by Renee Rose
After dinner she resolved herself to speak to the Colonel. She knocked on his door and entered, pacing about his study, the swish of the fabric of her shift irritating her sore bottom. He was sitting behind his desk, regarding her with his cool, intelligent gaze.
“What is it, Miss Downy?”
She stopped her pacing and examined the books on his shelf. She still hadn't decided whether she could actually speak to him or not.
“Is it about what happened this afternoon?”
Her hand went instinctively to her backside. She swallowed and turned to pace the length of the room again. “In a manner,” she said at last.
He sat behind his enormous desk and watched her with his impassive expression.
“Did you think your punishment was unfair?” he prompted.
“What?” she said in surprise. “No. Well, I mean…” She shook her head. She really did not want to be in the position of analyzing whether his punishments were fair or unfair. It actually had made perfect sense to her the way that he had pitted them together against him in their punishment, asking each to concede that the other had had enough.
“It's… Colonel—”
He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“You see, I want to tell you something because I think you can help. But it's not my business, really.”
The Colonel raised his eyebrows. “That hasn't stopped you before,” he said sardonically. “Tell me.” His voice carried the quiet authority that she found impossible to disobey. “Sit down,” he said, indicating the chair opposite him.
She eyed the wooden chair doubtfully. “I'd rather stand, if you don't particularly mind.”
She was exceedingly grateful that he didn't smirk at that. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “I wasn't thinking.”
She did walk to stand opposite him. She leaned on her hands on the desk, and then suddenly was discomfited by the realization that she had only hours earlier been bent over it, and she moved back abruptly. She thought she saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of the Colonel's mouth, but she might have imagined it. Again, she was grateful that he did not have the temperament to tease.
She took a deep breath, then hesitated, meeting his eye warily. She sighed. “Miss Watson is in love with Mr. Bates. You did not notice?” She could tell by his surprised expression that he had not. “Your assessment of him last night dashed her hopes and that is why she was so quarrelsome today.” She stopped suddenly, hoping it didn't sound like she was in here to blame the other woman.
The Colonel blinked several times. “Does Mr. Bates love Miss Watson?” he asked at last.
She shrugged. “I have not been taken into her confidence, but it appears to me that he does.”
“I see. I see.” The Colonel stood up. “Thank you for sharing this information with me.” Then he interrupted himself. “Is there more?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.”
“Very well. Thank you. I do appreciate your trust in me.”
She could feel that he was dismissing her, but she felt unsettled. “You will try to help, sir?”
“I will consider what you have told me, Miss Downy,” he said noncommittally.
Disappointed, she curtsied and left the room.
* * *
Miss Downy held a very romantic view of marriage. He leaned back in his chair and considered what she'd just told him. Though she had not made a specific request, the underlying message was clear: he should arrange matters so that Lucinda could marry the man she loved.
But marriages based on nothing but love rarely lasted, in his experience. It takes more than love to weave a happy life together. A couple must be well-matched socially and temperamentally. It was better to choose a decent spouse rationally, because the love would follow if both parties were open to it. That was how it had been with Gracie.
He stood up and paced the room as Miss Downy had just done. His objections to Mr. Bates were very real. It appeared the man was too lazy to earn his own living, which bothered him. But perhaps he would be willing to change? He shook his head. Why was he even thinking this way? Because Miss Downy wanted him to?
A sense of anxiety had come over him. If he believed in acting upon one's attraction for a member of another sex—if he believed in love as the basis of a marriage—then he must face the glaring truth that he had feelings for his governess. The manor had seemed empty while she was away and his disappointment over not having to offer for her had been clear. Yes, he loved Amanda Downy. He sighed. It was true. Even if he looked at things rationally, he could see that she would make an excellent match for him. She was well-bred, intelligent, and well… quite beautiful. Moreover, she'd already taken on a partnership role with him if he considered the way she'd come to give her opinion, first about the children, and now about Lucinda. He had been afraid of the pain of losing another wife, yet wasn't it more painful to live alone this way, when he could have a chance at a second match?
Now what? He sat back down in his desk chair and did what he had been best at in the military: he devised a strategy. He sent an invitation to the Livingston party to dine at the manor the following week.
On the evening of the dinner party, Bates sat beside Lucinda and worked his charm and Charles watched her reluctantly warm under his attentions. After dinner, Mr. Livingston suggested an evening walk, but Charles pulled Bates aside and invited him for a brandy in his study. The man looked torn between taking a moonlit stroll with Lucinda and hobnobbing with him, but good sense won out. “Thank you, Colonel, I'd like that,” he said politely.
In the study, he poured them each a snifter of brandy. Then he asked him directly, “Are you interested in my sister, Bates?”
Bates recovered from the bluntness of the question quickly and met him squarely in the eye. “Yes, Colonel, I am.”
“And what do you have to recommend yourself?”
“I am a trained architect. I have not taken a position in the past year because Mr. Livingston insisted I travel with him, but as of yesterday, I have submitted inquiries to several firms in London.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Because of my sister?” There was no reason to pussyfoot about. He wanted to understand Bates and his motivations completely. He had already requested a full background check on the man from his lawyer, who he had lambasted for not checking Miss Downy's references.
“Yes,” he said simply, again meeting his eye directly.
He liked the man. He handled himself well and had taken appropriate steps toward making himself suitable. “I have some connections. I'm sure it would be easy enough to find you a position. That is, if you are truly qualified. Do you have anyone to recommend your work?”
“Yes, sir. My professors would recommend me and I spent three years in France working on public building projects. My employer there would certainly write a recommendation.”
Charles nodded, satisfied. “If you are able to secure a position, you will have my blessing to offer for my sister.”
Bates looked stunned and exceedingly grateful. He shook his hand. “Thank you, Colonel. I will take very good care of her, I assure you.”
They finished their brandies in pleasant conversation and then headed outside to find the rest of their party. He still had the second half of his plan to execute. They met the Livingstons and Lucinda coming in the back door. “Where is Miss Downy?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.
“Outside, taking a walk in the rose garden with Mr. Bartlby,” Lucinda said absently, intent in conversation with her new friends.
He frowned and felt his heart pick up speed. Why was Miss Downy walking unchaperoned with Bartlby in the garden? It was highly improper, not to mention… he shuddered slightly at the jealousy that had just surged through his entire being. He opened the back door and walked toward the garden, telling himself that she might require his assistance if Bartlby was not behaving as a gentleman.
He stopped when he caught sight of them. Bartlby's head was bent to hers and they were kiss
ing. As Bartlby withdrew, Miss Downy looked up over his shoulder and caught Charles’ eye with a look of dismay.
He turned abruptly and went into the house, his breath pulling shallowly in his ribs.
Chapter Seven
Oh no. Her heart constricted painfully. She started for the manor without a word, but Bartlby caught her arm. “I'm sorry, Miss Downy. Please forgive me. That was totally inappropriate. It's just that—I haven't stopped thinking of you since the night of that carriage accident.”
Mandy stared at him in shock. The image burning in her mind was that of the Colonel's shocked and disappointed face. Her thoughts swirled around her in a jumble and her belly felt as though it were filled with lead.
She pulled her hand away from Bartlby. “I'm sorry, Mr. Bartlby, I am not the sort of lady who kisses men in the garden.” She started to walk back to the manor and he hurried to catch up with her.
“Please wait, Miss Downy. I did not mean to offend.”
“I must retire now,” she said, her voice thready with nerves.
“Of course, Miss Downy. I apologize again—I did not mean to be so forward. Will you allow me to call tomorrow?”
She could not even answer that question. “Excuse me, Mr. Bartlby,” she said unevenly, stumbling into the manor and up the staircase without bidding the rest of the guests goodnight. She closed the door to her room and leaned against the door. Good heavens.
The Colonel had seen her kissing Bartlby. What would he think? She felt ashamed that he had seen her behaving inappropriately. She'd had no idea Bartlby would kiss her, but she should have known better than to walk alone with him in the garden.
Would he consider her behavior grounds for dismissal? Or worse, would he force Bartlby to offer for her now that he had compromised her with that kiss? He was the sort of man to step in and act as her guardian since she hadn't one. The thought made her feel sick. She didn't want to marry Bartlby. The truth was, when Bartlby had kissed her, all she could think was that she wished he were the Colonel. And now that the Colonel had witnessed their kiss, well, any chance there might have been for such a thing had evaporated. She sat down on her bed and blinked back tears.
Well, there was nothing she could do tonight. In the morning she would make it clear that she was not interested in Bartlby. She heard the guests departing in their carriage. She blew out her lantern and threw herself onto her bed, knowing she would not sleep well. She tossed and turned, seeing the Colonel's shocked face before her over and over again.
In the morning, she resolved to apologize to the Colonel for her inappropriate behavior and try to measure by his reaction whether he had any personal interest or not. But considering how wooden the Colonel could appear, her hopes for success were not too high. She went downstairs to the breakfast table, only to find Miss Watson sitting alone.
The young lady looked particularly pleased that morning. “Good morning, Miss Downy. How did you sleep?” she inquired politely.
Mandy eyed her suspiciously. “Not so well, actually. Where is the Colonel this morning?”
“He's gone to London,” Miss Watson said primly.
“What?”
“Yes, he said he had business to attend to and he left quite early.”
She sat down in shock, absorbing that information. Could it be he left because of what he'd seen in the garden? Surely not. Yet he'd mentioned nothing about leaving for London. She frowned until she caught Miss Watson studying her curiously.
“You must be happy?” the young woman said.
“Pardon?”
“About Mr. Bartlby's attentions?”
“Oh, well… no. I'm not, actually,” she sighed.
Miss Watson peered at her. “Did he offer for you?”
“No,” she said frowning.
“Oh!” Miss Watson looked taken aback.
Mandy wondered if she knew he'd kissed her in the garden.
Miss Watson chewed her lip a moment. “Mr. Bates is applying for a position as an architect in London with a friend of Charles,” she said, obviously trying to temper her good news to match Mandy's more dismal look.
“That's wonderful,” Mandy said. “Does that mean you will consider him if he proposes?”
Miss Watson nodded happily. “He already has. And Charles agreed, provided Bates gets the position. He even said he would give us the London apartment and an annual income,” she beamed happily.
“Congratulations!” Mandy said, genuinely happy for her. “When will you marry?”
“I don't know—I was thinking in a month's time. Three weeks to post the banns and an extra week to be sure my dress is ready.”
“That sounds perfect.” Mandy looked down at her toast and found she simply could not stomach it. Though she was happy for Miss Watson, the talk of weddings only compounded her own distress. When the children appeared from the kitchen as a welcome diversion, she stood up hastily and called to them, “Come children, it's time for lessons!”
Bartlby called in the afternoon and asked her to take a walk with him. After some polite chatter, he launched into the subject on both their minds. “I want to apologize again for causing you distress last night. I was not planning to simply kiss you and say goodnight, Miss Downy. I had planned on asking for your hand in marriage.”
Mandy opened and closed her hands, feeling the sweat pooling in her palms. She felt slightly dizzy. “Mr. Bartlby,” she began after a deep breath. “I just—I simply—I cannot accept your offer.”
“I know you're looking for a love match,” he said and for the thousandth time she cursed her unrestrained chatter from that night of the accident. “I love you, Miss Downy, and I think you could grow to love me, too.”
She blinked at him. “Mr. Bartlby, I—” She had no idea what to say. “I cannot,” she finished lamely.
He cocked his head and looked at her. “Because you don't love me?”
She nodded.
“Well, I'm going to continue to court you, Miss Downy, in hopes that I might win your heart eventually,” he declared. “Will you allow me that much?”
She sighed. “On one condition,” she said.
“Yes?”
“No more kisses.”
Bartlby grinned at her. “You have my word,” he said and departed with a hopeful air that made her cringe.
She spent the next several days in a state of misery, waiting for the Colonel to return, worrying about what he thought of her. On the fourth day since the Colonel had left, Miss Watson said, “Miss Downy, you've been pacing around the manor for days now. Would you like to go for a walk?”
“What?” she asked, jerked out of her miserable thoughts. “Oh, yes, I should like that.” She stood, retrieved her parasol and hovered near the door, waiting for Miss Watson. Unlike her, the young lady had been in an exceptional mood ever since the dinner party.
They strolled up the path and Miss Watson said, “I wrote to my brother and told him that you refused Bartlby's marriage proposal.”
Mandy stopped, surprised. “How did you know that I—” She stopped. Well of course it would be obvious that she had refused. Otherwise, she would have declared the good news.
“I told him you have been walking around the manor for the past three days wringing your hands.”
“You didn't!”
“I did,” she said with a smug smile. “And I wouldn't be surprised if he returns tonight.”
Mandy stared at Miss Watson, her surprise at their sudden camaraderie around the issue closest to her heart taking her by storm. How the young woman had deduced her feelings was beyond her. “Am I so obvious?”
Miss Watson smiled. “I don't know why I didn't notice it sooner. Well, perhaps I did, but I didn't want to admit it. There's an attraction on both sides, I am certain.”
Mandy flushed with pleasure. “You think so?”
Miss Watson nodded and took her hand. “I said I was certain.”
“I hope you're right,” she whispered, feeling terribly exposed and vulnerable.
* * *
The carriage pulled up at the manor and he sat in it for a moment, unwilling to climb out and enter. He had read and re-read Lucinda's letter several times, to be sure he understood what she was trying to tell him. If she was right, Miss Downy was interested in him. If she was wrong… he had still not managed to tamp down the emotions that had been storming through him since he'd seen Bartlby kissing Miss Downy.
He sighed. He couldn't stay in the carriage all day. He climbed out and walked into the manor, simultaneously thrilled and dismayed when Miss Downy came to the entryway to greet him. He found he was unable to offer her more than a curt nod before he escaped into his study.
A few moments later there was a light tap on the door and he called, “Come in.”
Miss Downy entered. He was standing at the sideboard, pouring himself a brandy. She approached him and stopped a few feet away.
“Colonel, I—I wanted to apologize to you for going to the courtyard with Bartlby.”
He said nothing.
“I'm sorry because… I truly wish to retain your regard.”
“My regard,” he said coolly. “What kind of regard do you mean? My regard as your employer?”
“No. Yes. What I mean, is…” She took a deep breath and plunged forward, “Well, I was hoping for the kind of regard that Bartlby was offering.”
His heart jumped painfully and he felt a surge of pure possessive desire for her. He closed the distance between them, grabbed her, and kissed her roughly, his lips capturing her mouth like he was staking a claim. She gasped when he released her and he could feel her trembling beneath his touch.
“That kind of regard?”
“Yes, sir,” she gasped.
He kissed her again—a bruising sort of kiss, almost a punishment, filled with all the heat and passion he had been trying to ignore since the day he'd met her. His tongue plunged into her mouth, taking her as completely as he could with just a kiss. She groaned and responded to his onslaught, meeting him with her own ardor, her little tongue tangling with his, her lips moving. When they parted, she stared up at him, swaying on her feet a bit as if she were dizzy.