Her Proper Scoundrel

by A. M. Westerling

  “Tell me, Mrs. Wilkinson, how do I know you’ll not double cross me?” He placed his fists on his hips and leaned towards her.

  His threatening stance left her unfazed.

  “I knew their ma,” she answered glibly. “She were a good girl who made a bad choice. Some lord took ‘er to mistress but cast ‘er off when he tired of ‘er. She took ‘er solace in a bottle which didn’t leave nothin’ for the boys.” She swiped her hand across her dripping nose. “I’m fond of those two. The way I see it, they deserve a chance for a better life.”

  “Agreed.” Christopher inclined his head.

  “Ye can count on me, Mr. Sharrington. I won’t say a word about ye and yer missus being here.” She held out her hand. It glistened where she had wiped her nose.

  Grimacing inwardly, he shook it. They needed her and to insult her now only had the potential to cause harm.

  “She is not my wife.” And yearning would not make it so, came the peculiar thought.

  “As ye wish.” She shrugged but her eyes held a shrewd glint. “I’m a busy woman, if ye can show yerself out.”

  * * *

  Josceline paced restlessly.

  Christopher had left early this morning to visit the mistress of St. Peter’s. She’d tried to while away the time by sewing, even going so far as to lay out the precious copper satin on her bed before bundling it up and draping it once again over her wardrobe door.

  Then she had gone to the library and tried to find a book but the titled spines turned to jelly beneath her eyes and became so much gibberish.

  She had even looked for Philip and Tom only to be told by Mrs. Belton they were visiting Jefferson in the stable.

  Thus she had resorted to walking the floors of Midland House, nerves churning, thoughts jumbled. Could the woman be persuaded to keep their secret? If so, could she be trusted?

  Tedham caught up to her on her third pass of the hallway outside the dining room.

  “Lady Woodsby, you have visitors.”

  “For me? Are you certain?” A puzzled Josceline stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Yes, my lady, they await you in the drawing room.”

  “You’ve already shown them in? Could you not have asked me first?” She wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter. Other matters preoccupied her mind.

  Tedham flushed. “Of course, my lady, how wrong of me. However, the gentleman insists he is your father.”

  “What?” she exclaimed. Faintness overtook her. Swaying, she put her hand on the wall to steady herself. “You said visitors. Who else is with him?”

  “The other man claims to be betrothed to you.”

  The butler’s answer sounded as if it came from a great distance and she could scarce make sense of the words.

  Her father and Mr. Burrows.

  Here.

  Now.

  And she was alone in the house.

  “I must beg pardon, my lady. I thought I was doing the right thing.” Voice apologetic, he bowed.

  Josceline shook her head and drew in several shuddering breaths before responding. “It is not of your doing. The last thing I expected was a visit from my father or I would have given you proper instructions.”

  “Shall I send them away, my lady?”

  She stared at him for a full moment, trying to comprehend what he had just said. The thunder pounding in her ears made his words unintelligible.

  He shuffled uncomfortably and coughed behind his hand. His faded blue eyes were anxious as he looked at her. “Er, my lady, shall I send them away?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, I shall speak to them.” The opportunity to deal with her father and his expectations of her had arisen. All she had to do was walk to the drawing room and state her case.

  However, her feet refused to cooperate. It was as if they were mired in the mud of her jumbled thoughts. She had enough worries over the boys that she couldn’t even begin to muster her arguments to her father.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  Christopher. She would tell Christopher. He would make it right.

  “Yes.” The shake became a nod. “Yes. Yes, send them away.”

  * * *

  Christopher returned in a much better frame of mind. Whistling a jaunty tune, he bounded up the front steps, swinging open the door to catch Tedham shambling past with a tray of silver flatware.

  At the sight of Christopher, the butler’s brows shot skyward. He pulled his face into its customary bland expression before turning to face Christopher fully.

  “Lady Woodsby had visitors,” he pronounced, holding the tray in front of him like a jumbled barricade of silver. “After much persuasion I managed to send them away but I fear they shall return. Most angry, they were, at not being received by her ladyship.” Uneasiness limned his features; he fidgeted from foot to foot.

  Foreboding rolled through Christopher. Clearly the visitors had caused trouble.

  “Visitors? Who would visit Lady Woodsby here? Is she all right?” He grabbed Tedham’s arm and shook it. “Tell me, man, speak.”

  “Perhaps the young lady should tell you herself. If you will excuse me, sir, I must be on my way.” Tedham wobbled away as fast as the heavy tray would let him.

  A bemused Christopher watched him scuttle off. Lud, the man was a trembling mass of nerves. What had happened? Who had come by to fluster the butler so?

  Josceline. He had to find Josceline. She would tell him what the devil had happened.

  He bolted down the hallway towards the drawing room, slowing down enough to see she wasn’t there before continuing to the kitchen to find Mrs. Belton. The housekeeper would know Josceline’s whereabouts.

  Mrs. Belton wheeled around to face him when he burst into the room.

  “I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Sharrington,” she declared cheerily. “Quite a set to, there was, but Tedham and our two stoutest footmen managed to get rid of those horrid men.”

  “Where’s Lady Josceline?” he barked.

  “Taking a bit of fresh air in the garden, Mr. Sharrington. I think you should talk to her.”

  * * *

  Christopher found her slumped on the stone bench. Without invitation, he plopped himself down unceremoniously beside her and turned his head to look at her. Delight shot through him when he saw she wore the cloak he had given her. One corner of his mouth lifted - it suited her as much as he had thought it would when he had seen it in the shop window.

  However, she wore it much like armour, for the sable trim encircled her throat tightly and the bronze folds were wrapped about her as if she could hide herself away in it. His gaze darted to her face - it was white, filled with distress. The visitors, whoever they were, had upset her.

  He lifted a questioning eye brow and waited for her to speak. Her lips trembled for a few seconds then “Father was here,” she whispered. “And Mr. Burrows.”

  “You are unharmed?”

  Josceline nodded.

  “Would you please tell me what happened?” He half-twisted towards her, planting one booted heel on the ground to balance himself on the edge of the bench.

  She appeared not to heed the exasperation in his voice yet it seemed she took comfort in his presence for she pulled herself up and lifted her chin before squarely meeting his gaze.

  “They came by unannounced.” Her voice was steady, matter of fact. “I did not see them although I heard raised voices. Tedham sent them away. Nothing more than that.”

  “It is more than that for it is plain to see you are disturbed,” he muttered.

  Josceline kept her eyes on Christopher. From beneath furrowed brows, his gaze swept Josceline’s face so thoroughly it was almost as if he brushed her with gossamer strokes. Genuine concern filled his voice and eyes.

  For her.

  Joy coursed through Josceline at the realization. It was as she had thought, hoped, wished - Christopher would make things right. Her anxiety disappeared in a poof.

  “Father wishes me to marry Mr. Burrows. I had no ide
a he would pursue me to make it so.” She eyed him unabashedly. “I should like your help for now they have found me, I expect they shall return.”

  “One dragon has been slain and now another has reared its scaled head,” he groaned, crossing his arms to lean his shoulder against the weathered brick wall behind them.

  Josceline gave him an anxious glance. “A dragon has been slain?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Mrs. Wilkinson took the payment I offered and has agreed to hold her silence. I feel we can trust her for she seems to care for Philip and Tom.”

  “That is welcome news.” She shifted and her cloak fell open. She caught his glance as he looked to where her bosom swelled above her neckline. A familiar tide of heat surged across her cheeks at his frank inspection and her scalp prickled with it. A half chuckle escaped his lips. Balderdash. The rogue knew full well he had flustered her.

  Tugging the edges of the cloak firmly together, she watched two sparrows swoop past them, welcoming the distraction while she tried to regain her decorum. The birds landed in a berry bush a short distance away and fluttered from branch to branch, merrily chirping all the while. They, too, felt the coming spring.

  She watched them for a few minutes, waiting for her cheeks to cool before she turned back to Christopher and the matter at hand.

  “Now we have your father to contend with,” he stated when he saw he had her full attention again. “He will force you to accept Mr. Burrows.”

  “Can he force me if I am gainfully employed? I think not.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Let me call on Lady Oakland. She’ll receive me,” she said with a bravado she was far from feeling. “As long as she is satisfied nothing untoward is happening beneath your roof, we have nothing to fear.”

  “Your father has followed you here. Are you certain he’ll be dissuaded by the fact you have a position here?” Christopher’s voice was dubious.

  “Yes.” She injected as much confidence into her reply as she could muster.

  “I don’t agree.” He shook his head. The familiar unruly lock of hair fell across his forehead and he raked it back. “As I understand it, he has much to gain with your marriage to Mr. Burrows. He shall not easily walk away from that.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do?”

  Her question appeared to take him off guard for a range of emotions flickered across his features – resentment, desperation, indecision, and finally, calm. He slid off the bench to drop to his knees in front of her then laid a hand on her knee.

  “Marry me instead,” he blurted.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The world spun crazily for a few seconds then dropped away leaving her in a silent void. Josceline clutched the edge of the bench, not caring that her cloak had dropped open again.

  “Marry you?” she croaked. Is that truly what she had heard?

  Christopher pulled away his hand and rocked back on his heels before giving her an uncertain nod.

  Gradually the world righted itself, the sparrows resumed chirping, and a faint breeze rattled bare branches against the brick wall.

  Wordless, she stared at him.

  The longer she remained silent, the more unfathomable his expression became until finally, he stood up. He jammed his hands in his pockets and waited for her response.

  She tried to make sense of his question. Had Christopher just proposed marriage to her? Was he daft? He, who was looking for social acceptance, would saddle himself with the daughter of the disreputable Duke of Cranston? Had he been serious?

  She played with the thought of marrying him for a moment or two, savoring it while she looked away from him to gaze into the garden. How easy it would be to acquiesce, to accept his proposal, to lay all her problems on his shoulders. Then she could be with him forever.

  While the thought of marriage to Christopher tempted her, she could not accept his proposal. She would hinder him in his quest for recognition, not help him. Would he understand?

  Josceline grew cold and at first she thought it was with despair until she saw her cloak had fallen open. With shaking hands, she closed it, this time ensuring she tied it securely.

  “I cannot accept your proposal.” Her voice broke as she said it. “I cannot, Christopher. Because-.”

  “Forgive me, I spoke in jest,” Christopher interrupted smoothly. “Nothing more.” A dull flush colored his cheeks.

  “A jest,” she echoed stupidly. How could he jest about something so important? Did he think her a fool?

  “It is a solution, is it not?” he drawled.

  His flippant tone sliced her to the core. So it had merely been a jest. To him, perhaps, but not to her and her heart ached with the cruelty of it.

  In any case, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he had wounded her. She sucked in a big breath of air, letting her chest rise until she sat rod straight.

  “Of course,” she responded briskly. “A jest.” She got to her feet. “Send one of the footmen to Oakland Grange with my card. I shall call on Lady Oakland this week if possible if you would be so kind as to lend me the use of your carriage?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, and Mr. Sharrington?” She wondered if he would notice her use of his surname. “I shall take on Philip and Tom immediately. You no longer make use of my services and I should like to feel useful.”

  “As you wish.” He gave her a curt nod.

  “Thank you.” She deliberately avoided his gaze as she said it. “I intend to start tomorrow.”

  Christopher watched her walk away, shells crunching beneath her feet as she trod the path. A gust of wind caused the hood of her cloak to slip off, revealing a mad tangle of russet curls. His palms tingled with desire to caress them and he balled his fists to stifle the temptation.

  It hadn’t been a jest, he thought morosely as she finally disappeared from view behind a gnarled plum tree. He truly wanted to take Josceline to wife. Only the second the words had fled his mouth, he realized the error he had made. She had called him Mr. Sharrington meaning his crass comment had only served to widen the gulf between them, not draw them closer.

  Of course she wouldn’t marry him, a nobody, a commoner and worse, a would-be merchant. Wasn’t it clear her distaste with Mr. Burrows was because he was a merchant? Why would she change her mind about that? She hadn’t, as proven by her negative answer.

  In truth, Christopher should be relieved because his secret would remain secure. Instead, self loathing filled him.

  Slowly he followed her from the garden.

  * * *

  Almost a week passed before Josceline called on Lady Oakland. A week which, if perhaps not uncomfortable, no longer held the easy camaraderie she had shared with Christopher.

  She found herself alone much of the time. At breakfast, his empty plate stood as evidence he had eaten long before her before going about his daily business.

  If he wasn’t closeted in the library for the day with the door shut, then he was out on his favorite mount doing whatever it was needed tending by him.

  After his ridiculous proposal, she reverted to a cold tray in her room in the evenings which must have suited him for he didn’t take her to task on it.

  Thankfully, she had Philip and Tom to help while away the hours or it would be a bleak and lonely existence. Every night when she readied herself for bed, she reminded herself she was another day closer to finishing her three month assignment at Midland House.

  And every night, she slept with his handkerchief under her pillow before tucking it back into its hiding place behind the mirror the following morning.

  Christopher’s carriage turned a corner and Josceline leaned forward to peek out the window as it clattered up the crushed stones leading towards Oakland Grange. A sparse blanket of fresh green lined both sides of the driveway and the buds on the trees had thickened noticeably.

  A new season beckoned, a far cry from the lifeless landscape of several weeks ago when she had knowingly placed h
erself in the company of a handsome stranger.

  However, he was a stranger to her no longer. Rather, each and every one of her dreams centered on him and inexplicably she couldn’t force her wayward thoughts to behave.

  But what if, for a moment, he had been serious about the proposal of marriage?

  Nonsense, he had made it perfectly clear there was nothing behind it.

  That being so and in order to clear both their names, she must confront Lady Oakland and convince her of the validity of her position as Christopher’s governess.

  She forced herself to step out of the carriage to a meeting she dreaded when she would have much rather have turned tail to return to the sanctuary of Midland House. Her knees trembled as she climbed the steps. The door swung open beneath her upraised fist to reveal the taciturn butler. Apparently, she had been expected.

  With clammy palms and knotted stomach, Josceline followed him into the salon. She recognized the room, where Christopher had announced he would hire her.

  Today the pianoforte stood as lonely sentinel for the room was empty save for Lady Oakland, seated in the armchair closest to the window. The sun broke through at that instant. The harsh light was unkind to the woman for it shadowed her wrinkles and highlighted the silver sprinkling the dark locks.

  “Lady Woodsby, what is it you wished to see me about?” Lady Oakland’s tone was petulant and two deep lines fell from the corners of her mouth to score her chin.

  “I have come to dispel any doubts you may have about the legitimacy of my position as governess to Mr. Sharrington.”

  Josceline moved to stand in front of Lady Oakland for she hadn’t been invited to sit – an obvious ploy on the part of the woman to put Josceline at a disadvantage. She dug her nails in her palms to keep her wits about her.

  “Lord Candel insists otherwise. That you are no governess for Sharrington has no son,” sniffed the woman.