He shut the door behind him but did not approach her. “Mrs. Westlake,” he said.
“Mr. Rutledge,” she replied.
“I understand,” he said after a brief pause, “that I owe you my life. Thank you.”
She couldn’t think of anything to say to that, since he had saved her life first, so she only nodded. What should she say? If he did not remember asking her to marry him, or had changed his mind, she would look like such a fool if she brought the subject up. But they could not simply stand there in silence. They were, if nothing else, still friends. She hoped. Why could she not simply speak her heart?
“Will you sit?” she said, waving her hand in the general direction of the chairs.
“I should not stay long, I have a statement to make at Bow Street,” he said.
“I have already given mine. Sir Arthur is disappointed in me.”
“How is that?”
“He believes I should be willing to repeat myself half a dozen times, as if I might change my mind about what happened at some point.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be very useful to him. I have insisted my involvement remain confidential. And I don’t remember much of anything except being shot.”
Of course he didn’t. To think she had been so eager to see him. Now she only wanted him to leave so she could go to her room and weep. “You look entirely recovered,” she managed.
“I feel very well,” he said. “There is not even a mark to show where the ball entered.”
“I know,” she said, then wished she could take the words back, pretend she had not seen him so exposed, and stammered, “that is, I was… I saw Dr. Garland Heal you, the ball—I put it somewhere but I cannot remember now, if you wish—Dr. Garland said you might want it…” Her voice trailed off as her mind began shrieking at her to stop speaking before she made even more a fool of herself.
Mr. Rutledge nodded, though she had no idea which part of her babbling speech he was acknowledging. He shifted his weight, and looked toward the fireplace, where the fire was burning low. No point in building it up when they would both be quitting the room soon. “I do remember,” he said, “that is, it is a very blurry memory, but I remember asking you to marry me.”
Her heart began trying to leap out of her chest again. “You did,” she said.
“And I also remember,” he added, “that you accepted me.” He turned his gaze on her, that direct, uncomfortable, unsmiling gaze. He did not look like he thought it was a pleasant memory.
“I did,” she said. She did not know what else to say. Did he love her, or not?
He looked toward the fire again. “It occurred to me,” he said after a very long moment in which Sophia thought she might scream, “that you might have felt some obligation to me, for being wounded in your stead. That your answer might have been influenced by that sense of obligation. So I am here to tell you that you need not feel bound by your answer. I will not hold you to it.”
Sophia blinked at him. Obligation? Could he have misunderstood her so completely? A hundred different responses welled up within her, but what came out was, “Oh?”
“I consider you a true friend, Mrs. Westlake,” Mr. Rutledge said, “but I cannot help thinking—I am thirteen years your senior, and while that may not be such a difference in the eyes of society, I am also quite set in my bachelor ways and I do not—I believe I am an unlikely choice to make you happy. If you consider marrying again, it should be someone more your contemporary, someone you can meet as an equal. I hope you will still call me friend.”
“Oh,” Sophia said again. Everything seemed to be happening at a remove. She managed to look into his eyes without bursting into tears. So, they were to be friends. Such a pale substitute for what she wanted. But—
She examined him more closely. His formal, measured words were at odds with his face, which bore a tangle of emotions, pain, sorrow, uncertainty. He looked exactly like a man who was doing a very painful duty and expected to be shown the door at any moment. What was it he had once said—that he was doing the world a favor by not entering into a state of matrimony? Set in his bachelor ways, indeed. It seemed he was as bad at speaking his heart as she was. She longed to throw her arms around him and kiss his troubles away. But perhaps another ploy might be more effective.
She turned away and picked up the poker, jabbed at the fire. “Then I suppose I’m free to marry Lord Chumleigh.”
She heard him take in an astonished breath. “Chumleigh?”
“Well, yes. I believe he is quite devoted to me in his own right and not only as Lord Endicott’s proxy, and he is nearly my age, which according to you is crucial to marital happiness. I’m sure, now that he isn’t influenced by Lord Endicott, I will be able to break him of his gambling habit. And I imagine I’ll become accustomed to the smell of tobacco, with time.
“Though… Mr. Hawley does pay me the most particular attention; do you believe I might be happier with him? That laugh of his might become endearing if one heard it often enough, I suppose. And I do consider him my equal, in every sense, except for his lack of interest in current events, and his inability to understand my jokes, and—I suppose I don’t consider him my equal, after all. Now, Mr. Spencer—”
“Mrs. Westlake,” Mr. Rutledge said in a rather strangled voice, “what are you thinking?”
“At the moment, I am thinking tormenting you is rather enjoyable,” Sophia said. She dropped the poker and rounded on him. “How dare you determine what will make me happy? As if your age were enough to outweigh everything else you are to me? If you are concerned that I accepted your proposal out of gratitude, then I suggest you ask me again, right now, and see how I respond when you are not dying on the ground in front of me!”
She took a deep breath, and added, “And if you do not ask me again, right now, I will find Lord Chumleigh, and drag him to the nearest church, and you will have to suffer in the knowledge that your wife is married to someone else!”
Mr. Rutledge sank onto the nearest chair and covered his eyes with his hand. “Sophia,” he said, “if I ask you to marry me, will you leave off filling my head with nightmares?”
“I might, if it is a sincere enough proposal,” she said.
He slid off the seat to drop to one knee before her. Even kneeling, he was surprisingly tall. “Sophia, my love,” he said, taking both her hands in his, “I cannot imagine living without you, and if you consent to marry me, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”
“You already have,” she said, and leaned down to kiss him.
This book would not have been possible without the generous feedback of Jana Brown, Hallie O’Donovan, and Jacob Proffitt, whose insights into romance in fiction were much appreciated. Sherwood Smith kindly read this novel in draft and provided many useful facts about British usage and period accuracy; any remaining mistakes are entirely mine.
The Bow Street Runners have been represented in popular fiction frequently in recent years. For an excellent text on the fact behind the fiction, I recommend The First English Detectives by J.M. Beattie. Not easy to find, but well worth reading.
Melissa McShane is the author of the Extraordinaries series, beginning with BURNING BRIGHT. Her other books include the Crown of Tremontane series, beginning with SERVANT OF THE CROWN, as well as EMISSARY and THE SMOKE-SCENTED GIRL. After a nomadic childhood, she settled in Utah with her husband, four children, three very needy cats, and a library that continues to grow out of control. She wrote reviews and critical essays for many years before turning to fiction, which is much more fun than anyone ought to be allowed to have. She is currently working on the sequel to WONDERING SIGHT. You can visit her at her website www.melissamcshanewrites.com for more information on other books and upcoming releases.
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Appetizer:
Book Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Main Course:
Chapter One
In which Sophia has an unpleasant encounter
Chapter Two
In which Sophia Dreams, and forms a resolution
Chapter Three
In which Sophia is offered employment
Chapter Four
In which Sophia discovers a new ally
Chapter Five
In which Sophia contemplates money
Chapter Six
In which Mr. Rutledge makes an apology
Chapter Seven
In which Sophia has a measure of success
Chapter Eight
In which hunting is discussed
Chapter Nine
In which Sophia goes on the hunt, with unexpected results
Chapter Ten
In which Sophia writes many letters
Chapter Eleven
In which Sophia discovers she has a counterpart
Chapter Twelve
In which Sophia takes up a career as a burglar
Chapter Thirteen
In which there is an unhappy revelation
Chapter Fourteen
In which Sophia reaches her lowest point
Chapter Fifteen
In which Daphne has a cunning plan
Chapter Sixteen
In which Sophia embarks, again, on a life of crime
Chapter Seventeen
In which Sophia adds eavesdropping to her list of crimes
Chapter Eighteen
In which Sophia finally asks for help
Chapter Nineteen
In which Sophia goes on the hunt once more
Chapter Twenty
In which the lioness finds the right watering hole
Chapter Twenty-One
In which a gala takes some unexpected turns
Chapter Twenty-Two
In which Mr. Rutledge makes another appeal
Chapter Twenty-Three
In which the lioness stalks new prey, and is stalked in turn
Chapter Twenty-Four
In which Sophia has two unsatisfactory encounters
Chapter Twenty-Five
In which there is some discussion of madness
Chapter Twenty-Six
In which Sophia makes use of her intellect
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In which Mr. Rutledge redeems himself
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which there is much discussion of a technical nature
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In which the lioness corners her prey
Chapter Thirty
In which the prey escapes the trap
Chapter Thirty-One
In which Sophia makes a decision
Chapter Thirty-Two
In which it is uncertain who is hunter, and who is prey
Chapter Thirty-Three
In which there is, after some argument, a happy ending
Dessert:
Acknowledgments
Closing
About the Author
Copyright & Publisher
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Wondering Sight (The Extraordinaries Book 2) Page 32