father will not be an easy man to take care of if I know him.”
Rachel would probably have to tie her father to the bed before all was said and done. He’d want to get up and weed and water his precious garden at the very least.
“I’ll try to keep him quiet.”
Dr. Oakley shook some pills into a paper sleeve and twisted it up. “Good luck with that. Give him one every morning at breakfast—a sensible breakfast, mind you. No fry-ups. Just toast and tea and oatmeal. He won’t live forever, Rachel, but I see no reason for any immediate danger. His heart isn’t what it was, and he may get lightheaded if he moves about too quickly. We don’t want him falling again—he was lucky this time, no bones broken. You need to watch out for that. A man his age
doesn’t mend well.”
She thought of several of her father’s contemporaries, who’d gone downhill rapidly after such an injury. “I shall lecture him.”
“Ha! That I should like to witness. I’ll be back later this afternoon to check on him. Before supper for certain. Chin up, my dear. All will be well.”
If only. Rachel couldn’t see it just at present. She and her father were to be trapped in the little cottage for the foreseeable future.
And she had alienated a powerful lord and hurt another. Henry would get over her. But would she get over Henry? Could she forget Sunday afternoon and all it entailed? To never have him touch her again—
She delved into a basket of sewing while she waited for her father to wake, keeping her mind on her uneven stitches and not her problems. Eventually, her eyes filled with tears, making her task impossible. What a fool she was!
“How is he?” His voice was soft against the back of her neck, causing goose bumps down to her toes.
Rachel dropped the shirt button to the floor, where it rolled under her father’s bed.
“How did you get in?”
He held a finger to her lips, then spoke quietly. “You neglected to lock the door after your magnificent set-down of my father. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite that color before, not even in the worst of my mischief. Well done, you. And Rufus and I are old friends at this point. He didn’t even bark once.”
“Oh, Henry.” She covered her face in shame. He was a good man, and now she’d made his life—and her own—more difficult.
“Now, now, no more tears. I spoke to Dr. Oakley. Your father will be all right, and so will we.”
“But your father!”
“It’s time the pater learned where the lines of demarcation are. He can’t hurt us, Rachel. And he can’t hurt Puddling. I have an ace up my sleeve.” He gave her a cocky wink.
Trust Henry to see the silver lining when there was nothing but tarnish. The very fact he was here in her cottage proved he was still not yet in his right mind.
Oh, God. How she loved him, no matter how hard she’d tried to convince herself otherwise. But she didn’t really know him! They had nothing whatsoever in common besides the fact that they breathed the same Cotswold air.
And had been perfect in bed.
He bundled up the shirt on her lap and tossed it back in the basket. “Come outside for a minute so we can talk properly. I want you to hear everything I have to say, and I don’t want to disturb your father.”
She rose, hesitant. What if her father woke up and was confused? Tried to get out of bed again against Dr. Oakley’s order?
“Just for a minute. We’ll leave the door open.”
Henry went to the front door that opened to the street. Rachel hadn’t used it since her father made his bedroom in the parlor, and the hinges creaked like a crypt being opened.
“People will see us!” she hissed.
“Good. I want them to. Let them gossip their heads off. I have a plan, Rachel, and you can help me with it.”
Rachel doubted she could help anyone with anything. Sir Bertram was bound to come round shortly to fire her after the marquess told him of her effrontery.
What would she do if something happened to her father? Puddling was her home, the cottage humble but cozy. She’d managed to fill her days and nights with activity, but the truth was she wanted more.
She wanted Captain Lord Henry Agamemnon Challoner.
And there it was. An impossible desire. Unsuitable in every way. Poor Henry was not even recovered from what had brought him here—he was still impulsive. Still willful. He may not have imbibed any alcohol, but he was fizzy nonetheless.
“Rachel.”
She looked up into his bright blue eyes. “Yes?”
And then he dropped to his knees on the cobblestones.
“What are you doing?”
“Proposing. Again.” He craned his neck. “Are people looking out their windows?”
Rachel’s panic welled up into her throat. “Get up!”
“Not until you’ve said yes. I’m obeying the wishes of your father, Rachel. We discussed this before the doctor came.”
“He’s off his head!”
Henry clasped her hands. “That’s as may be, but a gentleman doesn’t ignore what might possibly be the last request of a dying man. Everyone will understand why I must offer for you.”
“You cannot.”
“Oh, but I am. I have—I forget how many times. It’s as if your father planned his indisposition.”
“What?”
“Oh, I’m not accusing the old bird per se. But he’s a smart man and has taken advantage of the opportunity. It’s a good thing I came along to find him rather than old Vincent. Vincent wouldn’t do for you at all. Pete’s asked me to take care of you. Marry you. I gave him my word to do so.”
Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That’s no reason to get married! No one would really hold you to it.”
“I quite agree. It helps that I think I’ve fallen in love with you. Notice I said ‘think.’ A man like me has very little experience with love, poor idiot that I am. But I’m fairly sure you are the only woman for me. I shall do my best, and I don’t believe it will be especially difficult to fall head over heels in no time. But do say yes, Rachel. The cobblestones are killing my knees.”
Chapter 41
Her resolve was cracking; he could feel it. Henry wished she’d hurry up and say yes, for he wanted to get practical and talk to her about the school once his knees stopped aching. He’d accepted Oakley’s Service suggestion immediately, for here was a need to be filled, and it would help Rachel the most not to worry about her children. How hard could it be, as long as little Mary Ann didn’t decide to scream her head off again?
His deafness might actually come in handy if she did.
Rachel was so organized she probably had lessons planned for the rest of the week, which Henry would follow more or less faithfully. He had some diversionary ideas about children’s education as well, having driven his tutors to distraction over the years.
And there was Greta Bexley to settle. It was not precisely a propitious time for a houseguest at the Everett cottage, but perhaps Greta could help Rachel nurse Pete. It could be put about that she might have returned here for that very task, having formed a friendship with Rachel during her pre-wedding stay in Puddling.
Then came Vincent. He would be ideal to manage Henry’s soldiers’ sanctuary. Puddling could find itself a new padre, and eventually the legalities of Greta’s marriage could be managed. In the meantime, Vincent and Greta could live in sin in some quiet country location. Not in the Cotswolds, obviously. Henry would have to look for property farther afield of potential gossip.
Yes, there was a great deal to do, if only Rachel would accept his proposal and he could stand up. He needed to speak with his father, too, and for some odd reason he looked forward to it.
“Henry—”
“Yes, my love. Say it. You know you want to.”
“But—”
“No reasonable or unreasonable objections. Nothing is certain. You’ll probably always question one thing or another, but we’ll deal with the answers together. Now, do the right thing.”
“It cannot be right! We are…unequal.”
“Yes, yes. You are so much better than I. I promise to improve as fast as I can. You’ve seen my father—look what an improvement over him I am already! The Challoner line will only be enriched by an injection of Everett blood. You have nothing to worry over. We’ll get you new clothes. A companion to tutor you to navigate the ways of the beau monde, although you are perfect as you are. We’ll have our own establishment far from Kings Harland and can do just as we please. Please, Rachel. I am in agony, and I spy a donkey cart coming down the road.”
“For God’s sake,” came a bellow from inside her cottage. “Say yes! I want my lunch!”
Well,
her father must be feeling better. Rachel looked down, her face pale. “You are both bullying me.”
“There will be plenty of time for you to bully us back. Your father will live with us, of course. That’s all right with you, Pete, isn’t it?” Henry shouted.
“Aye, I suppose.”
Rachel licked her lips. “You are impossible.”
“All the more reason to take me in hand. Say yes. That donkey does not look friendly.”
“Yes, oh, yes! Now get up.”
“I thought you’d never let me.” Henry lurched up, his legs full of pins and needles. “There, that one syllable wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He took her in his arms, hoping they would both not fall down in the gutter.
By God, he was going to be happy. He was happy now. In a couple of weeks he and Rachel could begin a new life together. It would all work out somehow.
She shook like a leaf in his arms, but her mouth opened to him shyly. She tasted just as sweet—perhaps sweeter—than she had on Sunday, because now she was his absolutely. He’d known her a week, but he felt as if they were very old and dear friends.
He’d just make sure she never encountered any garden implements wherever they wound up living.
Rufus snuffled around their ankles. Henry had best end his kiss before his trouser cuff was devoured by the little beast once again. But it was difficult to stop when she fit so neatly against him, her tongue sliding, her sighs so soothing. The driver of the cart had stopped to watch and there was a distinct aroma of donkey clouding all around them. In his peripheral vision, Henry could see a few Puddlingites in their doorways, their arms folded, their faces void of smiles.
Schooling the Viscount Page 23