He nodded, and she bent down and retrieved her basket. To his delight, instead of allowing him to help himself, she carefully and with great deliberation selected one and fed it to him, her fingers touching his lips in the process.
The strawberry was indeed superb, but he scarcely noticed. Staring intently into her eyes, he caught a glimpse of something that made him realize there had been nothing inadvertent about her actions—she had deliberately used the berry as an excuse to touch him, and the blush creeping up her face merely confirmed his suspicions.
No hired companion would be needed, he decided at that moment. Miss Shuttleworth’s charms required a husband—and he did not need Lady Letitia to find the proper man. He himself intended to begin courting her without delay.
Reaching out, he took another strawberry from the basket she was holding, but instead of eating it, he fed it to her. “I have a better idea,” he said. “Instead of picking more berries, let us eat the ones you have already picked. Unless you wish to save them for someone else?”
Her blush deepened. “No,” she said, her voice quite breathless. “I shall be glad to ... to share them all with you.”
He took off his jacket and spread it out on the ground for her to sit on, then sat down on the grass beside her. “My father was also a vicar,” he began.
* * * *
The sun was quite high in the sky by the time they returned to the vicarage. Approaching it with her hand safely resting on John’s arm, Margaret was amazed at how brave she was feeling. She knew her father would rant and rave and scold and likely even call down curses upon her head, but she had enjoyed the morning immensely.
Already she had such faith in John’s abilities that she could not conceive of her father’s being able to intimidate him or drive him away. Only one little thing nagged at her. When they had first met, John had said he had come to rescue her. Just what had he meant by rescue? The word conjured up such possibilities.
She sneaked a peek up at him. He was so beautiful, it made her heart race faster just to look at him. There was so much nobility in his features, such strength, such courage, it fair made her tremble when his eyes met hers and she could gaze into their depths.
Dare she hope? No, that could never be. But at least he must intend to force her father to relax some of his rules, and if her father would only let her go out into society then she would surely see John again—maybe pass the time of day with him after Sunday services?—perhaps even be allowed to dine occasionally at Morwyle House?
It would not be enough. She sighed.
“Do not fret yourself, Margaret. Your father is only a man. No matter how he has treated you, he is not the devil incarnate.”
“I am not worried with you beside me,” she admitted, then realized her words made her sound quite shameless.
They were still a few feet from the gate when her father, his hair in total disarray, appeared on the other side of it, looking quite like an avenging prophet from the Old Testament. “So there you are, you wicked girl,” he shrieked, completely ignoring the man beside her. “You will go to your room at once and stay there, on your knees, praying for forgiveness, until I decide you have suitably atoned for your flagrant disregard for the rules I have laid down for you.”
She did not reply, nor did she release John’s arm, and he was the one to answer. “Good morning, Mr. Shuttleworth. I would like your permission to court your daughter.”
At his words, Margaret’s heart gave a little jump. Her dream, which moments before had seemed so unthinkable, now began to seem quite certain.
Unable to ignore her companion any longer, her father turned his baleful glare on John. “Denied,” he snarled. “I shall never give you permission to see my daughter or speak to her again. Why, you are nothing but a hired secretary—virtually a servant. I shall never allow my daughter to demean herself by associating with one of your class.”
“As you wish,” John replied calmly. Looking down at her, he said, “I had intended to do this properly, but since your father has refused me permission to court you, will you marry me, Margaret?”
Without hesitation she replied, “I shall be delighted to do so.”
At her answer, he smiled, and she had a presentiment that delight would be a major component in her life from this day forward.
“No, no, I forbid it!” her father shrieked, jumping up and down. “If you marry this man, I shall disown you! I shall never allow you to set foot in my house again, and you will never receive another penny from me!”
“Good-bye, father,” she said, and for once in his life he was totally nonplussed. His mouth opened and shut, but no sound emerged. It was petty of her, of course, but she could not help feeling a degree of satisfaction that for a change he was the one reduced to speechlessness.
“Is there anything here you need or wish to take with you?” John inquired.
She thought for a moment. “No, nothing.”
Without a qualm she turned her back on the house that had been her home all her life. “I shall try not to be a burden to you,” she said as they walked along. “If there is one good thing that can be said about my father, it is that he has taught me to be thrifty and frugal.”
John stopped in the middle of the village street and took her in his arms. Smiling down at her, he said, “Before you offer to take in laundry to supplement my meager income, perhaps I should tell you that I am every bit as rich as my friend, Richard Hawke.”
Then before she could reply to that astonishing information, he kissed her quite, quite thoroughly. By the time he had finished, they had acquired a large audience, but she felt not the slightest shame at her wanton behavior.
“Miss Shuttleworth and I shall be married tomorrow in London by special license,” John announced to the assembled crowd. “And you are all invited to share in the marriage feast at Morwyle House the day after tomorrow.”
A cheer went up from the villagers, and they crowded around her to wish her happy. Not a one of them mentioned her father, or made any comment about the suddenness of this announcement.
* * * *
“I have heard there is a farmer over near Kingston who has bred a truly superb colt,” Richard said.
Perry did not cease his pacing, which was beginning to drive Richard to distraction. “I don’t want to see a man about a horse—I want to persuade Annie to marry me. Stubborn, pig-headed girl! Why won’t she listen to reason?”
“I thought you were not interested in dragging along such useless baggage as a wife.”
“Annie’s different. I knew as soon as she stabbed me with that ridiculous knife of hers that she was the only woman for me. She followed the drum on the Peninsula for three years, did you know that? Hellish life for a woman, marching about all the time, lucky if the supply trains can keep up. At least in Kentucky I have a small cabin already built, and I intend to build a much larger house as soon as possible.”
He stopped his pacing. “But how am I going to persuade her to have me? Every time I ask her, she spouts some nonsense about our different stations in life.”
Richard smiled. “Can this be the same man who only a few months ago was lecturing me on the evils inherent in marrying a servant girl?”
Perry looked sheepish. “Well, all of us have to grow up sometime. I am surprised you did not box me on my ears for uttering such drivel.”
He resumed his pacing. “Really, Hawke, I was there when you needed help courting your wife. Now you are happily married, so the least you can do is give me a little advice—tell me what I can do to convince Annie. She insists I cannot be allowed to give up my title and estates to marry her, because in the future I will surely come to regret it, and then I will resent her. Yet I cannot convince her that I would even willingly give up my land in Kentucky for her, although that would indeed be a painful step to take.”
“Have you tried kissing her?”
“Of course I’ve kissed her!” Perry exploded. “Do you think I am a total lackwit? Oh, blast it a
ll, there is no point talking to you.” Muttering to himself, he stalked to the door. “Perhaps she has changed her mind. It can’t hurt to ask her again.”
“When was the last time you proposed?” Richard called after him.
“Over half an hour ago,” came the reply before the door was shut, leaving him alone.
Perry was wrong, Richard thought sadly. He was not happily married. Although Cassie willingly slept every night in his arms, their marriage was still unconsummated.
It could not be that she still feared him, nor did she exhibit the least bit of shyness around him. Although she had not said so directly, her every action proclaimed that she loved him more and more every day. Nor was her nature cold. She was probably not aware of the number of times each day that she found an excuse to touch him.
So why did she still hold back? Why, if she did not wish to be kissed—to be loved—did she look wistful every time she saw John and Margaret gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes?
If only he could ask her directly. But if he did so, she might think he was trying to coerce her. In desperation, he had even gone so far as to ask Lady Letitia’s advice, but she had merely laughed and said she only meddled before the wedding, not after.
What a wretched business it was. Despite his earlier philosophical discussions with John, in which he had said the concept of honor did not play a role in his life, Richard now found himself bound as securely by his word of honor as by any chains made of iron.
No matter how he wished it otherwise, he could not make love to his wife until she asked him to.
* * * *
Annie finished pinning up the last curl and stood back to examine her work with a critical eye. Taking a deep breath, Cassie decided the time had come to do what Perry had been begging her to do, namely act as his intermediary.
“I think you should believe Perry when he says he has always intended to give up his title. I do not think he is just saying that to persuade you to marry him. I think he is quite serious about returning to Kentucky.”
“You needn’t waste your breath trying to convince me,” Annie replied. “I fully intend to have him in the end.”
“After my experiences with Lords Fauxbridge and Rowcliff and Atherston, I have learned—and you should have also—that a title in and of itself is meaningless and unimportant and ... what did you say?”
“I said I shall marry him eventually.”
“But ... but ... if you ... then why have you turned him down every time he has asked you?”
There was a short pause before Annie answered. “As much as I loved my first husband, I made a serious mistake with him—I let him know how grateful I was that he was willing to marry me. Even though he was a very considerate husband, and I know he loved me and was faithful to me, still he never let me forget that he had done me a favor by taking me for his wife.”
She grinned. “This time, my dearest love is not going to take me for granted. I fully intend that every day Perry will wake up feeling lucky that he managed to persuade me to marry him. I do not, of course, plan to waste any of our nights together as a certain foolish girl I know insists upon doing. Some day she will regret every hour she has wasted.”
“I regret them already,” Cassie said quietly. “I have grown to love Richard so much—he is so kind and gentle and patient. And every time he looks at me, I feel weak inside—every time he touches me, I tremble. And when he holds me in his arms at night, it is all I can do to keep from crying out with longing.”
Annie looked at her sharply. “Then why have you not told him you are no longer the reluctant bride?”
“Because no matter how hard I try, I cannot banish that horrible question from my thoughts.”
“I know, you have already told me. You cannot stop wondering how much he paid for you.”
Cassie nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “I have tried so hard to tell myself that it does not matter how or why. All that matters is that we care about each other and are married to each other. But every time I think about asking Richard to make love to me, I see Geoffrey’s mocking face, and I hear him telling me he plans to sell me to the highest bidder, and inside I become so cold, I feel as if nothing can ever warm me again.”
* * * *
“Can you not make your horses go faster?” Edmund Stanier clutched the documents his agent had brought back from America—those most precious pieces of paper that would gain him what rightfully should have been his in the first place.
“Certainly we can go faster if you wishes to end up in the ditch instead of at Morwyle House,” Jenkins, the man Edmund had hired, said in a bored tone of voice.
To that, Edmund had no suitable reply, so he passed the remaining time dreaming of how Perry would cry and weep and wail when he learned he was no longer Viscount Westhrop.
* * * *
“And, if you will read this letter, it says that you were fighting with the American army against England.” Edmund displayed the piece of paper he had paid so much to procure. It was most gratifying to have them all hanging on his every word. “In short, my dear cousin, you are a traitor to your own country, guilty of the highest treason.”
The groveling that Edmund had expected did not happen. Instead Perry looked positively radiant. “Now she will have to marry me,” he said, dashing from the room.
Edmund looked around at the circle of faces—Mr. Hawke, Lady Cassiopeia, Mr. and Mrs. Tuke, Mr. Rendel, and of course, his grandmother, Lady Letitia, who was smiling in a way that made him begin to feel somewhat nervous.
“I shall have that packet of papers,” she said calmly, extending her hand.
“But Grandmama,” he protested, clutching the documents more tightly to his chest. “Perry does not deserve to be viscount, not when he is a traitor.”
“Do not worry; I shall see to it that he renounces the title. But if you will think about it, you will see that it would not be at all the thing for your cousin to be locked up in the Tower. Only consider what the gossips would say about it. We would not wish to have the name of Westhrop forever associated with treason.”
The picture her words conjured up was so horrifying, Edmund shoved the packet at her as if it had suddenly become too hot to touch.
“Thank you, Edmund dear,” she said. “And now we must consider who to pick as your wife.”
“Wife?” Truly appalled, Edmund could only stare at her.
“Well, of course,” she replied serenely. “Now that you are to be the viscount, you must see about securing the succession. Had you not realized that you must marry as soon as possible and start filling up your nursery? But I am sure you know your duty to the family. I confess, I am quite looking forward to hearing the patter of little feet at Westhrop Manor in the near future. Perhaps we should consider Cecily Ingleby. She is, after all, only your second cousin, so we need not worry about consanguinity.”
Flabbergasted, Edmund stared at his grandmother. How could she have suggested such a horrible thing? If he had to listen to Cecily’s chattering every day, he would soon be locked up in Bedlam.
There are times when a prudent man cannot afford to stand on his dignity. This obviously being one of those times, Edmund did not wait to take proper leave of his grandmother. Instead, he fled the house, running faster than he had run since he was ten years old and Perry had decided he needed to be tossed in the duck pond.
In the stable yard, Jenkins was just beginning to unhitch the horses. “Quick, quick, I must get back to London,” Edmund screeched, jumping up and down. “Double the money I promised you if we leave this minute!”
Jenkins eyed him impassively, but made no move to comply. “Triple,” he said finally.
“Yes, yes, triple,” Edmund agreed, looking over his shoulder at the house, where luckily there was not yet any sign of pursuit. “But hurry, my good man—be quick about it. Do not waste any time—this is a matter of life and death!”
* * * *
Perry found Annie in Cassie’s room, hanging up some n
eatly ironed frocks. Catching her up in his arms, he spun her around the room. “Now you shall have to marry me,” he crowed with delight. “For if you do not, I shall be hanged as a traitor.”
“What nonsense are you talking now?” She struggled to get down, but he would not release her.
“My cousin Edmund has been snooping around like the little weasel he is, and he has discovered I fought against the British at New Orleans. So, my love, either you marry me and we return to America, or if you still refuse to have me, I shall stay here and be executed for treason.”
“If I don’t marry you, that does not mean you must allow yourself to be arrested,” she protested. “There is nothing to stop you from going back to Kentucky.”
Setting her back on her feet, he said firmly, “I swear on my mother’s grave that I shall not sail without you. There, you see—if you do not this minute agree to marry me, I shall turn myself in to the local magistrate and confess all. So it is your choice whether I live or die.”
“I could not bear it if anything should happen to you,” she said softly, “so it appears I must marry you and live in Kentucky with you.” Catching his face in her hands, she pulled his head down and kissed him on the lips. “But if you do not treat me with the proper respect, do not forget that I know how to use a knife.”
Touching his side, which was still a bit tender, he said, “How can I ever forget? But perhaps someone should warn the bears that you are coming.”
* * * *
When Richard entered his wife’s room that night, she was sitting at her dressing table brushing her hair. “Now that Perry has convinced Annie to marry him, I shall have to see about hiring a new lady’s maid,” she remarked.
Taking the brush from Cassie’s hand, Richard began pulling it gently through her hair. “Does it bother you that Perry is marrying a servant instead of a lady of his own class? I am afraid when it is announced, London society will be quick to call it a mésalliance.’“
The Unofficial Suitor Page 22