Book Read Free

Sarah Elliott

Page 19

by The Rake's Proposal

“Damn.” She looked down at her thumb, a small dot of blood forming in its middle. She was kneeling on a damp patch of earth in the garden, and she scowled at the cause of her injury, the barren rosebush in front of her. Gardening was certainly not her strong suit, and it hadn’t helped her self-confidence one whit when her head gardener had stopped by to point out to her that early February was not the time to start learning. He did have a very good point…she’d only figured that one needed to plan a garden in advance, was that not true? By spring, if she kept at it, perhaps she’d be able to coax a few buds out of the hard soil. Besides, as close to England’s southern coast as she lived, the temperature rarely dipped below freezing. A few things continued to grow all year long.

  She didn’t actually care that much about the garden, though. Sure, she enjoyed plants well enough—they smelled nice, they looked nice—but she couldn’t imagine herself, come spring, swelling with satisfaction over the botanical changes she’d wrought. No, she was really trying to change herself.

  She shivered and pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. What a fool she was to be kneeling in the dirt in the middle of winter. She supposed she’d simply been a bit overeager in her attempts to correct a lifetime of bad and unseemly habits. She didn’t think she’d go as far as joining Vicar Sampson’s thrice-weekly sewing circle—she wasn’t that desperate yet—but she certainly was trying to gain some mastery of the traditionally feminine arts. Gardening was a good, ladylike thing to do, wasn’t it? If she was correct it was held in similar esteem with embroidery, and her other thumb was already sporting a small bandage from her recent attempts at that endeavor.

  She may not be enjoying herself, but if Ben ever came back it might all be worth it. He’d been gone for over a month and a half, had left, in fact, the very morning after their party; he’d probably begun packing his bags after he’d left her alone on the dance floor. She’d had a lot of time to think since his departure and had come to one startling conclusion: he occupied her mind and heart completely. He meant everything to her. He was more important to her than even Alfred and Sons, and she had made up her mind: if she ever had a second chance to choose between living happily ever after with Ben and maintaining control over her company, she’d choose him. She wasn’t at all certain that she’d ever live happily ever after if it meant giving up her company, but at least she’d be happier. Nor was she certain he’d welcome her back, particularly after the way she’d behaved, but she was willing to compromise more than a little to find out. She was going to become a proper wife, a proper woman, too. She had to. She was about to lose her husband completely, if she hadn’t lost him already. She had sacrificed her happiness and his, all because she was too stubborn to let someone else run her business. And why not? What was so terrible about letting someone else help? Why did she have to do everything by herself?

  She answered her own question silently and automatically: because she liked it that way. Because it was her company, because it had belonged to her, at least in her mind, since she was a small child. Because it had belonged to both her father and her grandfather. But as much as it would hurt her to give it up, it would hurt her even more to lose her husband. She had treated him abominably, and she couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave her, but she had to make one more try. If he ever came back—hell, she wasn’t even so averse to swallowing her pride and seeking him out—perhaps he’d forgive her if he saw how changed she was; perhaps some sweetness and light would infiltrate her combative character and let her love him, plain and simple.

  The only problem was she was only just beginning to realize that mastering the feminine arts was not the easy victory she had thought it would be. With a sigh she sank down fully onto the muddy ground, not caring that her dress got soiled.

  “Lady Kate?”

  She turned her head slowly but didn’t rise. Mary was looking down at her, concern and not a little bit of disapproval in her eyes. She was returning from a walk to the village, and her arms were still weighed down with overflowing parcels. “Is everything all right, dear?”

  Kate nodded and rose, brushing debris from her dress. “I suppose, Mary. I’ve just been thinking.”

  Mary lowered her parcels to the ground, frowning at the wet earth. “Thinking about what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. This and that.”

  “Must you think of this and that whilst sitting in the mud?” Mary scolded.

  Kate evaded that question. “Did I tell you that I got rid of my brown dress?”

  Mary opened her eyes wide in mock shock. “Not the brown dress?”

  She nodded, smiling slightly. “I did, although I could certainly use it now.”

  Mary let her gaze wander over the soiled—and cream-colored—dress that Kate currently wore with mock censure, clucking for effect. She smiled slightly, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You know, dear, after all these years complaining about that awful dress, I can’t say that I’m too happy it’s gone. It hid stains well, anyway. I suppose I didn’t mind it that much, after all.”

  Kate shrugged. “I plan to go shopping later today. I thought I’d replace it with something a bit prettier…but if you prefer I can buy a dress to equal it in drabness.”

  “Better not, dear. And what’s this about shopping? Voluntarily? I’m getting worried.”

  “I know. It does go against the grain, but every once in a while I guess a girl just has to do it. Perhaps I’ll get a new bonnet, too. I saw one in the window of Mrs. Fletcher’s with netting and tiny pieces of artificial fruit…I think that must be what’s fashionable now.”

  Mary looked unconvinced. “I think you’ll need my help. Shall I come with you?”

  “If you like,” Kate replied. The sky was darkening and she’d need to leave soon or get caught in the downpour. “I don’t need a chaperone around here, though, so if you’ve other things to do please go ahead. Besides, aren’t you just returning from the village? Surely you don’t want to go back so soon.”

  “I don’t mind. Perhaps we should take Graham as well.”

  “I hardly think we’ll require a footman for this excursion, Mary. I don’t plan on buying so much that I can’t manage to carry it on my own…there’s not that much one can buy around here.”

  Mary nodded slowly. “Perhaps. It’s just that I…”

  “Is something the matter, Mary?”

  She hesitated. “Well, I couldn’t say for sure. I just think I saw something a bit odd while I was out.”

  “Well? What was it?”

  Mary paused again as if considering her words, and then rather suddenly she asked, “Didn’t Lord Sinclair take his valet back to town with him?”

  Kate nodded. “Josiah Thatcher? I believe so. He didn’t tell me as much, of course, but Mr. Thatcher left on the same day. I can only imagine that’s where he went. Why do you ask?”

  “I believe I saw him in town today.”

  Kate wrinkled her brow slightly. “Could you have been mistaken? I cannot imagine why he’d still be here.”

  Mary shook her head firmly. “No, I don’t think I was mistaken. He’s got an unusual face…and a rather menacing scar on his cheek, if you recall. I always thought there was something…well, not quite right about his face. I’m almost certain it was him.”

  “How peculiar,” Kate said. “There was a scar, wasn’t there? I always thought he looked an unlikely valet. At any rate, perhaps he didn’t travel to London after all. Maybe he found he quite liked it out here and wanted to stay.”

  “I can ask the other servants if you like, Lady Kate. Perhaps someone knows why he would have stayed behind.”

  “The other servants? Goodness, I shouldn’t think there’s any reason to do that. Leave the man in peace, Mary. You’re such a meddler.” She defused her scold with a smile. “Now, I suppose it’s about time I went back to the house and dressed for my trip into town. Will you come?”

  Mary nodded and reached down to collect her parcels. As she rose and took a step to
leave, she thought she saw something move in the dense rhododendron bushes that grew to towering heights only twenty or so paces from her. She looked again, long and hard, her heart beating a little bit faster, but this time she saw nothing but leaves. Quickening her pace nervously to catch up with Kate, she, too, headed back to the house…but not without a few cautious glances behind her to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

  Nearly two months had passed and it was getting easier. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Nothing had actually gotten easier at all, but it soon would. Ben was confident of that. In another few weeks, if he hadn’t committed himself to Bedlam by then, perhaps he’d even be able to say that he’d made real progress. “Real progress,” given his current state, meant nothing more than thinking about Kate only a few times an hour, rather than almost constantly as was now the case. That was exactly what he was doing at the moment, in fact: sitting in the gloomy library of his London home, trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on his book and thinking about his wife instead. He wasn’t even thinking fond, loving, wistful thoughts much of the time: just as often his thoughts revolved around rubbing mud in her face. She seemed to bring out his inner eight-year-old, and—puerile though it may be—he longed to grab hold of a braid of her hair and yank. But no matter how satisfied these thoughts left him, they would have to stop, and if he put his mind to it, they would. They had to. He was a grown man, a lord, and he was supposed to be above such pettiness.

  He’d realized, soon after departing from Little Brookings, that leaving her had been something of a tactical error. It certainly hadn’t been a solution. In his experience, lengthy separations from Kate only caused him to think about her even more than he already did. This time it was even worse, however, because no matter how often he tried to reassure himself, he just couldn’t be completely certain that she was safe. He wasn’t as worried as he might have been—he’d left Josiah in Little Brookings to keep an eye on her, with instructions to report anything unusual that he might observe. Josiah couldn’t continue to stay in the main house, of course, without causing the other servants to question why he hadn’t gone back to London with his master. Instead, Ben had installed him in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Few people outside of the house staff had ever met him anyway, so he was unlikely to be noticed, but still Ben had requested that he keep to himself just in case.

  To date, Josiah had reported very little. He complained of long, cold hours spent hiding in the shrubbery, and he also complained of Mary, whose sharp eyesight and suspicious mind were apparently making his job very difficult. Ben could sympathize on at least the last count. Officious old woman. In a way, though, it was her annoying vigilance that reassured him most: if, for any reason, Josiah missed some crucial development, Mary was sure to remain alert and do everything in her power to protect his wife. No doubt Kate was perfectly safe and faring extremely well without him.

  The situation couldn’t remain like this forever, however. With little to employ him, Josiah would ask to return to London eventually, and Mary, attentive though she may be, would not be able to prevent a grown man from attacking Kate if another attempt was made. Ben couldn’t help feeling that she’d only be safe when he returned to Little Brookings to look out for her himself, but he could hardly do that yet. He didn’t know if he could ever return. If she didn’t feel directly threatened then she’d certainly not welcome his presence—dratted woman wouldn’t even pretend to be grateful.

  Ben closed his eyes and thought once more about mud.

  The library door creaked open and his ancient butler, Rawlings, teetered though it. “Lady Charlotte Gordon to see you, m’lord. Shall I send her in?”

  Ben cracked open his eyes. He didn’t feel like seeing anyone, much less the well-meaning but meddlesome Charlotte Sutcliff, née Bannister. What was it to be—he’d gone out for the day, was indisposed or just terribly busy? Perhaps he’d gone temporarily mad and was at that moment wandering around the house naked with a fire poker and she’d better leave immediately or else he’d…

  That cheered him up. “I’d rather not see her, Rawlings. Please tell her I’m—”

  But before he had a chance to make his excuse, Charlotte had stepped bravely out from behind Rawlings and into the room. With characteristic self-assurance, she announced, “I’m in already, thank you.”

  Ben rose reluctantly from his seat, frowning at the way Charlotte’s critical gaze roved around his library, noting the peeling green paint, scattered papers and dusty shelves. He’d actually been expecting this visit since he’d arrived in London and had been starting to wonder what had delayed her from interfering with his marriage for so long. She couldn’t mind her own business to save her life and word had obviously spread that he had returned to London without his wife. Robert, no doubt, had forbidden her from trying to make contact. Since she was about as obedient as his own wife, she’d obviously ignored his instructions.

  “Charlotte,” he greeted her rather coolly.

  “Lord Sinclair,” she replied stiffly, bowing her head.

  He lost his patience. “Oh for God’s sake, Charlotte, you needn’t ‘lord’ me. A simple ‘Ben’ will do.”

  She nodded and seated herself gingerly on the settee, not failing to notice its worn upholstery. She folded her hands in her lap and waited for him to begin.

  He sighed. Her hauteur was ridiculous. She was the one invading his private space and time, not the other way around. “Well, how have you been, Charlotte? Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

  “No.”

  “Nor your charming husband. And how is he?”

  “He’d be much happier if you had proved him wrong.”

  Ben sat down wearily. “Ah. If I proved him wrong in what way?”

  “I had hoped,” Charlotte said, leaning forward, “that things might have improved between you and Kate. When I heard that you’d followed her to Dorset, I thought that you might even apologize to her for your misconduct. But now you are back. Alone. Have you left her?”

  Ben would have loved to correct her and tell her that his misconduct wasn’t even half of it, but he refrained. “That is none of your business.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, Charlotte, I have, but only because she asked me to go. I was merely doing as she wished. That is the end of it.”

  “I see.” She didn’t seem to believe him.

  “Now, does your husband know you’re here?”

  “No. He would not have allowed me to come.”

  “Right. So you’re not supposed to be here and, judging from your behavior, you’d prefer to be just about anywhere else. Why have you come, Charlotte? Did you think I might be bored?”

  She hesitated before answering and appeared to be deep in thought. “I know you’ll just think that I can’t mind my own business, but, well, it’s just that I received some rather peculiar news today. From Kate’s lady’s maid.”

  “The omnipresent Mary. That woman hates me I’ll have you know, so you might treat whatever she’s told you with a modicum of skepticism.”

  Charlotte leaned back with a sigh, dropping her guard for the first time. “I would, Ben, I really would, but I just don’t know what to make of it. I was hoping you could shed some light.”

  “Well? What is it? Nothing you can say to me will make my life any more difficult than it already is.”

  “She wrote me from Little Brookings asking me to watch you closely. She is suspicious of you.”

  “Yes, she looks at me as if I’m plotting to murder my wife in the night with an axe. Although I must admit that I’ve entertained the thought on occasion, I can guarantee you I’ll never act upon it. So you may rest easy, Charlotte. Dear God, you haven’t really been watching me closely, have you?”

  He was pleased to see that he could at least embarrass her. She blushed. “No…and I only got the letter today, anyway. I would not even have come here over such an absurd suggestion, my lord, if the evidence did not point in your direction.”
<
br />   Ben’s eyes flashed with anger. “Evidence? What evidence?”

  “Well—”

  “Look, if you think I married Kate for her money you’re as daft as she is. And if you think I would try to intimidate her into marriage then you’re confused.”

  “Then how do you explain the note?”

  “What note? I wrote no note.”

  “You certainly did,” she insisted stubbornly.

  “Explain yourself, Charlotte.”

  She rose and began pacing. Ben also rose, too much the gentleman to remain seated although very much inclined toward rudeness at the moment. What the hell was she accusing him of? Charlotte turned to him. “After the night of her first abduction…the night of the…the…”

  He sensed she was struggling with a socially acceptable word to describe Madame Dupont’s, so he nodded for her to carry on.

  She looked relieved. “Yes, well, the following morning Kate received flowers from an admirer. There was an unsigned card attached, although she never saw it. It requested she meet this admirer in St. James’s Park at a specified date. I hadn’t the faintest idea who might have sent them at first, but…”

  Ben walked over to the window. “If the card was unsigned and Kate never read it, then how do you know about all this?”

  “Mary read it—”

  “That’s hardly surprising,” he cut in with a snort.

  “—and she knew that Kate would just think it absurd and throw it out if she were to see it. But she also knew how much getting married meant to her. Well, she wrote to me to inform me of this note and I persuaded Kate to come to the park on that day…I left her alone for a short while, hoping that this admirer would make himself known. I was fairly certain it was my brother, Philip, at the time.”

  “Was it?”

  “No. Funny thing, it was you, Ben. Kate told me at the time that no one had appeared, but I’m now informed that, in fact, you were there.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Am I not allowed to walk in the park?” He could hardly remember this incident.

 

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